Photo by frank mckenna on Unsplash
It doesn’t matter.
Who says what. Who says why. To me. For me. Against me. They don’t say it because of me. It doesn’t matter. It wouldn’t matter. Unless they are in my head. They come from a place of their head. That’s all that matters to THEM. If their head says that I am x. They call me x. But that’s what their head is saying. That doesn’t make me x. I’m not x. To me, I am A+. It doesn’t matter. It shouldn’t matter. So why does it feel like I have a matter to sort ? What’s the matter with me? There’s a mistake. There should not have been a matter with me. And yet, there is. Or so it seems, now. Strange. It’s matter. Why is it behaving like energy and flowing to my head ? Can the matter please leave me alone when I’m done typing this ? Sigh. Maybe the sigh will convert the matter into energy and release it into the atmosphere. Where, a cloud forms. And the cloud rains on my beautiful garden full of roses. So that, I would grow my own roses and never have to go expect roses from anyone. There. Matter is gone and positive energy has just been formed inside of me.
