When the cold seeps through your skin, thinking how many times you've walked here alone when you might have been lying in the arms of lovers, warm and comforting, don't sit there shivering. You weren't meant for those chains.
You were meant to rise on cool mornings and swim in deep, clear ponds, to walk along mountains and stand at the edges of cliffs, to gaze at stars -- drawing strength from their fiery motion.
Hear Lucius/Jerry read the poem: humanist-art.org/old-site/audio/SoF_015_kathy.MP3 . This poem is part of the Scraps of Faith collection of poems ( https://humanist-art.org/scrapsoffaith.htm )
Covering ourselves in night cream, we fight our wrinkles, and buy anything that says anti-aging. We want our skin to stay frozen. Frozen in a time when we didn't even appreciate the glow of young skin. Spent our entire youth hating what we saw in the mirror and doing everything we could to keep it covered. Under thick masks and dark outlines we tried new products, techniques, designs, Searching for one that made us feel pretty. We let - no - we pay doctors to stick long needles into our soft features and change them with chemicals making us less human and more plastic and that's just our face our bodies? we do so much worse Starving ourselves till our heart shrinks in the only thing running through our brains is you are fat, you are fat, you are fat, and who is to blame us when everything we see is telling us to believe that “I run so I can eat” “I work out because I love food” These words are printed on shirts that we wear when we should feel powerful but instead send the messages that you don't deserve to eat unless you earn it Burning every last calorie until we are empty again We work so ******* fixing our bodies, but maybe that's not what's broken maybe the repair work is needed in our heads and in our hearts tweaking until we can find a connection of love between our bodies and our minds. The same genuine love you have for your mom, or your dog, or your daughter Unconditional, Everlasting, When will we learn to love ourselves?
I need a freedom from cynicism from male chauvinism embracing a softer masculine an absence of sexism and an embrace of a different manly-ism one seen through a more unmanly prism a less than bearing the whole weight of the family and more like living as a 'we' community not necessarily a man that's handy but one who is able to more gently lead by an example that's differently fully compassionately, unmanfully me.
Midriff burning sensation, Exactly as if it will explode, Nocturnal timings help, Stark daylight is undesirable, Troublesome five days, Ripe burning inside the temple of life, Under the wicked sky, Awry is the cup for collection, Lopsided is its construction.
Cusping the proof of life, Unfailing burning sensation, Pouting by the end of a month.
The palms sit tall stand long speak softly sing clearly search deep and wide sway in all winds but never complain never seek shelter. They are there to be found and to shade her and all who gather to hear her wisdom and to taste the colour of it.
Judges 4: "She used to sit under the palm of Deborah between Ramah and Bethel in the hill country of Ephraim, and the people of Israel came up to her for judgment." I've written a book! Deborah's Daughter (by SJ Page) https://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/B095W72GBV/ref=ppx_yo_dt_b_asin_title_o08_s00?ie=UTF8&psc=1