It is a base. Everything has started at a base. Baseball players start their game on a base. Something is built off of a base. The Earth sculpted together, fire as a base. Dirt as the base of our land. Family as the base of our relations. But my base, is a c major cord. A strum. A clink. A beat. A vibration. My basis of my own, is a C major cord. Anywhere, you hear a sound; and a sound is what I strive to hear. My basis, what makes me strive, is a whisper or a yell. I have heard, a yell so many, many more times than you know. I see myself as a base of someone new, because no one wants to be friends, or know, or have a base with me. The base of C major cords is my base.
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My Unstable Poetry
PoetryA diary of sorts. 2015-2017. A poetry collection of angst, depression, and epiphanies.
