collecting shells

Has anyone ever seen a live sand dollar? Or do they only exist in shell? On my wall in the bathroom as decoration with their flower tattoos embroidered at the heart?

We collect the shells of things, glance at house frames driving by and when we see the lights on at night, the windows open, the man walking past peering in, do we wonder what it’s like inside another shell?
We are all things contained in things contained in things until it’s the core of us. The world is layered upon us in so many colors, in so much dirt and oiled skin, in air that keeps changing. No wonder we are forced to change so rapidly, so often.

The idea of a world that can’t and won’t change seems so dark, malnourished and sick. I need to be stronger now. Begin to listen to my truths. If I am not louder in my needs or my truths I’ll be paralyzed in a shell that can’t contain me.

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