Daydream Believer…

Photo by Daria Sannikova on Pexels.com

Isn’t it crazy that it’s in our lowest moments that we tend to reflect on who we are. We especially do this when we are alone. For myself, that is the majority of the time. I spend 95% of my time alone, and it has been this way for most of my life. For each season of my life, through infatuations, abuse, laughter, embarrassments, friendships, milestones, I suffered through and embraced each lesson mostly alone.

Each year was trial and error. Mostly error if I am being honest. Clumsy and bratty, angry and fierce, and yet, a part of me severely fragile and soft. Like a two-sided mountain, yearning to be seen, to be climbed, and to be heard.

For as long as I can remember, I could close my eyes and swear I could hear the most soothing music notes playing even when the room was completely silent. A magical gift I always thought, I could hear a song for every single moment throughout each and every season. And when no one was looking, I would stand on my stage and dance and sing. I would stage a performance as if each one were my last. I could see every face in the crowd, all shocked at this untouchable spirit.

It is true that sometimes, a dream is just simply an avenue to escape moments. Dreaming can replace the sadness one feels under any moon. It can take you to the only safe place you may know in times of fright. I feel that these were definitely my safe place moments. I feel that these moments can also mold each and every path you will take on this small planet.

I am the first to admit that now, I perform more stern and fierce than ever. It seems as though the further the dream gets away from me, the more I perform to hold onto it. Some weeks, I perform so much that I spend more of my day in the performance than I do in actual reality. I like to believe that when I pass on one day, I will go to my greatest performance permanently. I sometimes dream by writing my best work in my head when I need to focus my mind in a crowded and nerve wracking moment. These are the moments where you think, “darn it, I wish I would have brought a paper and pen with me.” I can get lost in a floor tile in a waiting room. And I can even envision myself standing in front of me guiding me and giving me calming advice for that moment. Some might say that makes me crazy, but we all have our own ways of coping.

Socially, most of the time, I am crippled, even though the inner me wants so badly to have good people in my life. I get nervous and in my head and sometimes, I convince myself that no one likes me and I will never fit in, which I definitely know is not true the majority of the time. It’s an insecurity I have always dealt with. I begin to speed talk when I am trying to socialize. Sometimes I’ll even divulge way too much information in the first conversation. I have even sometimes, without thinking, became a chameleon and agreed with everything they said, or mimicked their behavior to merely fit in. Not used to talking to people, or even more so, people talking to me, I have to jump myself across from me quite often to fan the anxiety off of my face. And it doesn’t hurt that I and the other me are frankly, very good at funny faces, or if someone is being rude, I’ll even go as far as imagining myself thumping them in the nose. Ha Ha. Probably shouldn’t have admitted that part.

I can write a whole life for you with a single stroke of a pencil having never left the very chair I am sitting in. And I can go on any adventure I want by merely peering out of a window. An extraordinary adventure of the most beautiful kind. The adventure of the mind. I can be anyone I want to be, and go anywhere I choose to roam.

These unique parts of me are so special. I hold onto them with every fiber of my being because things get so tough, and things get so scary. Most people lose their sense of imagination in their childhood. They grow up and forget what it is to dream in color. Everything becomes so black and white and mundane. I don’t want to lose this part of me ever, even as I am approaching 40.

What are some of the ways that you cope?

And what are some of the behaviors you have held onto since childhood?

Do you have trouble connecting socially, and if so, do you have tools in your brain that you use to maneuver your way through each situation?

A List of My Demands…

I demand a conscious silence.

I demand peace of mind.

I demand protection from the elements.

And I demand the chance to protect my health and my body.

I owe it to my very being to find love for my own self first, to set an example for those

that will come after me.

I demand happiness and to push any obstacle out of my way to accomplish that.

I demand respect. The kind I have both earned for myself, and the kind that just naturally

comes from being birthed a human and woman.

I demand love. The kind I deserve and can also provide. The kind of love that changes

how I view everything in this big world. The kind that I can be myself with.

I demand a place in this world. For myself and for my family, and I stand ready to fight

for it.

I demand understanding. Understanding that if I portray a thought process different than yours, you will not shake it in me. An understanding that as you stare into my eyes and sense an emptiness, you know not the measures of things I have been through, nor that I am battling as we exchange looks. An understanding that possibly in that moment, I am hanging on by the last thread that I have more than likely graciously borrowed from someone who felt generous enough to offer it up to me.

I demand self-worth. A world that acknowledges my beauty as a woman, my strength as a mother, and my value as a fellow human.

I demand unapologetic boundaries. Last and definitely not least, I ultimately place my mental health, my wellbeing, my self-love, and the care of my children above all and everything. If at any time, or in any place, any of these become threatened or weighted down, I reserve the right to distance myself, children, and soul from the weight.

I demand my demands to be met. And if they are not, I demand a removal of the obstacle.

A Mother’s Cry..

Photo by Emre Kuzu on Pexels.com
Photo by Wendelin Jacober on Pexels.com

My whole world has become complacent lately. Feeling like a machine with my heart renewed on an assembly line by a conveyor belt each day only for it to be broken into pieces once again. Broken heart after broken heart. I am a born again living dead girl. Floating around preparing myself for the next jab. A pride carried from a naive heart who only felt she had gotten at least one thing right in her fragile, brittle life.

Take that molded rug right out from under me. Over and over again until the bends of these knees that have prayed for you shatter in two. While I lay here, a puddle of poison and battered, I will finally admit to myself that it was a facade.

With every strength and effort in me to break a cycle and do it better than those who had come before me, I have seemingly failed. I lied to myself and continue to do so. And since that was the only good that was ever in me, I’m emptied of a want to. I am hollowed with a who am I. I am robbed of a purpose.

Convinced now that I everywhere I turn, everything is polished before I get there, and rusted out by the time I pass through.

Damaged goods. Homeless.

How does one who is broken time and time again, die inside, and then awaken again to die once more but never stay dead?

When I said I’d take the pain of this world off of you if I could, I never knew or imagined that it would mean that I would take not only the pain, but the weight of every ocean, the blame, and every ounce of hate and resentment that had passed through the vicinity of us.

But even so, torn limb from limb, I steady myself to stand once again with half the sun rising on my beaten face, to take my place on that front line once more.

A failure badly bruised, mentally paraplegic, and dead but still breathing; prepared without hesitation to do it again. And again.

A maternal love is unfailing, unwavering. At least that is what it’s supposed to be. And maybe you’ll never see it in me, or find any sense of pride in my silent and suffering efforts, but I will press on in it in hopes that in the end, you will awaken to the knowing of how profound the possibility is of someone, who is so broken, numb, and beat down, could still love someone else and fight for someone else with an unfathomable, immeasurable, unfaltering, unconditional, and powerful will to live again, and also still love someone else with an entirety and unbreakable spirit, while unable to look at her own self in the mirror.

Live fully, my sweet joy. Live powerfully as my favorite chapter. I’ll be here fighting it for us. And always loving you out loud and working through the dead in me silently.

And even when you didn’t think I cared, or don’t think I care, I have loved you and will love you with every fiber and every second of my existing…

The One

It’s the power in the breaking of a heart that can create the strength that opens your eyes.

It’s the revelation of a moment realized when you are taking that necessary time to be alone with yourself, so you can learn how to be alone with yourself.

It’s the confidence of the first step forward, when you finally stand on your own two feet once again.

It’s the strut in that step when you step back into the jump rope of life that kept on moving without you.

It’s the humbleness of faith, even when bad news stacks on top of bad news.

It’s the smile in the eyes, when you come across someone who completely steals your heart, when you never expected to share it with anyone again.

It’s the butterflies when you are finally face to face in the perfect moment, and your lonely lips meet another’s so sensually.

It’s the birds chirping on a superbly painted mountainside as you walk hand in hand down the trail.

It’s the dogs meeting, and it seeming like they had known each other since birth.

It’s the yearning for another moment when you are apart.

It’s the poetic justice of a finely swooped love letter.

It’s the sexy well-placed hand on your back as you feel heat fill the room.

It’s the waiting for the right time, and being ok with that.

It’s the getting to know every part of them and yourself with them, before intimacy.

It’s the problem solving when obstacles arise.

It’s the soft candles, perfect music, great conversation and that specific kind of kiss.

It’s the ravishing each other after all of the waiting, knowing that it’s right.

It’s the long-lasting, sexy moans, thrusting, and rolling around, and the tracing of the body so attentive.

It’s the after ambiance, holding hands, smiling, and feeling right for the first time in a long time in your life.

It’s making hard choices, and not being afraid to for once, knowing there’s a partner there to back you up.

It’s the support through scary times, taking care of each other, and feeling grateful to do it.

It’s the forgiveness when mistakes are made.

It’s the compromise when differences are discovered.

It’s the can’t wait to see you. You can’t wait to see me.

It’s the sharing a home together, making a home together, and loving what that looks like.

It’s the present moment. Living moment by moment, soaking it all in.

It’s the true love. It’s the leave me wanting. It’s the knowing…knowing you’re right where you’re supposed to be, right at this very moment.

It’s the blessing, after some lessons, and it’s mine.

Photo by Jangson Basumatary on Pexels.com

My Sister, My Friend

Little girls, swallowed up by the world.

And a faint moon they shared year through year, gleaming on their faces.

A collective struggle and in the same, a shared empathic stream of tears.

Trials of similar variety, and a sense of a tip-toe through every facet of their life.

Love looked blurry and comfort, a scream away.

They kept a light lit beneath the other.

Carrying each other’s torches even when hundreds of miles apart.

One could only dream of a world where pain didn’t consume.

But the sun took another turn around the moon, smiling in passing, and these little girls

became strong women.

Carrying the torch of anyone who’s ever experienced the pain of this world, we are limitless.

And even when we feel all alone in this great big world, something always brings us

back to this bond.

I don’t always feel the closest to you, and in moments, I feel a huge space between us,

but nothing will break

this life we have shared, and the feeling of family and friendship we will always have.

Sister, if ever there was a time to say the greatest of words, it is now. Love.

I carry such an immense and powerful love for you.

And even when you don’t see it, I see such a power in you.

This same moon still follows us, and day in and day out, we have been blessed to watch

it fall in love with the sun.

I would do anything in the world for you.

And if anything were to happen, and I shall ever leave this world, I will be with you always.

My sister, my friend.

Meet Me in the Fields…

Oh lover, I have looked into the eyes of pure bliss and pleasure. I met you in secret, in the fields of weed flowers where we rolled around, temporarily forgetting the world. I feel no pain in this meeting while you stroke two fingers down my back.

Pushing my hair behind my ears, you trigger chill bumps that shiver up my spine the same way they shivered up my spine years ago. When you are apart from me, I envision the next time we will meet and my clothes will peel from my skin.

Tell me you’ll meet me here again tomorrow where our eyes can meet once more.

I can’t fathom any second of my world if you are not in it. Every adventure we embark on is a dream in which I check off of my list.

Pull your body as close to mine as is humanly possible. Press your lips so firmly against mine, that I need to come up for air.

Build this life with me climbing each and every mountain together.

Make love to me as if it will be the last time, each time.

I remember each and every field we’ve walked in, each path we’ve discovered, and envision the limitless life that can be ahead of us.

I would smile walking with you in a hurricane, laughing as we run from the rain. This life we are building is exciting and fills me with hope. A hope I have never experienced before. When I say I love you, it’s a feeling I can’t explain. It’s a word I have never used in the way I am using it for you.

When I am speaking of you and I say family, it is new because it is a family feeling that I have never had with anyone else. It means future, a finality, eternal.

I will adventure with you til the end of my days as long as you remember to meet me in the fields when things get tough. As long as your hand is in mine while we walk or crawl through the hard journeys. I’ll hold you up when you need strength, and take care of you like you deserve, because you fulfil these same loves in my life.

I love you. I love us. And I love this life we are building. And if we ever get separated, you will know where to find me…….

Nature, Nurture, Amen..

Photo by Markus Spiske on Pexels.com

As the cool crisp air floats into season, I wallow in the silence.

The silence that seeps in slowly as we each grow older.

A breeze that slowly runs across each and every wrinkle,

taking its time, getting to know each and every inch of the day’s trials that have been laid across our paths.

The chill across my skin makes each bend of the elbow or knee stiff like an un-oiled wheel.

But even with the feel of an old body lifting me out of bed in the morning,

I yearn to watch each brightly colored leaf fall from each tree.

A rebirth of nature and a rebirth of the world.

A second chance, over and over, as this planet bows with a humbleness hoping that

we will nurture and care for it once again.

And a second chance, over and over, for a rebirth of our own spirits.

This chill throughout my body reminds me that I am alive.

So at the end of each day, as the temperature drops, I watch the sun go down with a

humble heart.

I sit late into the night, appreciating the quiet and speaking my grateful heart into the universe.

Fall, fall, take me to your leader.

Let me bow at their feet with thankfulness for the gift to see through and past my body’s pain, and this life’s

burdens,

straight to the beauty in the chill bumps.

Baby Blues: The Calling

Photo by Yaroslav Shuraev on Pexels.com

I’ve walked through this forest many times before.

Dressed in a form-fitting, light baby blue, long flowing dress, down to my ankles.

It’s long sleeve, but off both the shoulders.

Long red hair, messy and unkept, stretched down the middle of my back.

The rain pours down as I roam this mossy family of wood and green.

My dress soaked, nipples protruding through so delicate.

I hold the bottom of my flowy dress up with both hands as I’m running in slow motion,

Hair slapping the back of my shoulder blades.

Water trickles slowly down my cupid’s bow and drips down slowly on my bottom lip.

Photo by Yaroslav Shuraev on Pexels.com

I stop urgently right in a circle of trees, above their flourishing green branches

As I hear them call me to attention.

I’m alone here again as I have been many times before.

I kneel in shame, dress covering my feet and body now.

I sense their disappointment in my loneliness and newfound pain,

As they were never expecting me back before their graces in this position again.

A rush of wind tornadoes through this forest in an instant.

They bow to the power of it and in this instant, all of their branches turn brown and fall away,

Their beauty stripped from their bones.

And this forest goes dark, done with the likes of me.

Photo by Luca Paul Dross on Pexels.com

I am at once overcome with fear and heartbreak.

They have spoken their answers to me and left me there in my ruins.

A great lesson from my ancestry has rushed over me as even the night cicadas quiet.

As if a great respect falls across this entire forest in the finality of this demand passed from them

to me.

I slowly push off of the ground, head hung in complete defeat knowing the path I have laid before

myself.

I have put myself here in this position and won’t look away from what needs to be done.

A love.

A new feeling.

A path newly taken.

All fleeting and seemingly slipping right out of my fingers.

I keep my composure because I am not unfamiliar with losing things, or being without.

I am but a dark bird, a cast out angel with broken wings on a short journey through this world,

through this forest.

The news of my fellow tree’s advice has stricken me to tears as I walk slower than I ever have

Through this forest.

I walk slow to avoid facing what is on the other side of it. Facing the truth.

I can’t fathom where things seem to go wrong, but they do.

And the forest calls me here when it is time for the awakening that I need.

I have learned enough in this forest through the times that when I reach the edge of it,

I will do so with my head up, peeking forward.

I am but an entity full of many human mistakes.

An ora of nothing at times, quietly observing, hoping to be discovered so I can merely scream,

“Yes! It’s me! You have found me, and I am here, in full surrender!”

But for now, I walk slowly to the edge of this forest, feeting sinking into the most green moss

I have ever seen.

Wetness drying in an instant, and the horrible sun has hit my skin and taken my shield away.

Return I go to the shade along the treeline to protect the burning,

But it offers me no solice to the burning inside…….

I rip the bottom off of this dress weighting me down, along with the sleeves once

Draping off of these boney shoulders.

I walk now with a purpose. An answer. A goal. A path. A story continued..

I feel the wind at my back, pushing me forward.

And I go always where it blows me.

Photo by Yaroslav Shuraev on Pexels.com
Photo by Yaroslav Shuraev on Pexels.com
Photo by Yaroslav Shuraev on Pexels.com

Ghost Lover

Photo by enfantnocta on Pexels.com

You rip my blouse without evening touching me..

Sweat drips from my body without a single finger laid upon it.

How can I be running down this path in the woods feeling both euphoria and the deepest saddness

I have ever felt, at the same time..

You arch my back without being in the same room with me.

My thoughts of you seem to tide me over until the next time our fingers are puzzle-pieced together

Once again..

You lips must be dry and empty, because they haven’t been placed upon mine in some time now.

What is this love but a clawing in my skin?

I can’t stop it. I don’t want to.

I want it to rip me open like a machete hacking its victim with care and caress.

I want it to take me to a daydream that is inescapable.

Unavoidable…inevitable….ineluctable…ineliminiable….inexorable….

In all of the ways that I have tried to fight it, I want it to consume me in a finality and completeness.

You run your hands violently around my throat without even speaking to me.

I won’t stop wanting.

I am stuck in this eternal loop of yearning.

I could speak unlimited words and ways that your lack of want makes me want more.

It causes me to disgust myself so much so that I don’t who is looking back at me in the mirror that

I regularly make it every point to avoid.

For God’s sake…..want me.

Want me or end me. For good.

Ravish me or push me off this cliff.

Because the pulsating within my body has became too much to bare.

Too much to relieve.

You burn my skin with those eyes. They don’t look at me. And when they do,

they burn a hole straight through me.

I’m reaching out for you.

Strip me bare and naked and do what you must.

In an instant, I’ll drop what task I am pretending, and I will rake this kitchen table of each item.

If you would only slam our bodies into it.

You take everything from me without even noticing you took it..

I am swollen and sore, without you even getting up from your chair.

My imagination is drowning in thoughts of places I am not.

A preoccupation of sorts that is destroying me when I snap back to this empty room.

I try to remember what our hands feel like clasp together….

I chain myself to this chair to prevent myself from making the first move again.

I’ve never been so rejected and so loved and so invisible at the same time.

I don’t love me right now.

I don’t hate me right now.

I don’t know me right now.

Do you?

I am not coming down off this ledge until you make me.

Ball up your fist, and punch me right in the gut.

It is the equivalent of what I feel when I slip through these halls on my own.

I just felt your fingers slowly drift down my chest and stomach….

But you are asleep.

You have ghost hands that follow me around..

Sensing my yearning for just a moment of intimacy from just the tips of your fingers,

Just the slight wetness from your lips.

I want to dilate and descend your pupils just by the moan from the very throat that you are choking

the life from.

Claw these clothes right from my body.

They are simply in the way of the condensation that just your hello drinched me in.

I hear the echoes of our voices from long ago roaming these halls.

They are calling out to us to dance carelessly together, not worrying about the troubles that

Await us tomorrow.

Echo back ghost lover.

Scream into me. Widen my thighs with your standoffishness.

Slap me back into this room with you,

Or continue to break my neck with your silence.

Either way, I love.

Bulletproof, I take every stab. Every claw. Every suffocation you create in me.

Ghost lover, I’ll still be here. Dagger on my side.

Beautiful Woman

“Beautiful Woman,

release yourself.

From the expectations of others,

of the world.

Society’s chains seem unbreakable.

But beautiful woman,

You have the keys.

Drag the chains if you must,

but only to sledgehammer them away with breaths of unfathomable strength.

Unleash the beast within you,

lying dormant in wait for you to believe in the gifts that you yourself hold the power to.

The weights of this world have nothing on a beautiful,

relentless,

untouchably powerful,

sexy,

woman warrior.

Take that power,

face the demons in your mind,

and those standing in the vicinity of you,

and say the word that will send them to their final resting place…

Freedom.”

When I wrote this, I had no idea it would become a mantra that I would find myself reading back to myself time and time again. I actually wrote it to encourage and empower a girlfriend of mine. It’s crazy how, as writers, sometimes we can write things that are meant for others, and the individual piece ends up changing our own worlds.

It is true as women, we haven’t always felt as though we are at the top of the food chain. At times, just based on our genders, we are shoved aside, not picked or not first pick for the careers that we are the most qualified for, ignored by majorities under the assumption that we are dumb, underestimated on a daily basis, and largely just expected, even in 2021, to simply pop out children and stand in the kitchen.

Ladies, retribution is in a firm, brave, and courageous flip of your hair. A stance of a warrior. A sway of a big, beautiful, wide set of thick-woman hips strolling down this path with a strong mission. We don’t always recognize the power that lies within us. It is there. Waiting for us to grab it and use it. Waiting for us to own it.

I will always wear my scars like a beautiful lipstick. Smooth in color, strength in a smile, and unstoppably confident knowing that at any given time, I could power up, look myself in the mirror, and know that even in a battle for one, I am the lion who comes out last.