Today I learned that the biggest gifts can be in the smallest actions.
From a hug
To trust
To a homemade card
Shall I Dance?
Memories dance in my head as I sleep,
not a waltz or a slow jam,
but a frenzied slam.
A synergy
of angst and foreboding fused,
a dizzying symmetry,
leaving me lost and confused.
Dreams can bring realities to the forefront
with a colorful array of musical schemes.
I hope to connect with my own rhythm,
and not be afraid to dance within my dreams.
thread of revelation: This is how I write
I do not use pens
Pens are for those who
Assume they will not
Be making mistakes
I always use a pencil
No. 2, razor sharp
Not the soft lead
I like it hard
The pencil lies gently
Between my right thumb
And my first two fingers
They do not overlap
I learned to loosen my grip
Because the lead is…
I still write with pencils too. Unpainted, natural wood pencils are my favorite…it’s the texture of them, a different kind of smooth than painted ones, and also, I don’t eat paint when I clamp ‘em between my teeth. Though I’m not particular and also write with ink and markers and crayons and about anything that’ll make a mark when necessary.
Taking Stock…The Things That Matter Most: when you’re losing someone no when you’re losing THE one you feel like…
when you’re losing someone
no
when you’re losing THE one
you feel like you’re dying on the inside
and falling apart on the outside
in Heaven one day
in Hell the next
and all you can do is
nothing
you can’t fight
who the hell do you fight
when that person doesn’t fight back
Writing and breathing are the same thing sometimes, aren’t they? As both are necessary to life?
why?
some of us
suffer more
than the others
and we don’t know why
and can’t stop all that
we really wish to…
some of us
just happen to cry
and experience pain
a bit longer than
the rest…
You are not your bra-size, nor are you the width of your waist, nor are you the slenderness of your calves. You are not your hair color, your skin color, nor are you a shade of lipstick. Your shoe-size is of no consequence. You are not defined by the amount of attention you get from males, females, or any combination thereof. You are not the number of sit-ups you can do, nor are you the number of calories in a day. You are not your mustache. You are not the hair on your legs. You are not a little red dress. You are no amalgam of these things. You are the content of your character. You are the ambitions that drive you. You are the goals that you set. You are the things that you laugh at and the words that you say. You are the thoughts you think and the things you wonder. You are beautiful and desirable not for the clique you attend, but for the spark of life within you that compels you to make your life a full and meaningful one. You are beautiful not for the shape of the vessel, but for the volume of the soul it carries
Unknown (via oblivio)
What is poetry?
It is life and death
It is the good, bad, beauty, and ugly
It is nature, it is artifical
It is original, it is repetive
It is bliss, it is pain
It is love, it is hate
It is funny, it is boring
It is blood, guts, and tears
It is pen, it is paper
It is hell, it is heaven
It is fake, it is real
It is you, it is me
It is every little detail
That happens to fall
In between
If a writer’s hand you hold
If a writer’s hand you hold
beware
the other transcribes
with unbridled fury
things of which you
may be unaware
how tight your grip
how slow your gait
how slight your lisp
how low your weight
your tiny incidentals
may become the stuff
of novels, plays, poetry
a world unknown to you
will come to know
you as you are known
your loves
your voices
your vices
your choices
the character of you
plays the leading role
if a writer’s hand you hold
Mmmmmm. So true. Did you read this one too, Honey? Now that I know you know where to read the words I’m writing, as I’m tap, tap, tapping on the keys of my shiny silver laptop and sparklin’ new phone. Thank you, justanothermemphisgirl! I LOVE this one. So very much. ‘Tis true. ~ Janean
The Girl Soul: A Book
Every book is a page
and every page a word
waiting for the reader’s mind
to expand it into a version
of his or her own
and watch it grow
like leaves on trees
and like trees upon lands
and like weeds in wilderness
unwatched, uncared
and every word is an intention
a piece of decision made
Crumbling Wall
You appeared in my life rather suddenly
ready to swoop me up like a tornado.
Soon a potent force whirled deep within
I was not prepared to bestow.
But you have gently chipped away at that wall,
which took many years to build.
Through your patience, warmth, and kindness,
qualities which helped my heart yield.
At times I feel this is only a dream
and I will wake in any second.
But when I gaze into your eyes, I know this is real
and that you are the one my soul has beckoned.
Turquoise Tangles 