Howling at the moon
Night sky above me,
Counting my stars and holding my breath for opportunities that are only in my head.
I feel this bubble coming up my esophagus and through my ragged throat that is too tired of silently screaming “life’s unfair”.
Still I hold It in.
The universe has seem to have a laugh with itself about how my life is supposed to turn out, like watching myself through a window unknowing if there is even a next move.
Nothing but everything is always happening to me, not talented enough to sleep not awake enough to dream. Letting go of the breath I’ve been holding I walk inside there are no stars , just hopes and dreams that are just out of reach.
Reflection through the magnification and the determination that you strive to give. Every single ounce of yourself all of your soul depleted, as you claw your way up through the soft earth, a freshly dug grave.
Whispering winter willow trees howl through your hair, as you sit up and reach for the forbidden fruit, finding it’s bitten by the apple of his eye.
You’ll feel a small bit of pressure, a small pinch sedated and unable to be present in the moments that are miraculous.
Looking through the window and watching your life do a broadway show number unable to feel all the pieces intertwine and work together like a true team.
Group projects were never really your deal.
Being present was never your longevity.
Feeling distant and different from It all, lying down and burying yourself shallowly below the work, the progress, the determination and the denial of talent that lies beneath your shell.
Fistful after fistful of damp cold soil packed right on top just loosely enough to encase your soul, sewing new seeds over to create something beautiful.
Here I am
Stacks of papers, nonsense on every line. Hope wrapped in these paraphrases, understanding my inner most demons and coming to terms with the true me. These stories come to me like dreams and rituals passed along down my timeline that is forever changing. Understanding myself as I try to unload the ever running voice in the back of my mind, to create some sort of silence as I thrive in the chaos that is my life.
Always be brave
Forgetting to remember what we choose to let go, and why we choose this way down the winding trail ahead of us. Remember the bravery you’ve faced over and over again by just existing, remember the tribulations and corny jokes that are an echo in the moon soaked sky. Remember to be brave, remember to be yourself. Hold your ground stand firm and hold on to that small piece of you that will always be a whisper. Like a secret that only few can smell and taste and touch. Remember you are loved, and you deserve the love you seek.
Vacation in life
How you breathe I have memorized, how you sleep, I count the moments in time, feeling you close to me is the only home I will ever know.
Poems about love always rely on the comfort of cliche but the cliches hold grounds.
I think without you my rivers would dry up, the sun would stay low in the sky and the morning will never rise. Intertwined souls dancing forever in a stream of moonlight, fused together by the thoughts of time slowly passing by with you, a vacation forever in life.
I’m a mom of three my house is filled with laughter, squeals and tantrums. The prose gives me a quiet space to pick up on some type of inspiration when the world feels too loud to keep a train of thought flowing along on my own. Im also an avid phone user so anything you’ve seen from me is 100% written on my iPhone.
I’m hoping to one day be able to get the spark back that I can create my own inspiration and begin writing stories on my own accord. Until then I love to throw my own twist on every challenge I can.
By a finger tip
Just hold a happy thought. A moment in time, a gesture, a gaze across the room, a kiss.
When the glee escapes your grasp, and you’re holding on by a finger tip, diving into the nostalgia of it all. Remember it’s just to be slapped across the face and thrown into a hole of despair.
The thoughts then bubble up for a fantasy passed. Floating on by and bursting in the sun.
We are just blips on the map. A small segment in life that has continued on before us and will continue to turn and revolve when the time has decided to move on.