A Blog a Day in May

Wildling Feet

Wildling feet have danced too long

in the forest of evergreen,

waiting for the leaves

to change and

fall.

asphalt dark dawn endless
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A Blog a Day in May

Deep Diving: The Experiment

This is a little experiment where I will write. And I will not stop. Until I feel it’s time. Time, it’s an abstract concept, don’t you think? It’s not of the world, but also, it is. In an odd kind of way.

Life.

What is life, I often wonder. It’s the little things taken for granted. It’s the flowers we walk past every day, without looking. It’s me. It’s you. It’s us. It’s them. All of us living in a world where everyone else is so easily wrong. All of us looking for something more. Better. Free-er. Right-er.

A little bit lost, most of us. A little bit bamboozled. Unsure. Unsure and beautiful. Unsure and strange. Unsure and almost there, but never quite there because ‘there’ will never be a place we can find on a map. And if we do happen to find it, we don’t want it anymore because ‘there’ always looks better from ‘here’.

Nothing’s certain. Nothing’s true. Nothing’s right, nothing can be. Ever. Not when all our eyes are made from different shades of wonder. Different shades of serious. Different shades of true.

But one thing I do know is this. Life is beautiful. Precious. Mine. Yours. Ours. It’s safe and it’s unsafe and isn’t that the point? Isn’t that the beautiful part? The not knowing. The being here, the never really knowing where ‘here’ is?

This was a little experiment where I wrote.

A little experiment that will go on. And on. And on.

All the days of my deep-diving- human-life.

think outside of the box
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Poetry

Imperfectly Me

This honest girl.

This kind girl.

This sweet girl.

This loving, gentle, patient girl.

She has been this girl forever.

This perfect human girl—how delightful she is.

How loved and cherished and needed, she is.

But.

If she is good, she is also bad.

If she is kind, she is also cruel.

She is every part of her whole.

Every beautifully broken part.

Imperfectly perfect.

Imperfectly me.

blue red and yellow chalk
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Life

Life

Today, I feel it all.

Life.

Rushing beneath my skin, burning in my bones.

It’s an ache, I feel.

A beautiful wind that moves through my body and clutches at the spaces all around me.

Life.

It’s an ache I’ve always sought to understand.

An ache I never will understand.

An ache.

A life.

A dream to be everything I am.

A longing to be nothing I am not.

casual cheerful daylight friends
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Life

Alone

Sometimes, I feel alone.

Even when I’m surrounded by people…

I’m not really.

I’m alone, drifting in a rose coloured world of wonder.

I’m not sad about it— feeling alone, that is.

It’s a beautiful place, this world I live in.

I’m just saying:

The world of a dreamy, wide-open soul is sometimes lonely.

Wonderous.

But lonely.

In this world, I sometimes feel like a teeny tiny sailboat trying to float in an ocean of mud and I wonder: ‘Where are the other boats like me?’

Maybe one day I’ll find them.

Maybe one day there’ll be more boats like me.

Maybe.

One day.

photo of people on rowboat during sunset
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Twelve Days of Christmas

Human Nature

On the ninth day of Christmas

I felt sadness inside of me

and I cried.

Who am I to keep sadness prisoner

inside these flimsy human walls of mine?

Sadness deserves freedom

just as much as joy does.

On the ninth day of Christmas,

I really was okay.

But even on okay days

sadness sometimes knocks

and asks to be let out.

Who am I to deny it that?

Who am I to resist my human nature?

woman looking at sea while sitting on beach
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Poetry

A Way With Words

It’s quite certain

that when a person says to another person:

‘You have a way with words’,

it’s not the words themselves

that made the impact.

It’s the heart they fell out of,

and the way the heart coloured the words

so that they might flow

and ring ever so true

as they tumbled into the big wide world.