Posted on by thetruthandtheliesofthejourney

Cry of the Wilted Flower

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It has been some time now since I visited this part of me. I opened up the numerous drafts I had saved in my files. Each time I began them at their given moments, they served their own purposes for helping me to purge what was boiling my emotions from the inside out. But they now stand for a moment in time when a pain had washed over me in what seemed like a fire. So, this week, I purge my files of them. I do not need to remember them anymore. Just as I have began to purge myself of the rest of those moments.

It does no good to stick around in your brain or in your heart where you yourself are the only one dwelling there and caring about how it is making you feel. Therefore, if that’s truly the case, then you have the beautiful power to rid yourself of anything weighting you down. No matter how big of a chapter it was in your life, you have the sorcery within your own spirit to cleanse yourself of the power that it held over you.

However, I know in order to truly do that, part of the sorcery is working my way through it. The hardships, the unequivocal pain, the failures that one-ended love can bring about, wasted years, and even the beautiful parts of that. Because I could not possibly heal if I didn’t admit to myself that although a lot of what I considered to be real may not have been as real to the other person, it was still beautiful to me. Not beautiful enough to memorialize however.

Because anything that causes this much pain has to be evil, and evil has no place in my life and is not and never will be welcomed in.

I had a home once. It was a dream. I loved that house. The old floors, the surrounding of trees, the yard, and that porch. I filled it with my love. Lunches for the next day, plants all the over the place, and a very specific window that I can still see right now.

Over time though, love can not continue to be that strong if it has nothing filling it. Each betrayal, each lie, knocks the foundation a little more off the slab until even the house itself can’t withstand the weight of the emptiness. One day, I stopped making lunches. I stopped caring about that window. The porch just reminded me of laughs, drunken nights together, and the dancing. The dancing was my favorite. But it was all gone. So, I began to be disgusted by the porch too. All that pain and heartbreak stole the joy right out from under me until I finally felt something for that house I never thought I would…hate. I no longer loved that house. Every room and wall became my prison. I walked on eggshells everywhere I stepped. There was no one there protecting my best interests at all, and there never had been. Once the love left that house, a darkness took over. And when the darkness becomes stronger than the love had every been there, bad things began to happen. First, a locust of moths infested the entire home. They got into the food, and flew all around. I had never seen anything like it. The house began to crumble even more with piles of ceiling in the hallway floor all the time from it cracking. Then, a double oak tree, that had dwelled there for longer than any of us had ever been alive, one we had walked under, took photos under, made love under, split straight down the middle and one half fell into the lower yard, and the other half? Well, it fell onto this house I had loved so much.

You see, the love stopped filling the rooms. In turn, I think the house was as heartbroken as I was so it gave up and started wilting. Being there began to feel like a curse I was under. I knew it was time to go. I knew that not only was nothing going to change, but that it would worsen the longer that I stayed there. Because when real love does not exist in a space you’re in, well that leaves room for all the darkness.

Healing from that isn’t an easy task. Because unlike the other person in this story, I did love truly with my whole heart. I know more now than ever that they didn’t love me. Because I was discarded like I was nothing. Because to them, I was nothing. And after being discarded and treated as if I meant nothing, they let me leave and followed suit to the same behavior they had followed the entire relationship…they did nothing. They did nothing to fight for us. They did nothing to stop me from leaving. There was no romantic swooping in to save the day and professing their love for me, because they did not feel it. I believed they could do anything. And I loved them no matter what. All I ever asked for was to be given that same love in return. But even that was a task that was asking too much. But they wanted me to continue on giving and giving despite that. I couldn’t. Their ability to be rational wavered. They became overly aggressive when asked even the simplest of questions. I wasn’t allowed to express even one word of how I was feeling without a violent outburst. I know why he did that. It’s a deflection to avoid facing even a hint of an emotion or problem that is hard. Finally, one day, after being shut down that way over and over again, I got quiet. What’s the use of wasting another second of love on a flower that has long wilted? So, I stopped watering it all together.

I will say that as soon as I left there, even through the heartache of it, the curse began to lift itself. Doors began to open that probably never would have opened if I had not faced the fear of living without loving him.

Now, I will begin another new part of this chapter this week. A huge job opportunity and I was finally chosen for it. I am ready. I have fought tooth and nail through tons of rejections to get here. I truly think all along that the veil just needed to be lifted. And now, I will be making an amount of money that is truly worth getting up for every morning. I will build my new life and build a happiness that is on my terms and solely puts the greatest intentions for myself into the universe.

And one day, when I build that and healing has truly washed over me, I will love again. I will remember what it feels like to be safe enough to give myself in that way again.

For the first time in my life, I am putting myself first. And I am unapologetic about that. Am I healed? Absolutely not. You do not heal overnight from a heartache such as this. Truly you’re never the same again. I am not foolish. I know I’ll never see that version of me again. The one I was before loving him or the one I was while loving him. I still deal now with loving him. Because real love doesn’t just disappear. I just find other places to put it. Like for the first time ever, into myself…….

Posted on by thetruthandtheliesofthejourney

On The Cusp of A Breakdown or Break-through

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I don’t know if these walls are getting smaller or if I am. Are they closing in or am I closing down? My mind is so weighted down, that I feel sick. I feel so unwell. More unwell than I have ever felt.

I want to mean something to someone. I wanna feel so wanted that it spews from my veins. I want to be surprised with a kiss so passionate that I feel dizzy when it slows to a stare. I need to be loved in a way that I feel safe for the first time in my life. How long have I waited? Waiting always….

I want to feel worth it. Worthy. Enough. Why is it so hard to do that? Why do I feel so small around everyone? There are stories you hear about people who cry out so loud that all at once, their voice is just..gone. I am shrinking smaller and smaller and grasping at straws for ways to keep moving.

It really doesn’t matter what I go through, and how hard those things are. People just assume that I will be ok and keep going and going like I am untouchable, unstoppable. Well, here’s a secret that evidently no one has figured out yet.. I am not bulletproof. And the holes have become so many that every secret and every ache and every pierce are seeping out every single one of them.

I have made excuses for my heartaches and I have tried to explain them away to protect the embarrassment of another failed attempt to love deeply and be loved deeply and entirely. However, I can not hide what I have no more room for inside of me.

I am sleeping alone every night now. Night after night, I go to bed wondering how much more silence I can endure. I am not alone in this house. Just in this bed, in my thoughts, in my heart, in this pain, and in a love that is not reciprocated in a way that I deserve. Because if it was, I wouldn’t be in this pain. I wouldn’t express it and not feel safe afterwards. There is no rescue. There is no Knight in shining armor. I can see, just like always, that they won’t fight for me, and that is enough to fully break me. What is so hard about it? Fight! Love me the way I deserve. Help me. I feel pathetic that I have begged for years for what is the bare minimum in love.

I feel like I am hiding in someone else’s house. Someone else’s life. And I am not welcome anymore. I am just another item in this house in the way. I should be stuffed in a bag or a box and donated or placed in that building. That way, everyone can do what I must be getting in the way of.

I’ve had a headache for going on 2 weeks now. I feel like I’m done. Done giving and giving and giving. I am officially pouring from an empty cup. By the end of this, I will be the new villain in the story. Not the person who has been bent and broken and drained of everything I was filled with.

Karma is a fickle little thing. They say that we get exactly what we deserve. Well, can you please tell them that I get it now, and I don’t need to learn anymore? Whoever they are…..

I don’t know why I cleaned this house. I don’t know why I am throwing all of my things away, things that have meant so much to me over the years. They don’t seem to mean anything to me now. Still, throwing them away still will never make it enough. It’s never enough. There’s always something after that I am doing wrong. Even my feelings are wrong and in the way.

Maybe by the end of this, I will breakthrough and get to light at the end of the tunnel. Lord knows it’s past time for a love that I truly deserve. But it’s different. It’s a love that is waiting at the end that is just for myself. Finally showing passion and intimacy and grace to myself that I have never been able to show before.

But I’m not there yet. I am in this room, alone day after day after day. Hurting and broken, and having to go through it in a breakdown…..

Posted on by thetruthandtheliesofthejourney

Peace In The City

Who wouldn’t love this view? Right? I have slipped into a dress up scheme for myself while being here. Today, I am the southern ‘Carrie Bradshaw’. Last night, I washed my hair, got a decent night’s sleep, and this morning, I even made it downstairs in time for the breakfast that broke my wallet for the stay here.

The decor was nothing if not exquisite. Once done eating, I decided to do a natural southern Saturday activity. Yard sales. I only went to two, but I found the most adorable shoes and jewelry. More importantly, I was instantly reminded of the real reason that I actually like to frequent yard sales. The company, the companionship, and the stories. I met two different women today.

The first yard sale, I met a wonderful woman in her 60s who was fast-coasting towards retirement and trying to hang on at her job to 67 to get the full effect of her retirement she had worked so hard for. Her friend showed up and the 3 of us laughed and talked about real-life stuff that was really relevant in all three of our lives. I honestly didn’t want to leave them. I craved the company, but I didn’t dare wear out my welcome. They are the ones who told me there was a close of house sale at the end of the street.

I drove down about a block and a half and sure enough, there was my second and final yard sale, mostly because I had already almost spent the $40 I had allotted for myself for yard sales. This nice lady sat at a table with a sister and a granddaughter and chain-smoked, which I admit, grossed me out having just quit back in October of last year. However, I digress because the conversation was worth biting through.

The sale they were having was at their grandmother’s house. They were probably in their 50s. I found cool jewelry there and found out the main seller of the yard sale made it by hand and was sitting at the table teaching her granddaughter to make it.

I spoke to them about having not long ago been a part of the sale of my own grandparents house. Which led to telling them that I had lost my grandparents and my mom back to back. Once telling them how my mom passed away, the sister pointed at the other lady and said that she too was a type 2 diabetic and was not taking care of herself. This, if you haven’t caught on, is what led to my mother’s passing.

I immediately felt an urgency to beg her to take care of herself and take every second of it so seriously. And before I knew it, I was saying it out loud to her. She received it well and actually seemed concerning when I explained to her that it was a most unpleasant passing to witness and be a part of, made much worse being my sweet mother.

Next was an uneventful trip to walmart and then back here to my hotel. I need to mention that although having two umbrellas in the car, not a one was inside walmart with me and I got drenched running to my car.

Back at the hotel, I decided to change into one of the very cute shirts I had purchased and go get a few things out of the car. It’s so beautiful how a cute outfit can make you feel good about yourself. And it did. I mean, it is, currently.

Here I sit, in a gorgeous location outside the corner of the hotel, with a beautiful view of the architecture and seemingly religious stain-glassed windows, writing.

So, how might this night end or what could it turn into? I look forward to sharing that soon…..

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I Stayed For The Flowers

I can admit that this is not where I saw myself being at when I look back 7 to 8 years ago. I honestly would have thought that I would finally be living my happily ever after. But alas, that is not at all where I sit. No, I sit in a hotel…alone. There’s no vacation amiss, there’s no couple escape, and I’m not here to visit a friend. I’m here desperately seeking some remnants of peace. I have never been so weighted down in every area of my life all at the same time. It’s though the weight of a skyrise building is sitting on top of me.

To make things more soaked with dark clouds, I have been unable to write since my mother passed away almost 2 years ago.

I have died inside over and over since 2021. My heart has been trampled on by every force you could think up. And I could never even make it up. It’s real and I wish it wasn’t. Loneliness, bad health news and changes, betrayal, death, abandonment…. You name it, it has rolled me under an 18-wheeler in a back and forth motion for 4 years.

I have never experienced feeling at the same time so scared, and feeling so unwanted and unloved sitting at this hotel tonight. I’m admitting out loud right now finally, at almost 41 years old, that I want what I deserve. I’m not sure everything that should be on that list, but I know for sure that at the least, currently, that I know I deserve to feel safe. I deserve to feel like I am not faulted for being scared or being who I am. I deserve to express what has hurt me, and when I am sad. I deserve to be comforted. I deserve romance. I deserve respect and honor. I deserve to be protected when I am in danger, and I deserve to be loved the way that I love.

I’m standing outside my room right now overlooking the pool writing this. Down by the pool, of all things that could be going on, is bounds of laughter and community. I met some of them down in the lobby today. You see, there’s a beautiful wedding going to happen tomorrow. I am just so grateful that it’s not going to be here. It’s enough to hear them all laughing and discussing love while reminiscing about all of their histories and relationships. I am not salty about them. I believe in love. I am just not 100% I have ever understood it. Ever. Right when I think I am experiencing exactly what love should feel like for me, the entire rug gets swiped right out from under me.

I have a home. I know I am not there right now, but I do have one. Well, I did. I don’t know if I have one anymore. A part of me hopes I do. The other part of me doesn’t know if it was ever truly a real home. Every year there has been spent one moment in absolute turmoil, and then the next minute having make up days for all the turmoil and then wash, rinse, and repeat.

I have spent years helping make that house into a home. It has one of the most beautiful porches I have ever had the pleasure of helping make an actual porch for a home. It’s my favorite thing to enjoy and look at at that house. Picture rocking chairs, a swing, and flowers, flowers, and garden everywhere. When things are really bad, sometimes I wonder to myself, am I staying for the flowers? It is a prominent question I have pondered to myself many many times.

How could I not have all of these things running through my mind, right? I mean, after all, I wouldn’t be in this hotel if the turmoil had not became just too much for me to literally bare anymore.

I have loved him since day one. I used to be able to say it has never faltered, my love. But one can only have unwavering love for so long without the same reciprocation before they cave in and collapse. After a barrel of betrayal, questioning why I am not enough, and realizing that literally no one around me cares if drop unconscious right in front of them due to arguing, stress and anger because of very serious health issues that are happening right now, I met my limit that I could no longer look in the face. All I could think is to get by myself so I could stop from instantly collapsing.

I’m sure you’re wondering if has gotten any better? The short answer is no. No one has ever considered me worth it enough to chase me proving their love for me. So, I have booked two more days. How ironic it is that I will check out on Memorial Day.

There’s a gorgeous bar here, and because of my health, I can’t have a single drink. I would love to be sitting here writing this with a glass of wine.

Today, instead of sweet nothing texts, he did what I thought he would do based on his behavior as of late. By the afternoon, in the few texts we have sent each other, I could instantly tell that his mood and view had changed. All of sudden, the space that I need, and the care that I need, took a backseat as usual and it became about the space that he needed and the anguish that he was feeling. It’s not that his feelings don’t matter. That’s the point. It seems as though only his feelings ever matter. I feel small. I feel less than in his eyes. Sometimes I think he’s only with me out of pity and the inability to ask me to leave. Even though he just “proposed” to me less than 2 months ago. When I really think about it, I am being put through a tailspin. Do you want me all the time? Or do you only want me when I am sick or things are seemingly good? Please tell me because I am crumbling like a rockslide. You can only have me if you love all of me.

You can not erupt every time things get hard. I have loved you and cared for you wholeheartedly through all of your darkest times and I would continue to, even right now, if you can do the same. That is why I am here at this hotel. And the reason it might have took so long to take this space could maybe, possibly be…..that I stayed for the flowers.

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I Have My Mama’s Hands

I have my mama’s hands.

Each little intricate vein running through, just as hers.

I have admired this for as long as I can remember.

We have sat them side by side, linked together by an ancestry of generations.

Both pairs having dug through many trials and tribulations

coming out scared, but still ready to fist forward and fight through another day

Even if that’s the only thing they can manage to do that day.

I have held these mirrored hands as a little girl simply walking across the street,

And I have held these hands to hers as I cried, broken hearted.

And now, I have held these hands until the blood was left only flowing through mine.

As the cool crisp air floats into season, I will 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 will yearn to watch each brightly colored leaf fall from each tree.

A rebirth of nature and a rebirth of the world.

A world that will inevitably go on.. circling in the galaxy as we, in our bubble, grieve the loss

of an impeccably compassionate, perfectly constructed, vibrant angel.

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 will watch the sun go down with a

humble heart.

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

Photo by Luis Dalvan on Pexels.com

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.

Let me honor these hands, my mama’s hands, by giving them life.

Oh God, give me the chance to use these hands for good in the memory of the one who passed them on to me.

And even as I tremor, and even when I am at my lowest, let the beauty around me humble me….

And my mama’s hands.

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I Leave You With Everything and Nothing

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I feel as though there are a lot of forms of heartbreak one can feel in their time on this Earth. And I feel that way rather a life last 100 years, or if it’s cut short right in its prime. Some experience every form of it. And those are the people that hold the most truth and strength. However, unresolved, those are also the people that go on to cause great suffering around them. And on the opposite end, there are those who have been through each heartache, did the work to heal, and allow themselves to give fully again to experience the fullness of something. And if they ever cross paths with the first version and connect in absolute, it can be disastrous.

This world can hold so much sadness. However, one of the saddest to witness or experience, especially close to home, is to witness and/or experience someone that is so much of a dreamer, that they can no longer see clearly.

I flip back through notes, years’ worth, even one as recent as my very dark birthday. He spoke of hoping and praying to see and experience all of the adventures that were being written about amongst us. It makes me feel sorry for him reading it now. Because the secret part that I could always see and held knowledge of was the blissful fact that writing down those adventurous plans, were always part of the adventure.

Each and every word penned down, a grin on the face; those poetic verbiages, were part of the greatest adventure. And in that sense, knowing now, he missed them all. He missed our greatest adventures.

While he was dreaming of other lives, other adventures, even with other people, here I sat, penning down adventures of a lifetime. Bringing them to life, I penned down a manifesto. I was living every moment of bliss we were building and had built. Both by living them, and by poetic penmanship. I sat there fulfilled. You? Sad that one could miss every single one daydreaming of something better.

When enough isn’t enough, we miss the best parts of our lives.

And now? Well now, I grow old content and fulfilled. Because adventures, I have lived them. The greatest ones.

I also get to be the saddest. Because for years, I thought I was living out these adventures with the greatest of all soulmates. And now, I am slammed with a realization that I travelled miles and mountains with a ghost. A phantom man ran his hands through my hair. A phantom shivered up my spine as he shook my world.

I flew in the clouds as I hallucinated the greatest love of all time.

And you?

I feel pain for your soul. We get one life gifted to us by mother nature’s womb. As I grow content in the gray that forms in my sweet and worn scalp, you wrinkle in regret. Too much time living in your own needs of protection have robbed you and cost you all of the incredible journeys that were right in front of you.

They weren’t enough. For you. And now, they have come to pass and haunt you. Fantasy smoke has cleared, and bones aren’t as sturdy as they once were. Thrown aside when not benefiting you, all of the things and people left in your wake dust off and come to view you like a museum piece as they live on.

And when and if this ends, I will leave fulfilled. Because heaven knows, I lived every single second of every single one of the greatest journeys of my life.

But you…. What will you leave with?

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Daydream Believer…

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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?

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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.

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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.

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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.