Journal on Healing

I think I try to label this sadness as other things. I call it fear about recurrence or about money. I call it discomfort when I feel I’m not taking care of the site or my body in general. I blame it on my medications or my hormones. I classify it as something old that should have been dealt with already. Imagine that!

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1991

I did it to myself
Buried evidence in my flesh
Sang no more, denying music
At least a decade of numb decay
Spent dying of security

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Quietly Wild

Behind me wreckage lies
Before me cinders fly

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Whiny Brain

Music is the kind of work that makes me feel like myself. When I decide to create even though I’m tired, I find myself with more energy afterward, not less. More dreams, more joy. More life. Don’t listen to that whiny brain!

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