sticky little fists.

insides

spirit

soul

stains

your guts and brains and thoughts.

constant, endless thoughts.

so many, all the time.

churning, swimming, soaring

flitting and shiny.

distracting.

easy to lose.

to forget.

to let die.

or to do the opposite.

and cling.

thoughts that hold tight and cling like the sticky fists of a child who refuses to let go.

persistent and whiney.

unintentionally messing everything up. 

demanding attention.

screaming.

banging wildly on your skeletal walls.

cranial capacity.

flooded.

bursting.

she grows.

consuming more space day by day.

not caring about the others bouncing around in that 

jungle gym of your mind

a bully or an adventurer?

eager to explore.

dying to stretch.

one word to put her in motion

to put life to her sketches.

okay.

okay, jump.

go.

live.

scream.

be heard.

 

give in to that beautiful crazy thought.

fly.

float.

free. 

no more sleep.

motionless escapes.

no more lazily letting things happens,

watching oppurtunities rise and fall 

okay, action.

fueled by colors she zooms.

leaving thought trails across your grey matter.

webs

pools

plots 

messy scrawls and unfinished lines.

ties that bind.

an unknown strength emerges through the disheveled globe.

connections darken strokes.

dots become solids.

the sticky persistence now acts as mental glue.

an unseen stability amongst the chaos that thinking inflicts.

warm and pleasurable. 

oh, the joy of movement.

of having a say in the direction you travel.

a savior, this thought.

this one nagging, screaming dream.

a shepherd to rogue notions and wandering waves

with persistence she saves.

with colors and courage and those sticky little fists.