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Apr 2018 · 973
SLO-MO
Erika Soerensen Apr 2018
There is such peace in nature.

The absence of filling time
with words, emotions and opinions.

Just. Being. Still.

When I close my mouth and open my heart
to her fierce stillness,
I find a part of myself
so grounded and complete.

Just. As. I. Am.

FOMO has been driving
this bus for too long now.

I think I’ll turn the keys over
to SLO-MO for a while
instead.
Apr 2018 · 344
I’m All I’ve Got
Erika Soerensen Apr 2018
All I have is myself -

my one and only

til “death” do we part

Self.

I should probably start

treating me better.

Despite flaws and embarrassments and deep shame -

I’m all I’ve got.

Life is as short as it is long.

It’s time to be a champion for me;

my talents

my desires

my wishes

my dreams.

Because no one but me can live well in the present and no one but me can co-create my future.

And no one but me can forgive me for my past... ~erika anne
Erika Soerensen Apr 2018
we are not alone.

we have the cackling call of the
wise old crow
and the warbling whistle of the
persistent loon,
to remind us of that....

we are not alone.
we have the magnificent trees,
our sisters,
limbs outstretched in a forever
welcoming hug
providing shelter and shade and
authentic beauty just because
they can,
to remind us of that....

we are not alone.

we have the near-unbreakable rocks
and stones pregnant with resiliency
and raw grit, bathed in
curious colors from the
spark of life;
pinks, mauves, apricots, greys
and deep brick reds,
to remind us of that....

we are not alone

we have the playful wind and sky
weaving her many moods and contradictions,
orchestrating the elements while
caressing our skin and kissing our hair
never abandoning and always constant,
to remind us of that....

we are not alone.

we have the vivid green grass
full of ***** and willpower,
fearlessly embracing its
bold freshness and
seasonal rebirth, chanting:
"live boldly in THIS season in
THIS hour in THIS moment
because the only constant is change!"
to remind us of that....

loneliness is not a place
but a perspective.
not a feeling
but a thought.
not a reality
but an illusion.

nature is our constant comrade
showing up every single day of our lives,
regardless of the weather -
to not only breathe life into us
but right along with us.

she is us and we are her,
as we destroy her, we destroy ourselves
as we show her reverence and respect,
we show reverence and respect to ourselves,
and our Creator.

so don’t be a ****.

happy earth day
2018
Erika Soerensen Feb 2017
My truth is that I teeter atop a constant precipice of blazing boldness and utter fear.

I tip toe a fine line of longing to be unapologetically passionate, raw and subversive - and comfortingly cordial, gentle and "nice."

My favorite colors are witchcraft black and angel pink.

I unabashedly groove to both bass bottomed gangster rap and dreamy, trippy synth pop - equally.

I rise each day to blaze a trail of fiery transformation - holding my flag high in the sky for all to see and follow - and end each day wanting to hide in my rabbit hole reading about herbal remedies and making tinctures and potions that the world.

My favorite flower is the optimistic tulip, but I find strength in the weeping willow.

I sing fierce songs of freedom, injustice and equality out loud, while humming soft songs of sweetness and peace and love to myself.

I'm both Dorothy and the Great and Powerful Oz.

I long to scream wisdom from the rooftops, as long as I don't hurt anyone's feelings.

I relate to the women of both Girls and Golden Girls.

I want socialism but I don’t want anyone to tell me what to do.

I get a thrill by telling arrogant people off with a witty sarcastic remark, and then feel heavy remorse because I wish I hadn't created such a divide.

I am a warrior for women’s rights, but I’ve also been a mean girl and a recovering bulimic.

I want someone to love me completely while I love them utterly, but I don’t want to be engulfed by the heady perfume and fluorescent distraction of romance.

I admire both Charles Bukowski and Simone de Beauvoir as equals.

I don’t want to care what the hell you think of me, but I want you to love and worship me just the same.

I roll my eyes when older men date much younger women, but find myself attracted to much younger dudes than myself.

I bow to the bodies of “real women” while secretly dreaming of what it must be like to be a supermodel.

I want to be adored as much as I want to be respected.

I worship the Goddess on my knees but also find Jesus to be a true prophet of love, and kind of a babe.

I’m as silly as I am intense, and I’m as insane as I am sane.

My ultimate truth is that I'm a lover and a fighter,
a saint and a *****,
an angel and a demon,
a divine spirit and a hot mess.

I envelop each contradiction passionately, balancing them equally like a tightrope walker in the wind. Frustrated and wondering how the hell I got here, but also awestruck and loving the view.

You see, I have come to learn that the sign of a true rebel is the one who wears her heart on her sleeve - while giving zero *****, sowing compassion, taking no ****, mending fences and slaying dragons.
Feb 2017 · 746
Ashes.
Erika Soerensen Feb 2017
I used to write the saddest poems
About your ghost.
Now time passes away
Without much thought of you,
Of us.

I can inhale life without force
Because your absence is no longer
My uncomfortable past,
It is my comfortable present.
Never again to be disrupted
By our chaos.

I burned us to the ground,
And now I've found peace
And freedom
In our ashes.
It only took what felt like a million years.....
Erika Soerensen Jan 2017
A rosy-cheeked woman has a Light Brite cradled in her lap.
I see a handsome young man with a missing arm.
On rolls a beautiful paraplegic.

The woman next to me has a real fur coat stuffed in her Nordstrom bag.
I loathe this woman immediately.
A skinny girl across from me has a McDonald's bag full of food.

Three young Asian girls sit together giggling
while the one in the middle takes a selfie -
then the others critique.

A lady standing in the front looks like a fat mouse.

Miss McDonald's is on her 2nd Happy Meal
and fur hag is writing a grocery list upon her knee.
Lots of rare flesh, I'm sure.

The beautiful paraplegic has the token plump lesbian girlfriend
complete with a trendy faux hawk.

I bought Daniel and myself vegan cupcakes for our 6 mos. today.
One is lavender with toasted coconut lime frosting.
I hope he likes it.

Oh, here's my stop.
Until tomorrow....
I found a raggedy old notepad in a box from the past - my writer's notes from the 120 bus when I lived in Seattle.  I thought I'd share the reality.  No edits.
Jan 2017 · 498
Dog Is God (Tyrell)
Erika Soerensen Jan 2017
You were not meant to be anymore, dear friend
because of selfish human error.
I saw the precious life in you, Tyrell,
as did so many others who granted you
a stay of execution.
You were reborn into my life and
I am forever changed by your
angelic spirit.

Your "imperfections" were a delight to me,
your courage and tenacity inspired and endeared my soul.
Everyday I watched you thankfully enjoying
your much deserved second chance at life -
the one thing you were promised, just as I was,
in the contract of being born.
I miss you, sweet boy.

The ache of your absence runs deep,
and there isn't a day that goes by where
I don't smile and giggle at the thought of you.
Your unabashed gracelessness, your ability
to fiercely live in each moment, and your lovely tenderness.
Some dogs wanted to play ball, all you desired
was to be coddled and brushed.

Somewhere over the rainbow bridge,
I see you romping around in tall green grasses,
tongue flapping, eyes (now two!) sparkling with wonder,
while butterflies gleefully chase you in child-like play.
You shine so brightly, free of all the ties that bound you
as an unwanted canine in a world full of snakes.

You came into my life like a whirlwind, but
left too soon, like a whisper.
I am forever indebted to you for your
unconditional love, and for
showing me how deeply I'm capable
of loving another, that my heart isn't only
made of broken mirrors and lost opportunities.

You grew my heart full, and in doing so
you made me a better, more loving, and more
compassionate human being in a world gone mad.
I bow to your divinity, sweet Ty.
Dog is God.
RIP to sweet one-eyed Ty.
10-27-2014
5:15 p.m.
Dec 2016 · 915
One for One
Erika Soerensen Dec 2016
Trump nation, Aleppo sin
fighting battles we'll never win.
I am you and you are me,
something humans dread to see.

Burning effigies of terror and hate
in hopes of making America great (again).
Blue collars turned red from the loudest silence,
Inciting their God-given right to violence.

All for one and one for one,
that's how you negotiate and
get **** done.

Caring for your neighbors
does them no favors
and handouts aint for free,
but you can earn them and more
by becoming a slave
exactly
like
me.
Dec 2016 · 334
Writer's Block
Erika Soerensen Dec 2016
Inside my brain lives a lush, multi-colored
garden full of blossoming word play
and ancient discoveries.
As Venus magically touches my lips,
mind and heart, I am reborn.
She is the fiery spark that
ignites all the fireflies slumbering in my imagination,
gleefully waiting for my siren’s call.
When I’m in tune with creation it’s like
riding a wave made of all that is truly me,
and I meet myself over and over again
capturing with words the reality of my existence.
But, when I am disconnected, scrambled, fuzzy, blank, numb….
it’s the worse abandonment I’ve ever endured.
Dec 2016 · 558
FLESH
Erika Soerensen Dec 2016
Safety in bones
splintery and barbed,
cutting away the fear of flesh
as Persephone sleeps eternally.

Knees ache and bruise during restless slumber,
one on top of the other,
from running this eternal marathon
of illusive perfection.

Recklessly chasing rainbows
conceived out of the
blind imagination of the masses.
Hunger pains mistaken for redemption,
skeletons misconstrued as a life
well lived.

Freedom and courage are found
in deadly comments from innocent mouths:
“Are you eating enough?”
“You are so skinny!”
“Are you sick?”

Yes.

I am sick.

A slow, tedious sickness of my soul.
Not wanting to live with the flesh
of my past,
not knowing how to maneuver the
burdensome flesh
of my present,
while obsessively worrying over the flesh
of my future.

As I slowly **** the only self I know,
(or don’t know),
and replace her with a mask of self possession,
I unearth an exquisite relief from the dread of
never being loved because I am
too much.

In my twisted perception,
that is true death.
This is only dying….
I am a recovering anorexic/bulimic who still struggles on occasion.  I understand the insanity of an eating disorder, you are not alone.  You are beautiful.  <3
Nov 2016 · 465
Skeletons
Erika Soerensen Nov 2016
We are all fallible because we are all human.
There isn't a soul on this earth exempt from
hanging a skeleton of ignorance somewhere
in life's hidden closet.

A big, brawny bag of bones dumped atop our
fragile heart spaces, in order to quiet those nagging,
screaming egos.

Sharp elbows and boney shoulders
forcing us to truly taste the soured-sweetness of humility,
and humbly drink it down.

Peace is found in our common flaws - our shared ability
to be so **** cruel, cheap, manipulative, scared, loud and wrong.
What hurts you hurts me,
we are all connected through that which
we've decided separates us.

We are not perfect. We've all really messed up.
Sometime, somewhere we've caused pain to ourselves
by inflicting pain onto others,
and vice-versa.

It's within the murky kaleidoscope of messiness that
we find proof of our connectedness, our mutli-colored similarities,
our twin tattooed scars of wisdom reminding us of our divinity,
in the wake of this endless slumber.

We must embrace our skeletons, transform them,
set them free....
For they are our greatest teachers
holding up a mirror to our souls and reflecting
all of humanity back at us,
revealing the brightest darkness we've ever seen.
Nov 2016 · 492
this is it.
Erika Soerensen Nov 2016
How do you express the deepest grief
you've ever felt?
I want to scream at the sky
and curse this bitter agony until
it dissolves into the ether like
ashes from an extraordinary rebirth.  
I must contain myself within this scolding hot ache,
sitting within the relentless lava like a buddhist
set aflame by her own defiant sorrow,
as an effigy to the life you gave me,
and the life you're taking away.
I just wish I knew for certain that
there is more after this -
that I will see you again,
sometime, somewhere
outside of our human forms,
our intellectual cloaks,
our closets full of ego
and fear.
There are so many things I wish I could change,
hurtful words painted across a temporary landscape
for tiny moments of rotten victory.  
I wish I knew for certain we'd
get another chance to do this right.
Another chance for me to be
the doting, obedient daughter,
and for you to be the proud and unconditionally loving father.
A chance for us to really know
each other, and truly enjoy
the fact that we
do.
but, something tells me this is it.....
Nov 2016 · 771
Regret (17 syllables)
Erika Soerensen Nov 2016
Regret carves landscapes
of unmarked graves within
the shadows of myself.
Nov 2016 · 394
Slow Dancing with Death
Erika Soerensen Nov 2016
When someone close to you

is dying,

it's as if you're

both hanging from a wire

atop the steepest skyscraper

in the middle of a

technicolor city.

Slowly free falling into the
last goodbye.

And, the time that remains

until the end
is surreal with gorgeous agony.

Every moon shines silver,

and every sun bleeds gold.

Because, it's all temporary -

you, me, us, it, them, that.

Time is precious, and that

beating clock of a heart

will someday wake you up to your last morning - with them,

your last cup of coffee - with them,

your last day ever - with them.

When someone close to
you is dying,

you touch death yourself,

and suddenly that newly fragile

person becomes a desperately

important part of your life.

You can't stop death,

you can't fix death,

you can't change death-
you can only accept it

and everything that comes with it.

The anger, the regret, the fear, that

******* ticking clock of mortality

that turns your insides inside out.

And with that painful realization

comes the remedy:

Cherish every single last

breath you share together,

every last good morning,
every last embrace,

every last....last.

For we are magic, this is magic,

you are magic.

That's the bittersweet reward of
slow dancing with death,

it forces us to finally

Live Now.
Erika Soerensen Jun 2016
The cemetery trees are dancing in the wind.
Shimmying unapologetically
like a chorus line of boozed up
Burlesque dancers.

Some are tall and regal with pointed crowns,  
Isosceles dresses, neat and tidy,
Complete with Pine colored tutus.
Whoosh!
Like entering a room sliding
On your knees.
Whoosh!
Like someone breathing fresh life
Into you.
Mysterious but holy,
Divine yet impermanent.
Whoosh!
Strong yet fragile,
Gliding with the wind
In this game called life.
(and death)

Some have solid legs
And big shiny afros,
Showing everyone how
It's REALLY done.
Bump. Grind.
Confident yet elegant,
Bump Grind.
Full of themselves in the
Best way possible,
Bump! Grind!
Living.  Being.  Rejoicing.

Others have tassels
dangling from their limbs.
Shimmy!  Shake!
Shimmy! Shake!
Teasing me with their
Devastating beauty,
Shimmy! Shimmy! Shake!
Revealing my longing,
My passions,
For what?
I don't really know.
Shimmy! Shake!
Feeding me an elixir
Of fresh sweet hope
To drown freely, once again,
In immortal youth.

They all weave themselves
In the wind.
Acknowledging my existence
Through movement.
Using interpretive dance
As a symbolic conversation.

Happy to see me,
Welcoming me to their land.
Welcoming me home.
Welcoming me to
NOW.

.
Erika Soerensen Nov 2015
It baffles me how
Many who preach
Pro-life choose
To eat a ham sandwich
For lunch,
Or buy a "pet"
From a *******,
Thus taking a
Life from the shelter.

Then there are those sad clowns
Who think it's funny to say
"Yum, bacon!" when you expose the
Torture and bloodshed
Of some poor animal
Produced for food.

And, we mustn't forget
The good ol’ “humane" farmers
Who raise trusting animals
From birth only to
Hang them up, slit their throats, and
Slowly bleed them out to
Turn
A
Profit.

How can we be so disconnected?
How do we not see the
Magic in every fetus?
The wondrous exchange of
Seed to soil - just as humans -
Creating a precious being
Who also deserves a life
Of liberty and justice?

Whether two legs or four,
Wings or extremities,
Fur or skin, fins or scales,
How can we not see their
Inherent worth?

Such dire disconnect!

We were created the same
Dear human and non-human
Animal friends, out of
Magic and dreams.
We both hunger and thirst,
Bleed and seek shelter, cry out
In pain, shiver in the cold,
Fear, and fight for survival.

We all begin by breathing in Life,
And we shall all leave this earth with
One
Final
Breath.
How is that not proof of our connectedness?
www.forksoverknives.com
www.cowspiracy.com
www.earthlings.com
Erika Soerensen Nov 2015
I remember the first time I experienced the helpless lesson of loss.  My family and I had just returned from an outing at some American "food" establishment, and I had acquired a Mr. Peanut balloon which became my pride and joy.  I was only 4 years old, but I clearly remember the lucky feeling I experienced over sole ownership of this object.  My father, ever so gently yet firmly, tethered the string holding the balloon around my tiny wrist.  I couldn't wait to get home and show all the kids in the cul-de-sac what a winner I was!  But, somewhere between our car and the front door, the string - tied so diligently around my wrist - loosened and wiggled itself free of my possession.  Before I knew it, Mr. Peanut went sailing gracefully up, up, up and away into the blue June sky.  I screamed, "Oh no! Daddy, help!"  But, nothing could be done.  I stood there completely helpless as I watched my newly cherished item grow smaller and smaller above my little head.  And there was NOTHING anyone could do to bring Mr. Peanut home. No strong daddy, no act of faith, no bargaining tool and no passionate bedtime prayer could bring him back to me.  Much like future lost love, he was gone - forever in the ether.  

I experienced my first bittersweet taste of grief and acceptance on that balmy summer day, and it definitely wouldn't be my last. 
Welcome to humanity, kid.
Nov 2015 · 602
Pigeon Holed
Erika Soerensen Nov 2015
Today I saw a homeless man standing among a flock of pigeons in the city park.  The birds were excitedly and aggressively pecking at a crusty baguette some generous person donated to them.  There must have been 15 pigeons vying for a piece of the goods.  The filthy, hooded homeless man stood right in the center of the birds, unfazed yet aware - looking both melancholy and pleased.  His face was soft with a slight smirk, his eyes wide with wonder, but his body language revealed his longing for the same camaraderie as the pigeons.  Somewhere to belong, something to strive for.
Oct 2015 · 722
Life Terms (17 syllables)
Erika Soerensen Oct 2015
Sometime,
Somewhere,
Life will insist
You
Let
Go
Of the one
You
Love
Most.
Oct 2015 · 812
Stinger (17 syllables)
Erika Soerensen Oct 2015
The mere thought of
Your face doesn't
STING
Anymore like it
Did
Before.
Erika Soerensen Oct 2015
Last night I tossed
three rusty pennies
towards the I-Ching
(chinese book of changes)
once again
looking for direction
into my  blurry
future.

Magic happened.

I couldn't have received a
more freakishly amazing
answer to my query.

I read and re-read the surreal
prediction singing to me
from the ancient text.
(that even Confucius religiously consulted!)

I read it over and over and over
again, as the happy butterflies
inside my stomach flew
in swirls and twirls and dips
and dives - tickling me with
glee!

I was filled with
a Joy I’d never felt before, combined
with an assured confidence which suddenly
became my oxygen - each breath
felt like electricity and….magic.

But, just like clockwork
the voice entered my head.

"You probably threw the coins wrong."
"You probably read the outcome wrong."
"Stop kidding yourself.  This **** isn't real."
"No one gets this lucky."
"You don't deserve this."

Immediately, I could feel
the lukewarm cloak of
the voice embrace me in
its faux maternal darkness.

The embrace of the one
who relentlessly picks
at the scabs of my wounds -  
that are endlessly
begging to heal.

The embrace of the one that reminds
me of the continual pains
I’ve endured which made
me stop believing in magic.  

(see, when you carry chronic
disappointments around you
feel safest inside the lonely
arms of Pessimism).

But what if I choose to Believe?

What if I stand
at the precipice of life and
jump into its magical arms,
knowing full well it’s
going to catch me and bounce
me toward my dreams, like a
hot potato?

What if I believe that
I am entitled to inspiring, juicy, **** endless success?  
What if I believe the Universe -
with all of its magnificent possibilities -
IS conspiring to put me at
all the right places at
all the right times?

What if I believe I DESERVE all of the magic?
What if I courageously FOLLOW the path of  my dreams?
What if the oracle is RIGHT?!

Why not find out?
..
Oct 2015 · 902
Richard Pryor
Erika Soerensen Oct 2015
I watched a
Documentary about
Richard Pryor
Last night.

Did you know....

He was born in a brothel,
His mother was a
*******, and his
Father a one-time
Customer?

The closest Pryor ever got
To his Father was
When his Daddy
Unknowingly paid to
Create his son's life -
Inside a *****.

(and daddy never once enjoyed
his investment).

But, the ******* son
Became the
Clown, and
That clown transformed
All his pain
And sorrow into
Golden coins of
Laughter.

Imagine if we could all be so brave.
- erika anne
Oct 2015 · 882
Was It Just Always There?
Erika Soerensen Oct 2015
Inside the heart of a predator
Lives a little boy
Who once had Dreams
And Hopes
And Laughter
And
Love?

Someone once announced his birth,
Someone once threw a
Party in honor of his life, someone  
Once told him good job!
Someone once must have
Cared?
(of course, I'm only assuming)

At what point did
The sweet, glowing, iridescent
Boy transform into the
Dark, murky, violent
Monster?

What childhood
Nightmare haunted
Him so terribly that it
Had the strength to
Relentlessly push him
Across the
Delicate threshold
From innocent to
Sociopath?

Or....was it just
Always
There?

We’ve all been
Dealt some unsavory
Cards in life.

Some of us use our
Unlucky hands as
Weapons of
Destruction.

Some of us use our
Unlucky hands as
Torches, lighting a
Path of Courage and Rebirth
For others to
Follow.

The predator uses his
Bad luck as a group
Of thugs protecting
His heart.

Yet, within his past
Lives the
Remedy for his
Darkest demons.

All he needs
Is the courage
To face it.

But, predators
Would rather stay
Hidden in the
Dark.
- erika anne
Oct 2015 · 1.1k
Stumble (17 syllables)
Erika Soerensen Oct 2015
She stumbles
Her
Way
Thru the
Present,
But doesn't
Trip over
Her
Past.
Oct 2015 · 515
#17 Syllables
Erika Soerensen Oct 2015
We couldn't
Swim in the
Light
Until we almost
Drowned
In the
Darkness
Oct 2015 · 2.1k
He Used Me.
Erika Soerensen Oct 2015
“He used you,"
said the psychic with a
look of disgust.

He What?

"He used you.”

But, wait!

What about all those magical nights, when the starry indigo sky exposed
our souls - intertwined - endlessly
wrapped in each other’s arms and dreams - believing we
were stopping time?
It was so real,
so authentic – nothing less than Truth.

"He used you."

Nope.

I wanted to scream
in her face -
You are Wrong!
You are Confused!
Your crystal ball is cracked!
(even though she was spot on about every other aspect of my life).

"He used you."

A part of me knew she was right.
(I hate that part).
That part of me that still finds it
hard to breathe when I think about
the sucker punch he slammed
into my heart on the last day
I ever saw his face again.

A perfect swing
right through my soul,
as a goodbye
(good riddance?)
gift.

“He used you.”

Time Heals.
Shut up.

Anger and betrayal are the
hardest to let go of -  
as if I’m hanging from the wing of
a moving airplane,
holding on for dear life -  not
trusting my own strength.

"He used you."

I won't let go until my
red hot pride ceases to fuel my
stubborness and anger. I won't let go until he feels the same humiliating, soul sucker punch that I did.  I won't let go until endless, sleepless nights consume his mind as he obsessively tries to figure out how he could've been so wrong.

Then I can finally release him, and us, and all
of it – the shame the shame the shame -  
blow it all away with
one deep sigh!
Like a dandelion ******
upon the wind.

"He used you."

But, he loved me.

"Yet, he used you."

He used me?

He. Used. Me.

I wish she had never mentioned it.
Because he always said he loved me.
Feb 2015 · 359
Drowning (17 Syllables)
Erika Soerensen Feb 2015
Within my Father's
Endless
RAGE,
I am
Drowning
in a
Sea of
Shame.
Feb 2015 · 849
Higher Power
Erika Soerensen Feb 2015
I know you're
Here.
I feel you.
But, not in the way
Some
Feel you.
But in the way
Others,
Like myself,
Feel you.

I feel you
In the
Sunset.
In that golden hue
Engulfing me like a
Child's
Summer day.

I feel you
In my smiles to
Strangers.
(A surge of AHA! hits and all is well)

I feel you
In the moonlight -
Especially YOU,
Mother,
Surrounding me with
Your opal
Magick
And reminding me
Of
What's really
Real.

Which is
Her,
Which is
You,
Witch is
Me.
Feb 2015 · 395
Twilight (17 Syllables)
Erika Soerensen Feb 2015
As the setting sun
Fades to twilight,
The day's clouds
Take their
Final
Bow.
Feb 2015 · 342
Deity (17 Syllables)
Erika Soerensen Feb 2015
Each day
Make friends
With the
Invisible Deity
Known as
Your
Self.
Feb 2015 · 328
Shell (17 Syllables)
Erika Soerensen Feb 2015
This amazing shell
Is the house
Of my
Truth.
But, it is not
My
Truth.
Jan 2015 · 401
Honest Actor (17 Syllables)
Erika Soerensen Jan 2015
Close Up
on
Twisted Face,
Deflated Heart,
Not Pretty.
That Is Acting.
I filmed a short film today where I had 3 extreme closeups.  In these closeups I was tired, puffy eyed, and make-up less all while either crying or brushing my teeth.  It's nice not to live in the mind set of "must be pretty" when it comes to my art (acting) and move into the mindset of Must Be Truthful.  Liberating!
Jan 2015 · 344
Echo (17 Syllables)
Erika Soerensen Jan 2015
Each second that
goes by
He forgets me
more and
more.
Not even an
echo.
Erika Soerensen Jan 2015
If I want to save the
World,
I first have to start
by saving
Myself.
Jan 2015 · 3.8k
Sleepless in Seattle
Erika Soerensen Jan 2015
As I lay here in the dark of this room
in a city that's broken my heart over and over and over again
(or is it the other way around?),
I wonder why I keep coming back?  

Am I trying to retrace history in order to
somehow rewrite it?  

This love affair has been
tumbling along to Nowheresville
since the late 90s,
before it was a dream.
(Except in Portland).

Every corner, every amusement, every mid-afternoon sun break
has a memory attached to it,
like a
leech.

The flashbacks twist and turn
and tickle and  
feel hot and sharp -  
laced with the bittersweet taste of
melancholy and remorse.  

Shame.
Embarrassment.
Self-Destruction.
face palm

It's almost like every breath I take here
is in sync with me
lashing myself
RAW -
because, for some reason,
I deserve it.

I want this city to love me as much as I love it.
I want this city to embrace me as much as I embrace it.

I want it to want me,
as much as I want
it.

Or, maybe I just need to
Get
A
Clue.

It could be that....
Seattle
Is
Just
Not
That
Into
You.
Jan 2015 · 326
Death of Was (17 Syllables)
Erika Soerensen Jan 2015
My rebirth was
born upon
the death of what was,
and will never be.
Jan 2015 · 511
Shame Cake (17 Syllables)
Erika Soerensen Jan 2015
In youth our faces were
Bare,
Self-Exposed,
for
All To See.
Not shame caked.
Jan 2015 · 3.2k
Rebel Girl (17 Syllables)
Erika Soerensen Jan 2015
She rebels against the horrors
Of life,
To live life on
Her
Own
Terms.
Erika Soerensen Jan 2015
The woman glares at me
self-righteously
as I **** her with
kindness.
Erika Soerensen Jan 2015
The weather was unusually bright and intoxicating for a late March day in Seattle.  A beautifully lit sun was shining majestically upon the city, revealing shadowed sidewalks and snow capped mountains - a reminder of what season we had most recently endured. The Space Needle stood as brilliant and bold as a postcard photo, while tourists shuffled with dogged determination in hopes of capturing that most perfect moment of their soon-to-be memory.  Despite the sun's brilliance, there was still a windy chill in the Emerald City which required more than a mere sweater.

As I waited patiently for my bus, I noticed a woman occupying the covered bus stop across the street.  At first glance she seemed like every other "normal" woman in wait - she was bundled up in an early spring overcoat, her thickly braided hair was piled atop her head and embellished with an exotic scarf, and she had the most gorgeous red colored lipstick covering her full lips.  She wore black slacks and a long ankle length black sweater. At closer glance,  I saw she was accompanied by a child's stroller full of bulky items.  The entire thing was wrapped tightly with black plastic garbage bags to keep it covered and dry.  I then noticed the bottom hem of her slacks were filthy and terribly frayed, and her sock filled sandals were near mutilated and worn thin.  She began speaking loudly and aggressively, flailing her arms about.  She seemed to be having an emphatic conversation on what appeared to be a broken cell phone - the back of which was completely exposed - showing a missing battery.

I wondered how she got to where she was in life?  What had happened to make her lose her mind, herself?  I was engulfed with both empathy and fear, knowing that I could be just a few bad life choices or circumstances away from where she stood.  My thoughts then pictured her as a tiny, newborn baby - innocent, pure, and full of new life and possibilities.  She was once someone's pride and joy, or perhaps someone's honest mistake.  As my mind flirted with such images she suddenly became more restless, walking back and forth while expressively talking to "someone" on that non-working cellphone.  I then wondered what her dreams were as a child, her strengths and her creative gifts?  I grew angry pondering who or what made her go from an angelic child of the universe to a blabbering idiot whose only belongings were a broken cell phone, a baby carriage, and a pretty ******-off alternate reality.

At that very moment a heard a noise that sounded a lot like a skateboard.  As I turned to my left, I saw an incredibly handsome and well-dressed young man pushing himself in a wheelchair.  As we both caught each other's eyes, there was an innocent moment of mutual attraction. 

He was gorgeous, like John F. Kennedy Jr. gorgeous.  

We smiled at one another, but his smile had an air of apology and shame coloring its edges - as if he was newly destined to his life in that chair, but was trying his best to boldly accept it.  I wondered if my smile was also colored, unconsciously, with ignorant sympathy and sorrow for his lot in life.  

However, it saddened me to think of how harsh life can be for someone in his predicament.  How his good looks, skills, and charms could possibly be overshadowed by his disability  - and society's quick judgements to those who are surviving them. 

As he wheeled past me with the strength and determination of an Ivy League rowing champ, my heart opened wider while my eyes welled up with tears.  Here were two true survivors thriving as best they could in their current circumstances. Such interactions seem like enormous lessons in universal acceptance. Each of these individuals has the option, as we all do, to put a gun in their mouths or lay upon the train tracks and end the ****** card life has dealt them.  Instead, they are choosing to shamelessly BE at this moment in time, regardless of the unfair advantage life has given them in it's little game. 

Who knew you could learn so much about gratitude, humility, and acceptance from a chance encounter at a bus stop with a handsome, well-dressed man in a wheelchair, and a proud homeless woman with the loveliest shade of crimson upon her lips....
Erika Soerensen Jan 2015
I found this old, dusty pack of Tarot Cards today that made me think it was A sign.  
Time for another
Personal reading.  

The cards say they were made in Switzerland, but they're written in French with dainty photos of colorful French (or Swiss?) metaphysical past times. They were distributed by:

U.S. GAMES SYSTEMS, Inc.
468 Park Ave South
New York, N.Y. 10016
Copyright 1970.
(Wow!  45 years ago!)

I focused and shuffled the cards. 
My first inquiry was the outcome of Moving back to Seattle,
And, according to the Swiss Gypsy
Who only wrote in French,
My ultimate outcome if I moved back To the Emerald City
Was the card:

L'Amoureux,
Aka The Lovers.  

****.

I then asked another inquiry about my Outcome if I stay in California,
And my ultimate outcome was the card:

La Roue de Fortune
Aka The Wheel of Fortune.

Cha-Ching!

But, wait.
So, basically it all comes down to my choosing between....
Love
OR
Riches....?

THAT'S ******!!!
Erika Soerensen Jan 2015
Emotional abandonment
of the
Self
by the
Self
is the greatest
DECEIT
of all.

Becoming your own
personal
JUDAS,
just because it's morally:
SAFE?
ACCEPTED?
PROTECTIVE?

What a **** way to
kayak your way through
life's never ending
**** SHOW,
starring YOU
the
**** PUPPET.

Full of fear,
full of ****.

Forcing yourself to
FEEL
or
BE
anyone but yourself
is a fast train
to
CHRONIC SPIRITUAL CONSTIPATION.

baaa baaa
The word **** Puppet was coined by Mr. Lahey of my beloved Trailer Park Boys.  I just borrowed it here because I enjoy the way it rolls off my tongue.
Erika Soerensen Jan 2015
It wasn't even good anymore
It was just a
HABIT
To fill the empty
VOID.

A glue that I mistakingly
thought would
hold all of my
BROKEN
pieces together.

This pain inside of me is
DEEP
and
UNRELENTING
Burning with endless
REGRET.

This is what I feel
24
hours
a
day.

Everything is an
ACT.
Every positive thought
I must
PUSH
through my brain
as if
lifting
a
HOUSE.

This has been my struggle
All day long,
EVERYDAY
for
21 years.

Fighting and slaying and eventually saying
"I give!  I give!"
to my
RELENTLESS
Dragons.

By nightfall I am
EXHAUSTED.
Dreading the continuous
BATTLE
of tomorrow, the next day, the next, the next....

It's an endless merry-go-round of
GROUNDHOG DAY.
The same battle
The same
DEFEAT
most everyday.

How to escape?

The therapist told me (21 years ago)
She saw women's lives
RUINED
and
LOST
and turned
UPSIDE DOWN
and
INSIDE OUT
over the endless years they've been
SURVIVING
this
DISORDER.

And I thought mine was just a phase.....
May 2014 · 392
LOST (17 SYLLABLES)
Erika Soerensen May 2014
Point me in the direction
where my soul will glow as
bright as the
sun.
May 2014 · 605
ALPHA (17 Syllables)
Erika Soerensen May 2014
In the wink of a lash
the Alpha will guard her turf
while bearing teeth.
http://paulenelson.com/american-sentences-2/
May 2014 · 770
Success?
Erika Soerensen May 2014
We equate Success with  the positive
when in reality
Success can also be a negative,
like Cancer.

In this instance,
you are Yearning for its failure
Praying for its failure
Desperate for its failure!

For if that pesky little cell decides
to invade
and begin the
Dance of Death called
Metastasis,

Success is in its favor.
May 2014 · 7.9k
Insomnia
Erika Soerensen May 2014
It's that hour again,
guilt sets in
because I am
awake.

Insomnia seems to be my only ally
lately,
comforting me with her consistency
like an old lover.

I feel safe here in my lonely cocoon,
here in my head
here in my heart,
again.

This unexpected world is
of my own making,
that's a hard pill to
swallow.

Spent from wrestling demons
and
waiting for a silver lining,
endless hope
dying.

If someone knows the code
or can cut my cord,
would you please indulge me
kindly?
May 2014 · 564
Absence
Erika Soerensen May 2014
The absence of Creativity is
like living underwater.
Frigid, dark water
a still-birth.

Everyday nuances are muted by
grief of the self:
Such longing!
Such responsibility!

Because you are the only
one
Who can rise up and
Breathe.

— The End —