Categories
Poetry

This Quiet Storm

I am me.

Just me.

Not who you think I am.

Not who you wish I would be.

Just who I am.

This quiet storm.

Me.

Categories
Poetry

Today

I have found myself, today.

Once again I am everything I am.

I am the passionate stroke of theatre,

and the softest touch of poetry.

My colours are pastel:

peach and mauve,

whimsical tendrils

and earthy wooden grain.

I am woman,

and I am the ocean.

I am life

and I am love.

This day.

Authentically beautiful.

I shall sip on it and call it home.

Categories
Life

Sending A Cuddle

Hello my beautiful bloggy friends 🙂

Technically I’m still on my bloggy break, but I’ve been feeling an urge to reach out to you all and send some invisible flying cuddles, just incase you need them.

There is such thickness and density in the air at the moment, and I wanted to remind you that wherever you sit among the noise: you’re quite perfect, just the way you are.

If your petals are orange and all the rest of the flowers in the garden are pink: wonderful.You were born to be orange. So be orange.

So much love, bloggy friends.

I’ll be back next week, sometime.

xx Brooke

Photo by Andrea Piacquadio on Pexels.com
Categories
Poetry

Muddy Waters

Muddy waters are pure

beneath the mud.

Photo by JACK REDGATE on Pexels.com

Categories
Poetry

Stories

Oh, the stories we tell

to amuse

and destroy

ourselves.

Categories
Poetry

Resistance

When the wind whispers

into the bones of the trees,

it is calling to say:

‘This is life as it is.

And my breath will bend you

the way that it does.’

Resistance is futile

when you’re a tree.

Categories
Poetry

Raging Humanity

Where do I put the pieces of me

that I do not wish to see?

Where do I put the pieces of others

that cut my gentle flesh

and baste me in the black oil

of smiles and lies?

Are we not all perfect, here?

Are we not all, nice?

Tied in the sweetest bows

of comfort and light

are the stories we tell.

Tied by the jagged boundaries

of our own

raging

humanity.

Open your eyes.

It is time

to wake

up.

Photo by Mat Reding on Pexels.com

Categories
Poetry

Chains

I see the chains of humanity,

do you?

It is okay to see the chains.

They are there.

We have built them.

We can pull them apart, too,

link by link

until there is only

one sweet day

and a strawberry pie

to share.

Categories
Poetry

Permission

The song of this heart

sings

without

permission.

Categories
Poetry

Grey

Shall I sing to you only of sun shiny days?

I cannot.

The clouds are grey over the meadow

and the rain falls fat and cold

upon the emerald green.

I will not tell you the sun is shining.

It is not.

The day is grey.

It is grey, and it is beautiful.

So incredibly beautiful, you see.