How my soul asks to be held.
How she breathes
the cotton thoughts of yesterday
through the trees
as she remembers.
Categories
She Remembers
Category: Poetry
Perhaps
you might ask your heart what it wants.
Perhaps
you might listen.
Perhaps.
Categories
Stop. Imagine.
Stop.
Imagine.
There is a human here and a human there.
Both are different, vastly so.
Human number one feels okay being bombarded with a box full of emails. He tackles them, one by one, and then he continues on to more busy things. He flies to the top of the work chain. He never rests. Not even when he’s sick. Successful. They say.
(Nobody can figure out why success looks like that.)
Human number two feels overwhelmed by emails and noise, so instead he chooses to paint. Beside the trees. He struggles with focus, but he needs to struggle with focus, because if he focused he’d lose his flow. His authentic flow. The thing within him that changes the lives of others in profoundly beautiful ways.
(Nobody can understand him. Nobody can figure out why he’s broken like that.)
He feels ashamed. He has a choice. He takes medication so he can be more like the first guy. Everybody breathes a sigh of relief.
He slowly dies inside.
And so does everyone around him because
where are all the beautiful things?
Imagine.
Stop.
All toxic cultures die.
Everybody is happy, being the person they were always meant to be.
Everybody.
The end.
Categories
The River and The Stone
The river is always changed
after the stone
has pierced her
still waters.
Do not look at my face
and tell me
I am beautiful.
Do not look at my skin
and see your hands
upon my life.
Look at me.
Look at me.
I am here.
I have always
always
been here.
Categories
Love and Pizza
I firmly assure you.
Love
is all
there is.
Stop mucking around
and get on with it, world.
The pizza tastes better, there.
I open my heart
and close my eyes.
And I am just me.
Just me
in this silent night.
Let me be empty.
Categories
The Stories We Tell
The stories we tell ourselves
about what life
is,
does,
means,
will make our hearts
or break our hearts.
The choice,
I suppose,
is ours.
Make, break
or both, sometimes.
If only the answer were simple.
Then again…
what is simple?
Unity is the magic pill.
But unity
does not look like
shaming the broken.
Hear it.
It is this,
my truth,
I speak.
Categories
I Have Loved
I only have to give
this love that I have.
I only have to give it,
and cherish the way it feels
to know I have loved.
brooke-cutler.com 