For All That's Whimsy - Tumblr Posts

The places that are, separate yet connected.

Like string that knows it's a web.

Our Atlas says I shouldn't need to make poetry to speak, that I'm typing like this to hide the embarrassment of Sharing My Thoughts Unasked.

But our Atlas is not of Wonderland, and just because he's invited me into his home- that is giving me an awful headache by-the-way- does not mean he Knows Me.

He has a lovely home though. There's ghosts of memories in the walls. It belonged to someone we knew as a child, a flat above a bar they owned. It was real then. Physical. Moira owns it now; not physical, inner world, introjected from a time we no longer remember. She has for the last 13 years.

But it's not meant for me.

I can feel the inner world trying to kick me out, even though they've invited me to stay.

How curious, is the mind, in mechanisms of defense.

What are you hiding?