Nothing is ideal in this world.
Be that mess and own it!

Find some peace within you that you can cling to.

Want nothing.
Wanting something only causes stress.

Nothing is ideal in this world.
Be that mess, nothing to lose.

But the distractions, discomfort and the trials are there to disrupt everything.
Everything is a lot.

You can’t expect anything.
Anything’s possible.

But nothing is ideal.
Be that mess, don’t find comfort.

Find patience.
Patience gives you time.

Sometimes it takes too long.
The winner takes everything and you can’t win.

But you also can’t lose.
Because you can’t lose everything.

Everything is too much.
You have to start all over again.

And you can do that sometimes but how many times?
At what cost?
Nothing costs nothing.

But nothing is ideal.
Be that mess and own it!

I had a dream.
I don’t remember most dreams.

I was cleaning the floors of heaven.
It seemed a mixed blessing,
I was in heaven, after all
but I was cleaning the floors.

It was a part time job,
I knew that intuitively.
I don’t mind house cleaning, heaven cleaning.
It’s calm work, kind of Zen.
Are we supposed to think of religions in heaven?

At first I scrubbed on my hands and knees.
The floors are soft in heaven, like golden gym mats.
Then I thought of it, and suddenly I had a swiffer-wet mop,
just like that - and the pad never wore out.

After a while, I had an iPod, and AirPods too.
Then a daiquiri - a banana daiquiri with a pastel rainbow umbrella.
They make rapturous daiquiris in the hereafter - they never run out.
‘Heavenly,’ I thought, snorting out a dizzy laugh.
.
.
Songs for this:
The River of Dreams Billy Joel
If the Lord Wasn't Walking By My Side by Elvis Presley

She’s ready for a new chapter.
But is the new chapter ready for her?
She’s punk again as expected.
The cuts are holes for light to shine, from the lightning and thunder inside.

The plasters are lovers covering the wounds.
The Avocado for comfort and health.
The only way in which she takes care.
The rest is filled with beer and pain au chocolat.

For the pain, the discomfort, uncertainties.
The chains.
The chains remain.
The brain and tying ends together, pressure.
She’s getting ready.
Always getting ready.
But is she ever?

At least for the new chapter, the moment, she tries.
But it doesn’t feel right.
A little better after getting it together, over and over.
She’s never done.

You solve one thing and you mess up another, overwhelmed and hypersensitive.
Pressure from activity.

Pressure on me so I mess up things again.
The rain keeps falling.
And I keep messing around.

I am the stormy weather.
I try to blow dry.
But it takes forever and then I just blow off steam.
And it all keeps going on and on.
Things are wrong, things are too much.

It’s slippery.
It’s runny.
It’s a lot of pressure.
And somehow I find a way to dance in the rain at least one moment.
But after that I drop in a puddle.
And I have to crawl out and find a way home.
So I can close my eyes so I can dry up a little bit.
So I can be somewhat ok again.

But it keeps happening and it keeps raining.
And I can’t fly.
The rain is too heavy.
So I drop and mess it up.
The task.
One after another.
One thing solved and another failing.

I am falling and crawling.
And I can’t get out of this cycle, this puddle.

So I spread my arms and lie there for a while.
Until I’m able to get up again.
Start all over.
When it’s raining all over my body, heavy, steamy, slippery.
Breathe in and out.
Heavy stuff.
Heavy rain.