"Within each of us
Yes, it's under the surface
Is a land of mystery
Just waiting to be explored ."
a hint that there is more to life and it is uniquely yours.
i have an unpopular opinion
the title there is now, call it:
musician, programmer, writer, designer, editor...
this is me. this is all me.
i'm no master at one, i'm no jack of all trades,
i'm master of some.
this thing doesn't make you who you are
you can't be defined by your careers
or even your hobbies.
they're supposed to complete you
and make you whole.
not some competition who gets what the best
don't sweat it, you have your own path
you like making music? good. you're a musician
you like programming? yikes. you're a programmer
you like writing? nice. you're a writer
you like designing? brilliant. you're a designer
you like singing? awesome. you're a singer
only you can define who you are
you're not what others tell you
- p.a -
I’m the cling-clang of coins in my pocket,
and loose paperclips in a desk drawer.
Like lipstick and gum in a lady’s purse,
I’m a kid’s toys strewn about on the floor.
When I walk my insides rattle about,
like a janitor’s keys without his ring,
like groceries bagged by junior baggers,
I’m jumbled as a cat’s unraveled string.
I’m less ordered than a box of Legos,
or debris remaining after a storm.
Nuts and bolts in an amateur toolbox
click-clack and click-clack with even more form.
I’m just a package of random loose parts,
though the world sees me as perfectly fine.
Life is making order of that chaos,
but it’s my life and that chaos is mine.
Blogging at www.insightshurt.com
Buy “Insights Hurt: Bringing Healing Thoughts To Life” at store.bookbaby.com/book/insights-hurt
At last we lay silent
under the bliss of Joy
Your body drifting off
into another realm
where calm blankets
I watch your chest
rise and fall
listening to your breath
ebb and flow
like the gentle rhythmic tide
as you retreat and return
to the moon sprawled
across your bed
my eyes take in
every aspect of you
I find my fingers
brushing your hair
away from your face
kissing the crevice
between your nose and cheek
settling on your warm mouth
as your out breath emerges
from your lips to mine
I watch as you fall
further and further away
knowing we are separate souls
unable to save each other
from the dark night
but for now we have found a place
for our bodies to rest
in embracing arms
Syncing our heart beats
until day breaks
where we part again
There's a hello
in this goodbye.
The old us in a new me.
And I see it.
Pinpoint. Picture perfect;
A fully focused blissful vista
realised with no blur
or sloppy, slurred words -
My artistic masterpiece.
I know not what I am
But I sure as **** am scared
Sometimes I catch a glimpse
and wish I had not dared.
I haven't been myself I mumbled,
it's been a short 4 years.
Yet everyday I am humbled!
to be honest with my fears!
Surviving off my self loathing
are the devilish voices that I feed.
Watering my mind's garden is refreshing
and THAT'S the energy that I need!
This piece has a very surprisingly optimistic point of view by the end of it.
She sat on the shelf
Admiring the other dolls,
She'd been there for some time.
Watching the other dolls come & go.
The only one not wrapped in plastic.
She thought her self ****
The other dolls never staying long.
The kids & their parents quickly by passing her.
Grabbing the dolls wrapped in box & plastic.
Although very beautiful she'd sit and contemplate the worst.
Watching the other dolls come & go.
The little black doll not wrapped in plastic.
She grew resentment.
Finding the only difference was in how she was made.
Her brown skin, her black hair.
She so longed to be taken to a loving home.
She didn't come with any accessories.
The vanity that came with the other dolls.
Her smile printed across her face.
Over time it became hard for that smile to stay.
Often crying when the lights turned off and the store closed.
She wanted a home just like the other dolls.
Quickly picked up,
Hurried over to the register.
She longed to be like all the other dolls.
Watching them all come and go.
Their hair tied behind their head.
All the make up and accessories sealed in their package.
It wasn't until one of the other dolls was returned.
Half stuffed into the package.
When she spoke to the other doll,
She discovered that not all homes are what you think.
Seeing how rough she was played with.
The rough marks across her face, her hair no longer tied in the package ponytail.
It wasn't until then that she realized that the best things come with time.
Finding the best home in herself
Beautiful black doll
Taken home to meet the girl she'd be with forever
I have been fascinated by one story,
The story of The **** Duckling.
Whether a duckling or a swan,
She always stood apart.
Alone in body and thoughts,
She never was the crowd.
But chancing upon her reflection,
She discovered a thing or two,
She wasn't to waddle along,
Their purpose was not her purpose.
She knew she had to be different.
She had to feel out of place.
It took some time,
And great amount of pain,
It was the wind that caressed her wings.
It was the skies that enchanted her.
She had to rise beyond inhibitions,
To a place far far away.
The fog must have cleared
so slowly, that when
I saw the landscape
when I realized it
was there, I already must
have seen it unconsciously
just like when
I was bored, looking
at the passing people
and thinking they were just
as briefly seeing me, a girl
with dangling legs
just a girl
they do not know
and that I was her
This was suddenly clear
an awareness, loomed up
from the mist of being a child
I too was seeing myself
sitting there in the wonderful
feeling that I was myself