Categories
Poetry

For Peace

No.

Nothing is more important than peace.

Not to me.

Me who has faced the wicked fire of others.

Me who has held my own heart

and felt it break in my hands.

I have broken,

but I am not broken.

I am ready to find and keep the softness.

I am ready to find and keep the peace.

Categories
Life

Carols

It’s tradition.

And though the tradition has changed, it’s still just as beautiful to me.

I am no longer a child.

I am no longer innocent and stainless.

But there is a beating heart within me that remembers.

Merry Christmas, my beautiful bloggy friends.

From my soul to yours, Merry Christmas.

And a happy new year.

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Categories
Life

Culture

Sometimes I wish I had been born of another culture, a culture of eyes wide open, a culture of hearts wide open.

They say to resist ‘what is’ is to cause your own suffering. Am I suffering? No. But I certainly do ask the question: what if?

Would I be further along in my life journey if, as a child, my sensitivity had been celebrated by my culture, rather than shunned? Would I have saved myself years of healing from the innocent unconsciousness of those around me? Because of a rigid cultural narrative, those who have loved me have accidentally hurt me. I shudder to remember those who have held me in their lives as an insignificant supporting character.

I hope humanity soon understands that the world they see is a choice, rather than a given. I hope the beautiful little soft girls of the world are one day celebrated for the depth and gorgeous attention to detail they bring the world. How shameful that they haven’t been, thus far.

Am I angry that I was brought up starved of female role models? Am I angry that not even my Mother knew how to teach me to truly grow into womanhood? How could she? All she knew was what the western world was. Hardened. Money hungry. Black and white.

There is an aspect of me that is angry. But a bigger part of me understands. There is no one to be angry with. We have all been brought up in boxes. Every single one of us, and when you’re inside of a box (we call them cultures) you truly cannot see there is another way. Another way to see, another way to be. And if you cannot see or be, you cannot teach. You cannot change.

I hope enough eyes are opening, now, to the beauty of individuality.

I hope enough hearts are ready to be free.

Photo by Sharon McCutcheon on Pexels.com

Categories
Life

Together

I have known a life and more.

I have tasted shame,

I have found my way

on the dark and dreary road.

I am you,

and you are me.

Together,

we are human.

Together we are home.

Categories
Poetry

Darling World

Sleep tight, darling world.

How lovely and alive you will be tomorrow.

Categories
Life

Forgiven

And when she aches

she will know a world beyond herself.

Where thunder becomes her;

a raging fire, waiting to be.

How is this small softness

so wide with grief beyond the day!

How is this smile,

so often true,

suddenly drawn with a question mark?

They will know her pain

only as the tilt of an eye.

They will be forgiven by this one

before they see her sorrow there.

Always, they will be forgiven by this one.

Categories
Life

Goodbye Christopher Robin

I cried and I smiled as the credits rolled, and I knew, in that moment, that I’d found another piece of home.

The movie was ‘Goodbye Christopher Robin.’

And it was…really very beautiful, actually.

How very different the world looks through the eyes of time gone by.

How very different the world looks when you become another version of yourself.

Photo by Teresa Howes on Pexels.com
Categories
Poetry

A Simple Wish

I open my soul again and again.

Has my heart been heard this time?

So quietly it speaks for fear of breaking.

Hear me, please.

I may not carry the right words, always.

But my heart is pure,

my wish is simple.

To love, is all I wish.

To give

and to know

that I have lived in the world well.

Have I lived in the world well?

Have I lived?

Categories
Poetry

Dark Cupboard

I’m in a cupboard, peeking into the light.

If you looked, you’d see my eye,

and I’d see you.

All of you.

Even your well worn Volleys.

Especially those.

White.

(Not so white at all.)

I’d smile, but you’d not know it.

All you’d see is my eye, remember this.

Here, in this cupboard, it is warm.

It is warm,

and I see you.

I always did see you.

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Categories
Poetry

Glimmer

Beautiful are the moments

where I remember

you are you,

and I am me.

Perfectly.

Beautiful are the mornings

the sun shines on cobwebby thoughts

and there I see the glimmer of truth.

How beautiful you are.

How beautiful I am.

How beautiful.

To know that different

is not another word for wrong.

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