poems
I am
But what am I
Even as a deed.
A good deed
A nicr deed
An honoriser
An emancipation.
While showing,
I only needed to know it would work
To show how it works
The freedom idea.
Everyone was a slave
To themselves and each other.
Sunglasses Season in the Mist: A January Whistlestop Tour of Joyful Bedlam
)The Post TextA little bit of chaos this morning, as per usual. The soothing sunrise winter mist rolled in like a soft blanket over France — calm before the storm, or maybe just the universe's gentle way of saying, "Breathe, Liz." Then came the misadventure: phone crash, firm NOPE from the cosmos, app assassinated mid-vibe. Bedlam comes, bedlam goes. But here's the thing — beyond the sulky tech tantrum, I'm grasping the joy of yesterday. And today? Love comes when you least expect it. That's a fact of life. And I love… my new shoes. All the way from Korea . Chunky platforms with punky attitude, no aggro, just pure confidence in every step. Shoes are the answer: grounding the granny-speed whistlestop tour of my own life, marching through the mist like I own this quirky future. And beyond shoes… the people! I'm surrounded by radiant humans, half blinded by them Sunglasses season activated! Who are we except for those around us? Your life speaks about y...
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