Categories
Poetry

Sleep

If sleep could touch my cheek,

I would ask for her slender hand

a thousand times.

If sleep did fall upon me now,

I dare not wake.

No.

I dare…not…

Categories
Poetry

My Own Peace

Some days,

I take a deep breath

and ask the world to soften.

The world never does soften.

So I fall behind its wind,

and I find my own

peace.

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

Home

Living carefully and beautifully,

I know I am home.

Categories
Poetry

Try A Little

The quiet moments when we see

we’ve been wrong.

They melt the ice of life

into sweet drifts of frost on wind.

I have been wrong

to my own heart,

often without knowing.

I have been wrong,

some days,

some days, it’s true.

Now I float in the mist

of a forgiving heart.

A forgiving heart

to soften the frost,

to sweeten the day around me.

This day.

A try a little, day,

I think.

Categories
Poetry

Take This Life

You are the beautiful breeze that knows you.

Take this life.

Make it your own.

Categories
Life

It’s Not Self Care. It’s Living. Beautifully.

We tend to just do things, don’t we, without thinking too much of it. We go places, we see people. But do we really go places? Do we really see people? Most importantly, I suppose: do we do this life as we’d truly like to, from the absolute quiet of who we are?

There was a great chunk of my life where I didn’t follow the quiet voice that, only ten minutes ago, whispered to me: ‘Grab a candle, your computer, a cup of lavender tea. Go and sit on the couch. And Brooke? Dim the lights, will you?’

This voice, of course, belonged to me. The Soft Girl, to be specific, and how lovely it was to feel her presence in the quiet of the evening (the Soft Girl is the name I’ve given to my intuition/spirit for those of you who are new, here.) 🙂

Of course, I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t interject with a teeny little side-note, to take us deeper into things. Self Care is the label most would glue to what I am currently doing with my body, my soul, my evening. But as the memory of the Soft Girl’s whisper returns to me (it was as I reached for the tea bag, if you’re wondering) I find myself rejecting this label, slightly.

Living fully, it seems, is what I am actually doing. Hearing the whispers and living them all the way through.

To me, the current collective perspective of Self Care implies a lack of something, a need for something nice to fill the spaces in between it all. For example, we often say: I’m so tired. I lack time. I lack energy. I am going to gift myself a beautiful little slice of Self Care because I lack all the above things.

The thing is this, though: don’t we all deserve to live a beautiful, care-filled existence simply because we are alive? Don’t we deserve the deeper level of care we innately have to offer ourselves, because our hearts have asked for it, and for no other reason?

I think we do.

So I’m going to start listening more carefully to the Soft Girl’s whispers, and gifting myself life to the fullest, whenever I can.

I so hope you do, too, my sweet bloggy friends.

You deserve it. Because you’re you.

xx Brooke

Photo by Taryn Elliott on Pexels.com
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.

Photo by Daria Shevtsova on Pexels.com

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.

Photo by Rodolfo Quiru00f3s on Pexels.com
Categories
Healing

Brave Face

I walk the streets listening to music that makes me cry.

I suppose I will do this until I have made peace with my past and become all that I am in this moment forever onwards, but for now, this is me: and me feels achingly beautiful. Like snow.

To walk the streets in this way, releasing newly risen anger and pain, is the gasp for breath I’ve needed to take for so long. Was I holding my breath, all those years? What did I do with anger and sadness before I learned to tie them in a ribbon of apricot sun?

I am no different to the one who reads this. Each of us travel through childhood gathering scars we will carry for the rest of our lives, or at least until we face them. I am facing mine, now.

I am feeling the anger and the pain.

I am also feeling a greater love than I’ve ever known.

For the sweet little girl I was, and still am in many ways.

For the beautiful people who loved me. How they nurtured my softness, how they pained to see it tarnished by the hardness of the world.

This is the gentle home of me.

Please, come in, just the way you are.

Photo by Kehn Hermano on Pexels.com