letter to several

    Well ole chap will we ever leave the book grabbing behind? With so much potential on your bookshelf it's hard to feel down about your self. So that's the real reason, eh. And we have fault with self value, and we don't listen, we fence up, we take so many (of)fenses.

 
    But the undercurrent the song in the background the nursery chant you don't understand but damn well remembered: there is a message. That you, reader, (and you, self), are firm. God done took a whole vial of you and filled your body to the top with it. And there's nothing wrong with it. If i pass by you and your face transfixes to someone else, if you start to believe in the eyes that we the world don't need you, then come to house of the earth, the garden of your insides, lay down and know that the micro is the macro, you are Jupiter, Mars is my brother, the grass blade is the elephant. Is this true? Does it matter? Does it comfort? The orchestra wouldn't work without you.

    You do matter. "You're not your fuckin khakis. You're not how much you have in the bank." And thank the earth we are organic, good for ourselves, but first we have to be ourselves to be good.