Norval Morrisseau  -  Gathering Shamans   (acrylic On Canvas, 1977)

"Me Kevin, I reached a level of maturity I never expected, you know that person who doesn't let any hurt destroy you? That's me, no matter how much someone has hurt me, I have an enormous capacity to forgive, and that's it which makes me stronger and enough to go on in peace, without brooding over old pains, which add nothing to my life..."

Princess... Fairy... Perfect girl... Divine work of the gods...❤️❤️❤️❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥🌹🌹🌹👏🏻👏🏻👏🏻

everything’s a little better in the sunshine

❤️❤️❤️

Poor heart

My hearts been aching for quite some time now. I know it’s been well over a year since I was truly happy, and knowing that makes me ache even more. I stand myself before the mirror, slowly strip myself of my shirt and place my fingers to my chest. The ridges of my sternum curl my finger tips back some. With three fingers I dig my nails into my skin. I peel it back and knock at the bone. I do not feel this kind of pain anymore. With my right hand keeping my chest agape, my left hand clasps my heart. When I pull it out I see a mess. “Why do you hurt so much poor heart?” I ask. The heart just kept on beating softly. It was battered though, scarred and bruised. Some were in the shape of family, some were scars in the shape of my first love, others in the shape of old friends. A new bruise, still bright purple, in the shape of one who pretended to be there for me then sabatage me and betray my every ounce of trust. Vulgar words were etched in from past lovers too. “Poor heart there is nothing but damage done to you” I say, and the heart kept beating softly. The heart looked blurry from the tears in my eyes as I held all the hurt I endured in the palm of my hand. “You’re never going to forget are you poor heart?” I stared at the ever beating heart and sighed, “how do you keep going” I wondered, and the heart kept beating softly. I placed the beaten up heart back in my chest, and pressed my skin back together and looked back at my reflection. I knew the heart would keep on going until my cells could not regenerate fast enough to sustain my body, or some freak accident caused me to lose too much blood, or something inside me malfunctioned. The poor heart kept going because it had to. It had no reason not to, despite all the damage, it had to keep going. I have to keep going.

Seja livre!!!

#morri #morridenovo 😂😂😂😂😂😂😂👏👏👏👏👏👏👏

Mais fácil mudar uns plug, do que inventar moda no Hardware...

#deviamudardecorefundo

🤣🤣🤣🤣