creator | god

I sit down to write it’s 11:11. Filling the oven and dowsing my sorrow after weeks of remorse, regret, re-grief. It goes on flowing. the river into the bayou’s mouth. The oven of the gulf. The guts of the ocean. carving myself to be soft and strong. Something like that is written on the toilet paper in my bathroom.

The bell jar sits empty. curious what will become of its space. Curious to what the belly of the jar can hold in. What else can I hold in. I must make something.

remember to just keep eating. Spoons of the gravy. The shovel of sauce. A march of fruit down the line of the board. How blessed I am to create my meals. as a creator. a god.

Everything I touch is born again. I can forgive myself and start over. I deserve to be fed, nourished, protected, and respected.

Words from the prophets mouths. Never let anyone disrespect you. Know your worth. Keep your mouth fed. Keep your pockets fat. Keep the pace, stay the course.

Don’t deviate for the devastated. Be blessed.