Fill the balloon
with the exhales of anxieties.
Blow them all out
slowly
and forcefully.
Tie a knot
and let them go,
drifting into the clouds
and out of sight.
pain inflicted
One day
you will come to forgive yourself
for the pain you caused others
and for the pain
inflicted on you.
strength to keep swinging
It seems easy to tell
by looking from a distance
those who live their true selves
and those who try fitting in the mold.
Those who carve their own path, through the woods,
and those who choose the one already paved.
My true self
has an axe over her shoulder
ready to create the way only meant for her
but I wonder
if the world also sees the axe shining
like I do, heavy in my hands
and my muscles quivering,
searching for strength to keep swinging.
Strings in the sky
Haphazard strings
clumped together and strewn apart
dance across the setting sun,
with the wind
drawing closer and louder.
Coordinated strings
shaped to form a ‘V’,
multiple ‘V’s’ actually, size
and deepness ranging.
Fragmented strings
broken into beads along the thread
each a part of the whole,
beating wings
singing.
As the individual beads become clear
they blend,
mutating once more
into a cluster of thread,
dancing away
across the sky.
my mind in poem bedlam
I started to share
all my thoughts with the world,
but have been silent of late
with my brow slightly furrowed.
For although silent online,
I have been anything but.
Filling pages and pages
with words, commas and dots.
I have been writing and writing,
words pouring from my heart.
Running out ink from my pen
on topics hopeful and dark.
But although all my writing
has filled over a book,
flipping through the pages
makes me take away a look.
Some I want to keep private,
so not to cause concern.
Others I am proud to share,
for their publicity, I yearn.
There are too many to choose from
and all good in my mind,
so I elect to post none
and another writing book find.
Is this choice right? Maybe not,
but still writing I am.
Let the words fall where they may,
my mind in poem bedlam.
what-ifs
I do it to myself
I know
playing the game of what-ifs
that never ends.
The lure of possibilities
never taken,
likely never to be explored
offers respite, a getaway,
temporary change.
The hard part
is coming back.
What to make of this
Days, evenings,
once demanding planning
preparation and time away
now look at me with blank stares
seeking purpose, fulfillment.
What to make of this newfound time,
this gift, this opportunity.
What to make of my racing mind
battling unease
grasping for structure
where there is none.
May we all build a trail
Build a trail just for you.
Wind it between mountains,
across valleys.
Make it durable to weather storms
but malleable to change.
Carve out a little more each day,
find the destination as you go.
Your trail is your own
for you alone are in control.
May we all build a trail
unique and meaningful
curating joy and purpose.
May we hold the courage to defend our trail
against conforming ideals
and external expectations.
May we gain strength from others,
lending it to us
when we fall under attack.
May we unite with each other
to defend as one
and celebrate as many.
each stone tossed in
Rising up from the inner depths of me
out into clear view,
reflections and thoughts I knew existed
but of only minimal understanding.
You know the right questions
to pull them forward
and persuade me to spend more time
trying to understand
and appreciate.
Though I am a small pond
with gentle flow from the warm breeze,
each stone tossed in
stirs never-ending ripples
until I am nothing
but an ocean, turbulent with waves,
everywhere.
Push through
Fight through the urge
to turn around, to succumb,
when it feels too difficult
in the moment
to push through.
Push through anyway.
Feel the initial resistance in doing so
to then revel in the pride,
and happiness,
of taking yourself beyond the hurdle.
Push through
to feel the pride.
Dawning Words 