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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Categories
Poetry

Waves

I have lived on this earth with them,

but not apart of them.

It is a story I have not written.

I,

( whoever ‘I’ is )

would not write a story such as this.

I am them and they are me,

and yet there is a silence so loud in the air

that feeds on my soul,

and asks me to learn to be happy

despite of it all.

I love,

and I see they would love

if they would stop

for a moment

and breathe.

There is a beautiful fire in the belly of them.

A pure, raging storm

meant for the rising of their beautiful day.

But they use it to fight.

To stay lost in childhood gone by

and I resist it.

I resist the binds their stories have gathered,

knowing I am not a story of shame, fear, or hate.

I try to hold them, I try to wait.

And yet, perhaps I might try

to fall into the ocean of it all

and understand,

without resistance,

that I am just one of many waves

surging differently to the rest.

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Categories
Poetry

One Small Me

If I am not her,

that good and lovely girl in a box,

who am I?

Now that this body is alive

with the energy of all of life,

who am I?

I believe this,

but I believe the opposite of this, too.

I love you desperately,

I hate you just as achingly.

Both can exist within, but how?

But how?

I am bursting fire,

I am calm ocean blue.

I do not understand, and I understand entirely.

For one small me,

these feelings are large.

Too large for me to carry

alone.

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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

Only And Always

The wind cannot be caught.

It cannot be moulded to perfection,

scraped and gutted

and made to be something other than

what it is.

The wind is only, and always, the wind.

And you

are only

and always

you.

Flow as you will.

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Categories
Poetry

As She Will

The sun is one

but never can shine

as one.

Her rays will splay,

and always touch the world

(in slices)

as they do.

How they splay

is a question for each new moment.

Who they will touch,

and in what way:

undiscovered.

The sun will shine as she will.

The sun will always shine

as she will.

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
Poetry

Isn’t It Funny

Isn’t it funny

that for a moment

you forgot how wonderful you are.

Sweet, dancing sunshine.

Isn’t it funny.

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Categories
Poetry

A Quiet Day

Today my heart is quiet.

And it knows deeply

that it has lived.