Stories of the Lost and Found

 ~ Clutter (verb / noun)  I. To crowd (something) untidily; fill with clutter II. A collection of things lying about in an untidy mass.  III. An untidy state  • • •  ~ Chaos (noun)  I. Complete disorder and confusion  II.  A confused mass or jumble of things, or a state of utter confusion. • • •  Whether or not you have grown, failed, relished, thrived, survived, lived, and breathed inside and throughout a chaotically cluttered type of world it becomes difficult to pinpoint where the root of said chaos is and what that chaos actually is is.  Is it the environment you’re surrounded by? Is it the mindset you hold?  Is it a choice, a feeling, an act, or a state of being? Is it hoarding sentimental trinkets for decades, storing them inside of boxes and bags just to store them inside additional boxes and bags?  Is it carefully sealed memory boxes holding a plethora of trinkets from a 2005 “Nacho Libre” movie stub to handwritten midd...

 "The best thing about rock bottom is the rock part. You discover the solid bit of you. The bit that can't be broken down any further. The thing that you might sentimentally call a soul. At our lowest we find that the solid ground of our foundation. And we can build ourselves anew." The ability to understand, comprehend, and accept ones own actions that lead to their downfall takes a different set of skills. It takes a mindset that is typically built within oneself through time, events, and mistakes. It takes strength, accountability, self reflection, and realization that even  you  can fail - even when you had the best of intentions. Through my mere thirty years in this world I've learned a lot. Yet, I still have not learned enough. What I have learned? Perfection does not, and will not ever, truly exist.  There is no answer to life, there is no answer to success, and there is no answer to how to please others. There is only you, and the person you s...

My mind is an after hours speakeasy, a wild tumbleweed  Calculating, meticulous  33 x 2 - that’s 66 The number I associate with underlying (and) penetrating, splitting psychosis  On any given day, I make my (own) self sick (Becoming) Completely unhinged, losing my grip (Always) surrounded by people pleasing hypocrites  Wound so tight, yet light as a feather  Don’t you ever want to get (be) better? What would they think? Her, him, he or she? (You’re) Always running from what you used to be  What would they think? As they go tit for tat Life’s a ballgame - batter up - it’s your turn at bat round for round? Hit back cold, hard - the real essence of your soul won’t ever be found  What would they think? If you decided to be free?  Roaming and roaming, thoughtlessly  Free from the ever growing bigotry  Waking up from the cookie cutter make believe  Cluttered with juxtapositional houses, white picket fences, manicured lawns  Magnolia ...