Arise & Shine
You sift through one called “Future” and find a thousand other eyes shaped and colored like Miranda’s.
You sift through one called “Future” and find a thousand other eyes shaped and colored like Miranda’s.
After reading The Nightingale, WW2 won’t get out of my head. A good book transports you; a great book makes you forget that you aren’t actually there. France in WW2 is not the happiest place to take a mental vacation. But I can’t help but see the significance in modern times, how I ended the… Continue reading The Nightingale and Now: A Trip to WW2
OOOoh, Stress. How my life feels like an ode, worshiping the very ground you stomp on. How I’ve invited you in like the friend who says, “Let’s get drinks!” but never has money to pay the bill. (Okay, I don’t have friends like that). But IF I DID, YOU WOULD BE THAT KIND OF FRIEND.
between sleep: i wonder if my hands get tired of keys. or if it makes running them across the strong back of my lover even more satisfying. i turn on the music, and it’s a slow slow lag, a lazy, dreaming drum, my hum, oh my hum is barely audible now, my love is not… Continue reading random writing from an old November draft
for as long as i can remember the children cried the pots seared and the tea boiled for as long as i can remember the breeze was outside while the smoke was in i’d swat at the flies i’d ruffle the bed i’d wait i’d cry while the children slept, i’d pause again for the hour… Continue reading past life inheritance – breaking old social structures
Instead of assuming that all things in life must be achieved through “hard work,” perhaps we imagine for a moment that the work can be easy, is easy, has always been easy.
The Universe is a funny ol’ loon; she’s CONSTANTLY reminding me that I MAKE MISTAKES. And the beautiful part is—the part that lets me know I’m making progress with my inner perfectionist and healing my self-esteem— is that I can’t help but laugh at her jokes.
It’s a critical viewpoint, bordering on cynical, I know. I should be praising these writers who show up to the page for NanoWriMo. Afterall, they’re making progress. They’re committing to their work. But I just can’t ignore that there’s something fundamentally wrong with this approach.
Today is a good day for acceptance.
Today, I accept myself.
I send this poem out with intense acceptance for myself. I’ve completed it, and therefore, I’ve already won.