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poems from the frye. 2. [more a movement]
Recently, I spent several hours alone at The Frye Art Museum drinking in the āMoment Magnitudeā exhibit. I wrote pages in my journal. Random things I overheard people saying, snippets from the art descriptions or the videos and my own feelings and thoughts that arose. I also took pictures of things strangers had posted in…
letting go
I finally told you that you can’t make me love you and I can’t make me love you. I finally told you your anger is your own and that I will no longer let it in. (for I am far too precious to be maligned) I finally told you to let go. I have. Here’s…
here
I can’t stop smiling since and then there’s the and the way you time and space are meaningless here. it’s rather lovely there are no weapons it’s like cherry popsicles and puppy kisses it’s like a warm rain and singing around a campfire. it’s like top-shelf tequila and my toes buried in warm sand. it’s…
steeped in love
“You only suffer when overlooking someone elseās pain and suffering. By remembering how afraid, lonely, and seemingly trapped one must feel in order to act as desperately or aggressively as they seem to act, you shall be spared of your own suffering by opening the heart of empathy. In doing so, every judgment, projection &…