My people are crazy

Not in the go-go-go kind of common crazy
But in the out and beyond crazy
In the way that stretches their insides to encapsulate the whole world
They’re hungry
But not the starving way I see everywhere, starving for money and acclaim and importance;
No, not that way.
But in the starving for the juice that spills from the fruit of life sort-of-way,
They’re thirsty and delighted by the hydration of connection,
By the sweet salvation of love’s nourishment.
And they are loud,
Not in a ‘look at me’ kind of loud,
But in a courageous bold sort of noise,
That entices you, and makes you loud
And bold
And honest.
It’s a loudness that is inviting.
That celebrates your wins,
too.
My people are messy,
Not slobs,
But as in ‘making a mess of their lives’,
Also known as fearless,
Making mistakes, in order to deconstruct their path,
To make sure it’s one they’ve paved all on their own.
My people are all the words others might choose
To define them
To constrict them into one thing –
Torn apart!
They’re everything all at once,

And attached to nothing.

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