collect of tender
self-witness of false wretched fear
fib poetry and portraiture
What is the fib today? Those old tape-voices playing in our heads. They tell us we are nothing, and we will never amount to anything.
This voice convinces us not even to make the attempt. Our goals are stupid. Our dreams are just silly. No one will believe you. No one wants to hear. No one cares, none will answer; there is no help. Give up; you’re are better off this way.
I could go on and on with this awful ringing in my ear. Perhaps you know it too?
These are lies. I can tell myself today. I make different choices. I am gentle with myself. It doesn’t mean I am perfect; meaning without flaws. It means I am human; I act with human cause. I stand up and tell my experience. I hope it passes forward.
Helps someone if they feel alone. Be an example of what is possible. Journey onward walking. Take care world, you are special.
paint much love, always,
Connie Karleta Sales
a.k.a. This Crooked Little Flower