Categories
Poetry

Call Me Shakespeare

Oh!

Has this truth been truly seen!

But a glimpse into a floating sea

of strange reality,

but a knowing truer than true can be!

Who is Shakespeare?

That terrible, desperate soul,

falling,

falling,

landing evermore in the stories

of aching romance and tragedy?

I am Shakespeare.

I am the writer.

I am the lover.

And so are you, love.

So are you,

lover of passionate life

and love.

Categories
Life

Life Is For Living

Life is for living. It’s a lovely sentiment, isn’t it?

Lovely. And vague.

Because what, exactly, is living?

I turned thirty-eight this year, and I’m still fine tuning what living means to me. I imagine I always will be. Ever evolving. Ever learning and growing.

One of the beautiful things I’ve learnt about what living is to me, is that I have these five senses for a reason. For most of my life, I woke of a morning, achieved the mindless list of tasks laid out ahead, went to bed, and repeated the whole thing again the next day.

No wonder my soul was starving.

I’ve started to understand that, to fully live, you need to know yourself and how your senses interact with the world around you. I, for instance, am extremely sensitive and I’ve come to the realisation that because my senses are heightened…I need to be particularly conscious of my environment.

For example: I need to try and keep things tidy, both internally and externally. I feel calm when things are tidy. I feel calm when I am completing one task at a time. Overwhelm, for me, equals poor mental health and activation of either the fight, flight, or freeze response (and, I assure you, none of these survival responses have ever worked out well for me, in the past.)

This time in my life is where I’ve begun to really use my senses to enhance my world and wellbeing. I’ve come to understand that everything we perceive in life has a texture and depth, and I try to utilise this knowledge to better my life, as much as I can.

For some reason, my nervous system tends to do much better when it comes to perceiving softer, lighter more porous textures. Wood grain soothes me. Light, drifting plants soothe me. Soft pinks, mauves, light greys: these are all the colours of me. And yet, for the longest time, I surrounded myself with bright and bold…because the rest of the world did. I hadn’t learned to know myself yet.

I often think back to (and I’ve mentioned this story on here before) the discomfort I used to feel when driving to work with my Dad, listening to the two negative, grumpy radio hosts on the morning show. Every time I heard them speak, I wanted to run. I had no idea why I was feeling this way, at the time, but now I know. It was the density of their energy. The texture. It was not at all light, it was heavy and bold: never have I thrived when surrounded by this kind of dense energy. Never have I been comfortable in my own, unique (big ol’ sensitive muffin) skin.

I can’t avoid density, I know that. Life is full of the dark, the negative, the heavy. But I can try to be mindful of surrounding myself as much as possible with the softness that brings me back to life, so that’s what I try my best to do.

Humans are funny creatures. How our worlds shift and change with time and age.

And though reality often hurts, it is also very beautiful.

Life is for living, isn’t it.

And so it is: I live.

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Categories
Poetry

Twinkling Silence

Hush.

Here in the silence

that lingers between each star.

Close your eyes,

let the sweet velvet black

hold you.

And you will know

(you will know)

that this is all you need.

The twinkling silence that is you.

This is all you need.

Categories
Poetry

I Feel

My heart is open and bare,

laid out before the world again.

Their pain is mine: I give it loving arms.

I speak their truth.

I burn with mine.

They say these are words, but I know they are more.

I call them life, achingly true.

Here I am, the softest rose: bruised but sweet.

And waiting.

An open bud, thirsty for the dew.

It’s who I am, the rose, I know.

What is this dew to fall on me?

Is it love? This feeling, deep and strong.

For a world that doesn’t know itself,

a world too scared to open its heart and see?

Do not tell me I overthink.

I feel

for you.

I feel.

For humanity.

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Categories
Life

All I Am

How lovely it is

to find home again.

In this home

I am what I am,

and what I am

is a river,

a rock,

a lion,

a ballerina.

What I am

is all I am.

All I am

is all there ever was.

All I am

is all

I am.

Categories
Life

Life Beyond

I know when I am talking to a persons soul.

There is no feeling wider, deeper, more beautiful than to sit beside a friend and know them beyond their human story.

The vastness of them.

The invisible wonder; felt, yet unseen.

No feeling I’d rather choose. No place I’d rather be.

I try not to reject the aspects of humanity that never can reach the boundless home our spirits connect in: the place I find the shine in peoples eyes.

But how could life without that shine ever compare to the deep blue sea of a wide open soul?

I am addicted to my souls home.

I miss it, and my soul people, when I am not there.

Life is beyond anything I could ever think to complain about, though.

Life is beyond anything I could ever think.

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Categories
Poetry

Human Like You

Do not ask me to hate

the ‘broken’ ones.

I am a broken one

because I am human.

You are too. You are too.

Do not ask me

to turn my soul inside out

so I might fit into your mould

of unrelenting judgement.

I am my own self, and I will love them,

even if you will not.

Always,

I will love.

Do not tell them they are broken

compared to you.

They are broken differently to you.

They are human, like you.

They are human.

Like you.

Categories
Life

Choosing This

I’ve always looked beyond.

Always searched for the more.

Sometimes I wait for the more,

craving the sweet beauty of tomorrow.

Other times, I wait in fear.

For horrors that may, or may not come.

None of it is real.

None of it is now.

None of it is me…

until it is.

And even when it is,

it is not me.

It is always only life.

Life that has come.

And life that has gone.

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Categories
Motherhood

A Beautiful Mess

This messy home,

an incorrectness:

something broken

needing to be fixed.

The wars we rage inside ourselves

just to keep control,

to maintain clean,

to maintain ‘right.’

It is a mistake of the eyes

and the heart

not to see the true beauty

of a home:

messy, chaotic,

beautifully lived in.

These crumbs on the floor.

They are not bad or wrong.

They are a reminder of my children.

How lucky I am to have them at all.

This beautiful mess a child does bring.

Mess is life.

And though a pristine home

is a gift to be treasured,

so is this mess.

This mess of sweet

imperfect

life.

Categories
Life

Myself.

I have seen myself in the world around me.

In the people, things and places I love.

In the people, things and places I hate.

In the people, things and places I care only slightly for.

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I block myself from myself when I am afraid.

When love is too much, too broken or not enough.

When dreams meet reality and reality must win, for the greater good.

I block myself from myself because I don’t know who I am.

And I think I should.

Because others do.

I should, too.

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And so it is I unzip my skin and let it all fall down around me.

The aching of lost dreams.

The stinging hope for dreams to come.

They eat my soul, I hold them close.

I am meeting myself.

I am losing (and missing) myself at the very same time.

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