About the strumming of my chords in alternation and the loops of fantasy!

Minions! I come to you at the last possible expansion of the stitches that keep all my chocked mouths closed. Hope is at its essence a play with words, it adds a myriad of layers to every minor insignificant event in our lives, it makes signs out of every spoken word. Deflated hope is also one of the main reasons our hearts turn into a mess of shards as we grow older instead of the slippery smooth of their origins. I soar me up with no regard to the lack of any safety net, with no regard to the gleaming blades below, and even though there is no gravity inside, I spin around myself in so many loops that I create my very own gravitational centre, bringing me down from the height of hope to the stagnant pool of my blades, in the most pleasant excruciating pain my heart had ever squeezed through; pleasant with the temporarily undone knots, excruciating with all the new shards formed and remoulded into semi function. Minions, never before have you wanted out this bad, never before have I wanted you to be; yet now.... now I can barely keep you in, even with all the will power I can muster. I want to allow all my colours loose, be seen, judged even if I am to be found inadequate, this is the one time I can't fathom the possibility of another silent passing through! Minions, validate yourself, and in due time, you *will* be let fly to your callings as you please.

About the shrinkage of words that lead to shrinkage of worlds, and half deliveries!

Minions! I am selfish. Connecting to others is a strong driving force to human behaviour, it is a need; I have never had that need satisfied. I am too vain to risk showing people my cracks, I can't connect without showing them. Instead of focusing on all the things I want to say, I drown myself in all the ways I could say them but won't! I break and rearrange the letters a thousand times; I play with synonyms and admire the beauty of antonyms! I dance with words till I lose the urgency of saying them, then I wake up, sweating, tired and as always disconnected....  If I use "like" instead of "burn with love", then I can test the waters... if I use "tired" instead of "maddeningly lonely" I can disguise my weakness, if I use "No" instead of "I have been waiting a thousand years to say Yes!" I keep my walls up... I use words that are always half burning with the deepest conviction of their meanings, the fire gets put out by fake half jokes and I fizzle instead of ignite! Minions, deliver me out of halves. 

About the confinement of my skin, and the sealed doors!

Minions! I come to you jaded. It blows my mind how my internal worlds could be falling apart into new realities while being completely still on the outside, talking, joking, being "social". Lonely is when I can vividly see me banging my head and fists at the solid surface of my skin from the inside while the soft skin of the outside remains composed; as if my cells are bound together by melded iron and steel instead of organic matter; as if my physical borders are riddled with armed forces. I wanted to yell out things that wouldn't even fight against the lumps of my throat, so I settled for another defeated sigh. Today I typed what I didn't want to say... today I fell out of denial and into a razor sharp new reality... today I melted, solidified into a new mould, and lied. Minions, help me find the door back to denial, it was kinder to my heart. 

About trust and the inches of our faith!

Minions! I come to you in my loosest grasp of myself yet. As humans, our wanting feels most pressing when the possibility of it satisfied is strongest; we are the most hungry at the sight of food, and we struggle to convey with most, almost hopeless, sincerity when we recognize fitting docks for our bridges. As humans, we are driven the most into corners by losing those close possibilities from our almost grasping hands; at the culmination of my struggling to connect with all the matter of my hand stretched full, an inch of space persists, one that can only be closed by free falling out of all my familiar, out of denials, comfort zones, and "white" lies.... my chains ring out in protest to moving their rust.  Heights have always unsettled me, not for fear of falling, rather due to the tightening of the chains of my not being able to simply fly off! People who understand have always unsettled me, not for all the space covered, rather due to the tightening of the chains that can only be broken with my eyes closed and senses sealed, due to the one inch that still needs covering! Minions, I don't really know....

About the sine waves, the scattering of my parts and the truths!

Minions! I come to you rapidly alternating internal explosions with implosions..... I spend my days building boxes, perfecting the walls, looking over the cracks with content smiles, rattling the bars and pulling on the chains to make sure everything is secure and then panic when I find out I'm on the inside! I then proceed to cower into denial, imagining how easy it would be to bring the boxes down when I want to, how I am in full control, and how I don't mind them in the first place..... and then panic when I realize, I lie. Having the heart of me all but beat out of my wide open chest one second, then slowing into a worked trudge against the caving in of that same chest walls the next; I feel as if every cell of me is me, pacing the floors of my head, banging their heads against its walls, stubbing their toes and clenching their fists, stomping their legs and rocking on the balls of their feet, biting their nails and twisting their hands to all the shapes they could and could not be.... maddening with search for the lines between truth and comforting lies, lies and truths we hope are so. Minions, colour me braver so I can handle it, then face me head on, and most important, rock me into sleep! 

About the pretty of assemtry, and mental resonance!

I've always preferred pretty to beautiful, always loved things that existed despite themselves rather than because of them. There is something so inherently resonant in all things that hold their own with all their imperfections. My favourite bracelet is a rosary missing a bead, it was in a stall, separated, declared to be of less value, to me though, the missing bead is a speed bump; a simple glance towards my wrist breaks me out of the automation of everyday life and into memories of hot weather, good company, places that had soul and how I enthusiastically declared my eternal love for the unbalanced rosary. There's something very distant about sleek perfect things, things that are too smooth for memories or soul to latch onto and grow, things that are so full of themselves that there is no room for connections, things that are too shiny to show anything but a reflection! There's an instinctive bond between souls with all their indents, grooves, nooks, scar tissue and rough patches and things that feel like they have had their share of life too. If not for the areas of compromise and shape shifting in us, how can we make contact? If not for the small value-diminishing faults in industry, how can you see each thing for it's irreplaceable own? If not for our scars, how could we be ourselves?! Minions, we're OK.