Weapon of Choice

I am alive,
so awakened by the magic in my life I chose to create,
I’m bursting at my seams to explore,
but this life’s constraints allow only so much exploration

I’m afraid if I don’t explore these parts of me,
I’ll explode

and if I do get the opportunity to explore them,
I may also explode

so, here I am,
a caged bird,
pulling out my own feathers to keep my mind occupied

ravenous for something food can’t satisfy,
though I sometimes try

this extra weight my battle scar,
the tangible evidence of my fight against myself,
and not taking care of myself my weapon of choice

-image via Tumblr


they say all that will ever be 
is written before it happens;
there is nothing we can do to stop it –
but I tried

my soul became raw from fighting against itself;
everywhere I walked, my fate walked with me,
dragging along, crashing into my heels,
a suitcase with two broken wheels

they say all that will ever be 
is written before it happens;
there is nothing we can do to stop it –
but I tried

lugging around that suitcase, 
I told myself fate was that which nestled itself inside,
and the only way to outrun it, 
was to keep that zipper closed tightly, 
and to fight like hell

they say all that will ever be 
is written before it happens;
there is nothing we can do to stop it –
but I tried 

what they don’t say,
is that fate is a living, breathing thing,
which is not static;
it grows and evolves along side us,
wisdom lying in wait,
a fairy godmother with no wand

they say all that will ever be 
is written before it happens;
there is nothing we can do to stop it –
but I tried 

what they don’t say,
is that truth and love are magic,
and seeking it is our fate,
and the only way to find it,
is to stop fighting against it,
to unpack,
to listen

they say all that will ever be 
is written before it happens;
there is nothing we can do to stop it –
so I stopped trying 

-Image via Pinterest; submitted as part of the dVerse Open Link Night #207


sometimes it happens so quickly –
looking at a person and seeing inside,
pins and needles in a current traveling up your spine and taking residence in each prickle of gooseflesh

in a flash, you see the core of a person,
as fast as the pull and push of a single breath 

there it is,
right there, in the furrow of the brow line, 
taking up the vast blackness of the pupils,
all the pain and disappointment oozing itself out of two lash-lined windows

and just as fast, they close up – 
not even a chisel or a bulldozer could open them again

-image via Tumblr

Hope’s Garden

she spent years pushing away
the things she wanted more than anything;
wanting them too much scared
the hell out of her,
because sometimes people lose themselves
in wanting too much, 
at least, that's what she thought, 
that's what she'd learned

but the only way to know, 
the only way to find out, was to leap,
to want something so badly,
it nearly made her crack with hope,
to risk,
to grab on with both hands,
plant it in the center of her heart 
and see if it blooms

so, she planted,
and planted 

she found out that she didn't lose herself
in the wanting, not at all;
she found herself in the hope

for, in hope, was her truth

-image via Pixabay


I’m gonna leap, 
I’m gonna run with eyes wide open, 
and leap, 
right off the edge,
no trepidus toes or anxious looking down 

I’m just gonna leap,
even though I don’t know where I’ll land

Truth is, I’m not even sure if I will land,
but that doesn’t really matter

I’m gonna leap and seek, 
and if I don’t find,
I’ll keep on leaping and seeking, 
and see where my heart leads me

Because, funny thing is, 
I’m quite certain that finding it isn’t even the point of it

I don’t even know what it is!

But I do know,
it’s all about the leaping

So, I’m just gonna leap,
and I’ll know it when I feel it

I might just feel it, 
as soon as my toes leave the earth…

-image via Pixabay


for as long as she could remember, 
she’d felt it,
even though she wasn’t superstitious,
she couldn’t deny it, 
this unwelcome, 
yet eerily comforting presence,
signs of its existence ever-present,
but no more so than in vulnerable situations,
especially when her feelings
were so big she thought she’d crack 

sometimes, it consumed her;
when she most wanted to hide,
she’d feel it in the pulsing pressure of unfallen tears behind her eyes,
in the ball of rubber bands tangled
and bouncing in her belly,
in the twisted tightening behind her ribcage, the anvil resting on her heart,
in the shallow breathe,
because anything deeper would make her burst,
collapsing her into herself

it was most present,
and most potent, 
as this toxic voice inside her head,
one which constantly told her
she didn’t belong,
that she wasn’t enough,
that she owed something she could never quite repay,
was expected something she could never live up to,
that the world must be railing against her,
this voice loudest when the world seemed to quiet around her, 
when she desperately attempted to slow,
to try and savor it, 
her pillow’s other side never cool,
and her mind never quite at rest 

it was a blurred existence, 
a constant feeling of living in a black mist,
one she couldn’t shake no matter what she tried,
no matter how much she laughed and smiled and pleased on the outside

she’d tried to hide from it
by pretending it wasn’t there, 
by speeding through her days at 100mph, trying not to blink

and yet, here it was, still,
a backpack of lead upon her back, 
making her feel as if she were
living in a spiral, 
every action destined to repeat itself

it took 40 years of this sinister ghost chasing her,
40 years of futile running,
years upon years of spiral and repeat, 
until she finally slowed, 
until she looked with unclouded eyes,
startled when she saw her own reflection

all that time,
she’d been haunted by herself,
the weight of regret, 
a relentless stream of self-deprecation,
and even punishment,
obscuring every decision,
every interaction,
every day

afraid she’d become the epitome of everything she’d cursed, 
she’d become just that in the running,
the illusion of control causing her to fall further and further out of its grasp,
making her want to scream until there was no voice left to hear, 
her fear of vulnerability so strong,
it had begun to shroud the hope in her eyes

until today

-image found on Pinterest, source unknown 


img_6490Daddy told me a story
About how the kingdom was won
Grandma spun a tale
About making something outta none

My teacher began a fable with
Once upon a time
Mommy fed me a saga
About how oppressing women is crime

I listened to their stories
Absorbed every word
But I watched how they behaved
And all the words got blurred

Words are very powerful
But in my impressionable youth
Why couldn’t anyone
Just show me the truth?

~photo credit storybird.com