Life

And So It is

Life is all the beautiful things.

Because my every day starts with a promise.

To shine up my heart,

and to just know that all the happy will find me.

And so it is.

woman wearing brown overall
Photo by Edu Carvalho on Pexels.com

 

Poetry

Awakening

Take me to the river

and breathe me into the wind.

I am born of a place

deep.

Deep within the waters of you.

I am waiting.

I will wait until the whisper

unfolds you,

awakening

your starving heart

from within.

I will pull you from your sleep.

I will take you to heaven

inside of your body.

I am you.

We are one.

Poetry

The Land In-between

The matrix rages beneath the skin and I am trapped.

So this is the land in-between.

The rose unfurls beneath a skin that longs to fall,

yet the chipped paint of a girl gone by

tethers me to yesterday.

A day I no longer choose.

Absolute quiet awaits behind the curtain of truth.

Bliss calls, and yet the world of illusion screams

so that always I must return.

I ask them: ‘where is home?’

and they ask me where I think I am

if I am not already home.

Who else knows the light behind these eyes?

Who else feels the rose opening within,

when so many see only a garden of falsehoods;

of black and white;

of right and wrong;

of normal,

of insane?

The river rolls on 

and asks me to believe in home.

The place beyond the in-between

is home.

I don’t know how I know.

I just know.

woman wearing brown jacket
Photo by Learda Shkurti on Pexels.com

 

Poetry

Facing the Truth

I stopped

and I said to myself:

I am in pain.

I did not try to hide it.

Or justify its reasons.

I did not try to pretend

the hurting wasn’t there,

or as true as it truly was to me.

For a moment I looked around

for the escape I’d always looked for.

The rug to hide all the knowing beneath.

The rug of make believe: the chance

to believe that the pain did not exist.

But it did.

It lived in my heart.

And though I wanted it to leave…

I let it be.

And I knew it was okay

not to shine it away

with my sun.

Life

Stuck

When I felt

the stuck of you,

I knew you needed

to move.

The mud in the air around you

as you tap

tap

tapped away

told the story of a stuck girl.

Getting the job done,

wishing you were anywhere else

but there.

I supposed

you must have spent days,

weeks,

months or years,

longing to flow

like the river you were born to be.

But instead,

you’ve been there.

In a state that outgrew you

long ago.

I wish I could tell you:

it’s okay to move.

Poetry

Shame

To cast stones.

To stare down.

To withhold words.

Or kindness.

Or love.

Shaming.

It’s a wonder it still exists,

given we’ve all made mistakes.

Given we’re all human, and all of us

different. And entirely imperfect.

Empathy is the answer.

It can often be found under

the rock of unconsciousness.

But we will find it again,

say the hopeful

weary travellers of society’s

broken road.