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

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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Categories
Healing

Escaping

I never did stop escaping. A sensitive little girl, a face and a voice unkind: I escaped. I never did stop escaping.

*

I am safe and loved in this place in the sky. I am safe. And I am loved, so loved, without a thought, without a care. I am me, and this is the sky. We are here. We are here.

*

I never did stop escaping. All around the children played. They showed me their world, and I made it what I needed it to be. I made it magic and I made it kind. They didn’t know their world was magic and kind. I did. I knew.

*

This is where my real friends live, where my heart lives. I can make the world what I wish it to be, here. The unkind of the outside feels like ice on my skin. I wish only for sun. I ask only for sun.

*

I never did stop escaping. They called me names, they spat on me, and for those moments I was there. But I never did stop escaping. I never did stop escaping.

*

This is where I am. This is me, so beautifully. The deepest ocean, the saddest stream. This is where I am.

*

I never did stop escaping.

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Categories
Poetry

Fly Away

Here I am, now.

Me.

And I fly and I fly

and I fly away, now.

Still me.

Flying, flying away.

They tell me not to fly away.

They tell me not to fly away.

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

I Am Loved

There you are

behind a soft, uncertain smile,

surprised that you are loved.

You are loved.

It is your expectation

that has made it seem not so.

You see the world and ask it to hold you

as you wish to be held,

and yet this is not the way life works.

Life will hold you as it holds you

so that you may learn

and grow

and be.

Love is born in the quiet room

between expectation and reality.

Hold yourself in your quiet

and you will finally say:

I am loved.

I am loved.

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Categories
Poetry

Muddy Waters

Muddy waters are pure

beneath the mud.

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Categories
Life

Reality. And How There is No Such Thing.

I send a text message to a friend: a message that warms my heart because I’ve said something that fills me with all the lovely things.

In my mind, I see my friend receive the text message. She smiles.

In my mind, we have just shared the most BEAUTIFUL tender moment together.

To me, this is my reality.

But that’s the thing, isn’t it?

I’ve constructed the entire story beyond reality as I truly know it to be.

The reality is that the actual version of events may have gone something like this:

I send message. Smile (all the lovely things, la la la.) My friend receives the message. My friend is emotionally triggered by something I have lovingly communicated in the message. They are not on the same page as I am. Not even one-little-bit.

Oh my goodness. You guys. Do you see what horror I have to put up with in this random little world of mine? How is a dreamy, love-hearty girl like me to deal with such a stern and logical talking to by the invisible powers that reside within? Lessons on how to live in the moment. Lessons on how to tear the dreamy light out of my eyes?

I mean, really, universe.

Shame on you for breaking a girl’s heart.

woman sitting on rock doing heart hand gesture
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Categories
Poetry

The Land In-between

The matrix rages beneath the skin and I am trapped.

So this is the land in-between.

The rose unfurls beneath a skin that longs to fall,

yet the chipped paint of a girl gone by

tethers me to yesterday.

A day I no longer choose.

Absolute quiet awaits behind the curtain of truth.

Bliss calls, and yet the world of illusion screams

so that always I must return.

I ask them: ‘where is home?’

and they ask me where I think I am

if I am not already home.

Who else knows the light behind these eyes?

Who else feels the rose opening within,

when so many see only a garden of falsehoods;

of black and white;

of right and wrong;

of normal,

of insane?

The river rolls on 

and asks me to believe in home.

The place beyond the in-between

is home.

I don’t know how I know.

I just know.

woman wearing brown jacket
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Categories
Books

Books and Reality

I’ve had thousands of best friends and hundreds of mortal enemies.

I’ve been married a hundred times and divorced a hundred times more than that, probably. I’ve had lovers aplenty, built homes, mucked stables…and all this time, I’ve insisted I am an alone person. Oh no. I have never been alone, not for a day of my whole life long.

Books are sneaky like that, aren’t they? They introduce us to friends as real as the ones that stand before us, and they break our hearts just as deeply as a lost real-life love might. Books are a powerful force, and they are as real as reality itself: because, actually, what is reality? Our mind’s perception of a scene laid out before us.

That description of reality sounds an awful lot like our experience of a book, don’t you think? The difference being: a book gives us longer to sit within the scene and hold it up against our real life for review. True reality, in contrast, usually comes and goes in a flash.

I invite you to open your mind and your heart to the idea of a book and its characters being as real as any other aspect of reality. Think of how beautifully full life would be if we all embraced that idea. No one would ever be lonely— our books would see to it that we’d have a friend for every day of the week, or at least for whenever we really wanted one.

Think of a book as another room in your house, a room filled with the most beautiful, quirky, joyful friends you could ever wish to find. That’s what I’m going to be doing from now on. And that’s how I know that I’ll never truly be the alone person I always thought that I was.

selective focus photography of brown wooden book shelf
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