BLINDFOLDED

 

 Create without judgment,

I repeat placatingly,

while my fingers sprout insipidities

in shades of vanilla.

 

Let me get my blindfold –

perhaps I’ll plummet into pink

by accident

bumble into brilliance,

and land in a hot mess

worth its weight in gold.

 

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THE DAY TINKERBELL DIED: the quiet heartbreak of being too kind in a careless world

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YOU MUST TRY YOGA