I have so many old friends.
Friends I have known my whole life.
Or at least I have called them friends.
My despair, my fear, my anger, they have been with me for so long.
Living side by side.
Dark.
And I lived here willingly, blaming everyone but me.
It was easier. Made it easier for me to not take responsibility.
Made it easier for me to be a victim. To not SEE that all my friends were my enemies and I created them.
To keep me company, but they are easy. They come easy and stick around.
But like growing pains, they hurt me.
Kept me from seeing. Myself,the beauty around me. The loves of my life.
I kept my hands tight around my heart squeezing it till it couldn't breathe. Each finger digging into the tender flesh, piercing the very essence of my being. Till I no longer remembered that those fingers-hate, anger, despair, loneliness, anger, fear, blame, sadness, victim, and lost weren't apart of my heart, they were just holding my heart in.
So each day, I pry, finger by finger, my heart free from my own grasp.
Letting go.
Allowing myself to be free.
Wednesday, November 14, 2012
Thursday, June 21, 2012
June 21st 2012
It has been awhile since I have sat down to write about anything, let alone a poem. I have been caught up in the mundane as so many of us often do get caught up. Living our lives for the time when we get off work. So a while ago back in November I was given a project by a mentor to write about surrender. I spent weeks trying to find the words to write about this concept that is so fluid and lacking in structure. I struggled with it, and though about it and finally today, I feel I have found a way to describe surrender in the way that my heart knows how.
Surrender:
I wish to talk of surrender
But as my lips part to speak...the concept grows larger than my mouth.
it break my teeth as I try to form it into shape to make meaning.
I reach into my mouth with deft fingers and pull at the words...but my fingers grow fatigued for the words are like lead and grow more resistant with each pull. Slippery and like quicksand my fingers sink into it rather than around it.
Finally, I drop my hands, fingers exhausted, muscles cramping and I take a long slow breathe.
...And there...the BREATHE...it releases me and my jaw drops with the word of surrender flowing from my lips...free.
It has been awhile since I have sat down to write about anything, let alone a poem. I have been caught up in the mundane as so many of us often do get caught up. Living our lives for the time when we get off work. So a while ago back in November I was given a project by a mentor to write about surrender. I spent weeks trying to find the words to write about this concept that is so fluid and lacking in structure. I struggled with it, and though about it and finally today, I feel I have found a way to describe surrender in the way that my heart knows how.
Surrender:
I wish to talk of surrender
But as my lips part to speak...the concept grows larger than my mouth.
it break my teeth as I try to form it into shape to make meaning.
I reach into my mouth with deft fingers and pull at the words...but my fingers grow fatigued for the words are like lead and grow more resistant with each pull. Slippery and like quicksand my fingers sink into it rather than around it.
Finally, I drop my hands, fingers exhausted, muscles cramping and I take a long slow breathe.
...And there...the BREATHE...it releases me and my jaw drops with the word of surrender flowing from my lips...free.
Tuesday, March 6, 2012
I am tired of each morning waiting to get to the next
Of getting up looking forward to going back to sleep.
So I try, to center my heart over my soul, my soul over my head
But it is so frustrating to me that live is so filled with the mundane.
If today were to be my last day on Earth, I would have woken up late for my alarm, meditated ( a little), gone to work and ate an uninspired lunch, went to the gym and then went to bed. At no point during that day would there have been any given moment that would be worth telling an epic tale about.
And as I sit trying to align my heart, soul, and head I feel a leaden weight in my chest seize control making it hard to breath. I find my heart slows down and my head starts to wander and my soul scrabbles desperately at my rib cage to be left free. I dream of Paris, and wandering the streets alone, floating through memories and pasts like water. And as I sit I remember that none of it matters. That I can dream, and whine, feel desperate and tired...but the point is that as I write this, I sit with my space and live what I know.
Of getting up looking forward to going back to sleep.
So I try, to center my heart over my soul, my soul over my head
But it is so frustrating to me that live is so filled with the mundane.
If today were to be my last day on Earth, I would have woken up late for my alarm, meditated ( a little), gone to work and ate an uninspired lunch, went to the gym and then went to bed. At no point during that day would there have been any given moment that would be worth telling an epic tale about.
And as I sit trying to align my heart, soul, and head I feel a leaden weight in my chest seize control making it hard to breath. I find my heart slows down and my head starts to wander and my soul scrabbles desperately at my rib cage to be left free. I dream of Paris, and wandering the streets alone, floating through memories and pasts like water. And as I sit I remember that none of it matters. That I can dream, and whine, feel desperate and tired...but the point is that as I write this, I sit with my space and live what I know.
Monday, January 30, 2012
I lay, naked beneath the covers and I think of you.
The spaces without you, the moments alone.
I think about the many different faces I wear, with you and without you.
All of these faces are me, but all of them are not me.
They are things I have given meaning, meaning to mean me.
They are arbitrary, and hollow, but at the same time, full, abundant, purposefully.
At least I can say that. At least I can say they are purposeful. At least I can say that I am actively making choices in my life.
It will not be me, who wakes up at 50 and wonders what happened to her life.
I will be able to chart my life, on my face and hands. On my body and mind. In my surroundings and fate. I will remember where I have been, and who I have been. And most importantly why. I will remember why I have been the way I am, why I chose to be this way, and why above all else it was important to be. To be just this.
The spaces without you, the moments alone.
I think about the many different faces I wear, with you and without you.
All of these faces are me, but all of them are not me.
They are things I have given meaning, meaning to mean me.
They are arbitrary, and hollow, but at the same time, full, abundant, purposefully.
At least I can say that. At least I can say they are purposeful. At least I can say that I am actively making choices in my life.
It will not be me, who wakes up at 50 and wonders what happened to her life.
I will be able to chart my life, on my face and hands. On my body and mind. In my surroundings and fate. I will remember where I have been, and who I have been. And most importantly why. I will remember why I have been the way I am, why I chose to be this way, and why above all else it was important to be. To be just this.
Sunday, November 27, 2011
I live in a prison.
A prison of my body, each wall crumbling beneath the weight.
Somedays I feel so trapped in this prison, others I am so glad I have somewhere to call home.
Sanctuary.
Today I feel the structure of my prison sigh with exhaustion, sadness, loneliness.
I have not been tending to my sanctuary lately and it starts to fall apart in decay.
It is amazing how just one day of neglect makes the walls shutter.
So each day I must tend my prison/sanctuary. With kind words, loving caresses, truth, and devotion.
And Faith.
Unfinished 11/27.11
A prison of my body, each wall crumbling beneath the weight.
Somedays I feel so trapped in this prison, others I am so glad I have somewhere to call home.
Sanctuary.
Today I feel the structure of my prison sigh with exhaustion, sadness, loneliness.
I have not been tending to my sanctuary lately and it starts to fall apart in decay.
It is amazing how just one day of neglect makes the walls shutter.
So each day I must tend my prison/sanctuary. With kind words, loving caresses, truth, and devotion.
And Faith.
Unfinished 11/27.11
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
In the moments...
It is in the moments in the in between that I find myself. Fogging up the bathroom mirror with my breath, counting to ten to see if I can stand it. It is the moments when I am tired and close to tears that me peaks through...pulling at the edges, as if I wasn't unraveling fast enough as it is. Bit by bit I am tearing apart. And each old piece is replaced with something new, similar but different, replication but developing at the same time. And all those pieces that fall away like burned flecks of paper are the bits of me that I am scared to lose. The bits that I have become so comfortable with. The bits I have grown to love and identify with. But now the new bits come in. Ripping off my old bits and tossing them carelessly into the bright flame. Each day it is a choice I make. I rip off these bits and replace them with new bits. Sometimes the choice is not even conscious... this is what I am supposed to do right? This is what my world is supposed to look like. This every striving, never happy, pushing and pulling, drive towards things I do not have. Things I should have. Things I should want...things I do want. And I wonder is it me that really wants these things, or is it the old comfortable, lovable, easily identifiable bits that long for these things? And I wonder...does it really matter?
Tuesday, November 1, 2011
The Harvest Moon
This one is dedicated to my goddess friend Shinay who is a constant reminder of what it means to live in grace.
The harvest moon peaks over the horizon. Smiling at all the little people. This is a special time for the moon. When she gets to try on all her lovely oranges, yellows, and reds. She can swell with fullness, delight, and contentment as she over looks her beautiful world changing colors to match her. The leaves giving up their redness in devotion and then falling to the ground in surrender, grateful of the gift to have been on this earth. The trees, naked of their children, reach to the heaves with spindly arms embracing the dark warmth the sky offers them. The ground sighs in relief as the expired leaves cover it's surfacing offering the warmth it was desperately praying for. And as the moon slowly saunters across the sky observing all that has been laid out before her, she chuckles knowing that today was just another day, and that tomorrow will be another.
The harvest moon peaks over the horizon. Smiling at all the little people. This is a special time for the moon. When she gets to try on all her lovely oranges, yellows, and reds. She can swell with fullness, delight, and contentment as she over looks her beautiful world changing colors to match her. The leaves giving up their redness in devotion and then falling to the ground in surrender, grateful of the gift to have been on this earth. The trees, naked of their children, reach to the heaves with spindly arms embracing the dark warmth the sky offers them. The ground sighs in relief as the expired leaves cover it's surfacing offering the warmth it was desperately praying for. And as the moon slowly saunters across the sky observing all that has been laid out before her, she chuckles knowing that today was just another day, and that tomorrow will be another.
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