We've all got both light and dark inside us. What matters is part we choose to act on . That's who we really are
Not a flat. Not an apartment in back. Not a man’s house. Not a daddy’s . A house all my own. With my porch and my pillow, my pretty purple petunias. My books and my stories. My two shoes waiting beside the bed.
Nobody to shake a stick at. Nobody’s garbage to pick up after.
Only a house quiet as snow, a space for myself to go, clean as paper before the poem.
Life is but a stopping place
A pause in what’s to be,
A resting place along the road,
To sweet eternity.
We all have different journeys,
Different paths along the way,
We all were meant to learn some things,
But never meant to stay…
Our destination is a place,
Far greater than we know.
For some the journey’s quicker,
For some the journey’s slow.
And when the journey finally ends,
We’ll claim a great reward,
And find an everlasting peace,
Together with the lord.
I’m going to love you in your weakest moments to your strongest ones.
I’m going to love you when you’re happy and I’m going to still love you the most when you’re sad. Don’t you understand? I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere I want to love you, each and every piece of you. I want you with your imperfections as much as I want you for you.
And I’m always going to be here loving you with everything.
I remember sitting on the swing in our backyard when i was eight years old, thinking about how strange it was that i wouldn’t remember that exact moment in a few months. Eleven years later & perhaps the irony of it all is how clear that memory still is for me.
i think about it often not sitting on the swing but just the messiness of memories and how at any given time, we can exist in a thousand different places just by brushing up against other lives.
it’s a scary and beautiful thing, don’t you think? there are things we have said and done that are so easily forgotten, but somewhere, in some mind, they are remembered.
i wonder about all the things i am. how in some stories i may be the conflict and in others, the resolution. how i might be nothing more than the girl who ordered a flat white with one sugar but even still, i exist outside of this body and isn’t that incredible?
we are not just living , we are painting memories . how could we not feel alive?
Some feelings and few people
Have the power to make us whole.
Others are like weapons-
Lethal guests that shatter our soul.
Have you ever been so broken;
That acid tears burn your hopes?
Have you ever had the doubt;
Chase the horizon or live like a ghost?
When flowers bloom from a broken heart;
From the labyrinths within its core.
What essence do they have?
How Far their stem can go?
If you can hear me, my darling
I can tell you what I know.
Some blossoms have the scent of melancholia
Unable to reach the surface( afraid to grow).
Others are bathed in new beginnings;
Eager to reach, the light of the sun.
Autumn 