I'm unapologetic, even if my words subside...pathetic
It's in my heart, it's on my mind...
I think about it all the time...

The words fly off onto my page, but I won't erase or rearrange.
Maybe personal writing isn't meant to be shapen into a mold...
It's on my mind, my mind is bold
I won't give up, I'll be unapologetic for the creation that my heart has made

Sage is a trigger word, the word is like electricity that wraps around my mind and pulls at my heart

Sage...that's my father, the wisest and quietest person I know. I never know what keeps his words trapped inside his mind. What I do know is that our last name isn't even ours and I have his mother's rings...she died so young.

Sage...like the spice. You can find its origin, the color, the texture...anything you want to know. Where do I belong, what is my origin? I don't understand, where do I "fit in"? You don't even know the color of my eyes because I hide them...why?
The smell of sage...

I believe it keeps me safe

Burning sage keeps the evil away

Lots of darkness hides in the shadows...

Partially paranoia...partially my "gift".

Like sage, when I write it seems to cleanse the mind, chase out the darkness...the evil.

Sometimes I feel like it's in me. Letting the words swarm around chaotically set themselves free is my sage...

And I am unapologetic.