Poetry

Gentle

I try to be gentle with the girl inside me.

She is imperfect.

She hurts, and she hurts others

as she tries her best to be.

She thinks and she thinks,

and she doesn’t think enough

until something in the air breaks

and tells her,

‘Hush. Be kind to the one that matters most in your world.’

And so I try to listen to the air as it crackles.

And so I surrender

as I wait for my sunflower to bloom.

photo of woman in black dress standing on sunflower field
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Poetry

Worthy

We don’t have to convince the world

that we are worthy

of their love hearts.

We only have to convince ourselves

that we are worthy

of our own.

woman smiling
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A Blog a Day in May

The Soft Girl and The Book

The brownie is delicious. The coffee is fine.

And, for the first time in a good little while, I am at a cafe, sinking into a booth seat, quietly reflecting on the peace of it all.

I’m the soft girl today. She’s the part of me that I choose—quite fiercely so—because the soft girl is anything but soft. She’s gentle and kind, and yet she’s capable and strong. And she’s safe, the part of me that feels most like ‘home’.

She made me buy a book, today, the soft girl did. It’s beautiful. A paperback, with a silvery-white cover and the title: Women Who Run With The Wolves: Contacting the Power of The Wild Woman, by Clarissa Pinkola Estes. A quote from Maya Angelou decorates the bottom. It says: ‘Everyone who can read should read this book.’

The book had whispered to me from the shelf—or, perhaps the soft girl had whispered me to it, I can’t be entirely certain. And even though it was only visible via the spine, I plucked it quickly from its little cave and read the blurb.

I wasn’t going to buy a book. It wasn’t on my radar, not at all. But as soon as I read what this beautiful, silvery book was about…the soft girl touched me and began whispering me her careful words: ‘This book will change your life.’

So.

I bought it. It sits beside me, in my laptop bag, waiting for me to breathe it in— which I will do tonight, as soon as I have found a cup of steaming tea and a nice big blanket.

I suppose it might be a wonderful book.

And, if it is, if the whispers of the soft girl were true in all their wistfully tender encouragement…my life is about to change.

I’d imagine that might be a very nice thing.

potted succulent plants on the bookshelf
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A Blog a Day in May

Beautiful

A face in the mirror; a gentle head tilt; a naked, swan neck.

Her fingers find the soft of her collar bone and drift upward: chin, cheek, forehead— every part of her, delicate. Like a bird, she thinks. The mirror shows her nothing new, and yet everything has changed.

Everything.

Because for the first time in her life, her beauty becomes her. This time, it hasn’t found her through the hungry eyes of a man, or through the careless words of a well-meaning shop assistant.

It’s found her from the softness of all that she is.

So this,

she thinks,

is what beautiful really feels like.

woman wearing black and white polka dot shirt
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