Categories
Poetry

She Remembers

How my soul asks to be held.

How she breathes

the cotton thoughts of yesterday

through the trees

as she remembers.

Categories
Poetry

Perhaps

Perhaps

you might ask your heart what it wants.

Perhaps

you might listen.

Perhaps.

Categories
Poetry

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.

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Categories
Poetry

The River and The Stone

The river is always changed

after the stone

has pierced her

still waters.

Categories
Poetry

I Am Here

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.

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Categories
Poetry

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.

Categories
Poetry

Empty

I open my heart

and close my eyes.

And I am just me.

Just me

in this silent night.

Let me be empty.

Categories
Poetry

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?

Categories
Poetry

Unity

Unity is the magic pill.

But unity

does not look like

shaming the broken.

Hear it.

It is this,

my truth,

I speak.

Categories
Poetry

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.