Like, wow man...

You are Janice.
You dig the groove man, nothing can bum you out.
Too bad you're too stoned to notice.

INSTRUMENT:
Like, you know, guitar, fer sure.
LAST BOOK READ:
"Finding Your Past Lives on the Web"

FAVORITE EXPRESSION:
"Fer sure, like, fer sure."

FAVORITE THINGS:
Peace, love and, like, granola, totally.

NEVER LEAVES HOME WITHOUT:
Her inner child.


What Muppet are you?
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Thoughts to ponder

I often wonder if I spend too much time living inside my head for sake of living, period. Why can I think up all these horrible or wonderful things, but yet never take a serious leap of faith and actually try to bring any of them into fruition. Fear of failure? Fear of rejection? Who knows...
Take things too seriously. It's like my dream...nightmare if you will. Bound inside a cage, suspended in mid air. Letting just enough light in to tease me. I think it is my ultimate damnation. Too much compassion. Too much unconditional love. And too much want.

~Woman inside the Mirror~

Shaking like a music box
wound too tight.
Maybe wound backwards.
Awkward sounds coming out
no rhythm or rhyme.
Slowed pendulum
hanging too far to the left
uneven time.
Box hardwired shut
with blood strewn string.
Little red fingerprints
as abstract decoration.
Tug the knot tighter
to squelch the screams.
Little girl with
mud in her hair.
Laughing and skipping
wonderment world, no care.
Now stands a woman short
in a full length mirror.
Tormented by promise
mesmerized by fear.
Daring to believe in more
than the reflection.
She in the mirror never exists
still the little girl
worn, torn, tattered by rejection.
Crazed by the figment
of imagination.
Watching the world go by
standing still
hoping for
the disappearing pill.
Striving, fighting
for her place.
Putting the expected
upon her face.
The thought that below
all the facade and barriers
is the Goddess
crying silent.