I think I finally recovered all the particles of me.
I had to search all over.
It was the most exhausting quest, but worth it.
I didn’t do it alone.
His love for me shined the brightest light along the darkest paths.
His strength pulled me out of quicksand multiple times.
He sheltered me from the violent storms that ensued.
He helped put me back together, one fragile piece at a time.
You see,I was the chipped porcelain doll in the window that no one wanted.
I was imperfect in so many ways, but all he saw was beauty.
So,I write this to say thank you.
I write this to say sorry for the pain I caused.
I write this to say I love you.
Tag Archives: creative writing
Daydreaming
Sometimes I drift off into outer space.
I float slowly with my eyes closed, my arms and hands spread out at my sides.
I feel the changes of the earth’s atmosphere as it bathes my exposed skin.
I ascend.
I ascend.
I ascend.
Suspended in magic.
Weightless.
I only open my eyes when I no longer feel the wind.
I open my eyes and I look forward to seeing you at my side.
These travels are for us.
The world stands still, but our universe is infinite.
The most beautiful chaos.
Constant collisions of emotions, love, fears, truth.
They explode and generate endless stars and galaxies for us to explore.
Five words I whisper to you.
One day at a time.
Give it Back
I’ve been yelling at the clock all day.
Yelling at the top of my lungs.
Stop!
Stop!
Your evil hands dictating our lives as they pass.
You point out – down to the very second- that our youth slips away from us.
You remind me that I grow old.
You remind me that time is of essence.
You give me anxiety.
Time.
No time.
Wasted time.
Lost time.
Forgotten time.
Beautiful time.
You just continue through war, famine, feast.
You just march on through celebrations, birth and death.
You remind the seasons to come and go.
Tell me, why do you torture us so?
I am begging you to slow down.
I just want to sleep in his arms for two eternities.
I just want to hear his heart beating for three eternities.
I want to hear my kids footsteps, laughter and feel their hugs for four eternities.
Time, do you hear me?
You just look me in my face and ignore me.
You just keep moving ahead without any regard.
We are powerless.
Time, you are cruel.
Jungle of Man
Processing.
Processing.
The wait can be so painful.
Uncomfortable silence consumes the moment.
It’s too late to recant your words or undo your actions.
You put them in the universe and now they hang like vines in a jungle.
Easy, accessible reminders of things never to be forgotten.
Vines that block the path to forgiveness.
Vines so thick they can’t be cut down.
So we wait and hope the treacherous jungle that was made burns down and spawns an oasis of understanding, love and commitment.
Processing.
Processing.
Processing.
Speechless
A word can’t describe it.
I don’t think a word actually exists.
I know that I exist because of you.
I’ve never felt alive until now.
Until I met you.
Loving you is effortless.
Loving you is so easy.
This connection is beyond this realm.
Some type of sci-fi, cosmic love story.
Definitely not ordinary.
Eternal.
We probably loved each other in past lives.
Souls searching across black holes through time,
refusing to stay apart.
I need you.
Inner Thoughts
I think I’m crazy.
I think, I think too much.
Like, as I drink coffee I wonder about the workers that harvested it.
Do they wake up every morning, with pain in their joints?
Just to make two dollars a week for this five dollar cup that I enjoy.
Or, were the beans picked by a child?
A child who knows no other life than to be a servant in the fields.
I wonder if they dream?
Do they sing children songs as they count the coffee beans?
Why should I be worried?
That’s just the way the world is.
Children starve.
That’s just the way the world is.
Deprived of a childhood because, well that’s just the way the world is.
We don’t need to know the back story.
Just get it here for us to consume.
Not only have I been told that I think too much,
I have been told I love too much.
“Girl, you love everyone.”
I used to be ashamed of it.
Now, I see it as a superpower.
Being able to see beauty beneath what others call, “ugly”.
Just the other day I was able to revel in the warmest brown eyes.
Each eye held shimmering glimmers of hope and dreams.
They twinkled with life under the moonlight.
I saw all this when he asked,” Do you have a cigarette to spare?”
You see, I have super powers.
You can tell me your fears and I will listen.
You can tell me your secrets and I will lock them away for you.
I am able to love when I’m hurt.
I am able to love when I’m sad.
Even when life beats me down and I am on my knees begging god to help me understand this mess called my life.
Even when the warmth from my tears drown the sides of my face in dispair and my heart aches like it only has one or two beats left and I clutch my chest trying to soothe the painful blows from the realities of life and my lungs harden and don’t want to breath anymore.
I can still pick myself up from the muddy puddles of the world and look up at the sky and get lost in the beauty of the universe.
I can still dream about love.
I can still love you.
I love you.
Oxymoron
Perfect imperfection.
Opposites that attract so naturally.
Eloquent as a violin playing as the ship sinks in the storm.
Bittersweet but so beautiful.
Perfect imperfection.
Milk chocolate for eyes that stare into the clouds endlessly.
Daydreamer, daydreamer are the words that the wind whispers in her ears.
The sun shines bright trying to reveal her streaks of tears.
She wears them proud- invisible tears , invisible fears – indeed.
She still smiles.
Shy but still proud of her perfect imperfections.
Stretch marks from the miracles of life that she bore into this wretched land of man.
Stripes of a warrior, strength of a gladiator.
Battle scars etched into skin the texture of velvet made with ingredients of honey , almonds and caramel.
Perfect imperfections.
Perfect imperfections indeed.
Remind Me, Please?
What is the thing I fear the most?
It’s so hard to choose just one.
To forget words.
To forget names.
To forget faces.
I don’t care if those faces forget mine.
I care if I forget the faces that I call mine.
So, I write my words down every chance that I get.
Just in case I forget that words exist.
One day these words will help me remember that I did exist.
Conversation With the Mirror
The hardest questions to ask are the ones to self.
So many levels of you, me, us, them, he, her, him.
How do you ask a question to “I”?
Do you know who I am?
Do I know who I am?
What’s more important?
What you know or what I know I am?
Nothing is worse than being a prisoner to the unconscious part of you.
To survive on impulse rather than sane, logical thinking.
To survive.
How do you do that with a corrupt mind?
How do you pick up the shattered pieces of broken promises and dreams?
How do you repair what they broke in you?
How do you get back what was stolen?
Innocence.
Virtue.
Pride.
Beauty.
Youth.
Respect.
How do you heal the scars?
Painful scars.
Wounds so deep they cut through flesh, muscle, bone- all the way to the soul.
Wounds hidden because of embarrassment.
You didn’t do this to you, they did.
But, you suffer because I suffered.
How unfair.
It just doesn’t seem right.
Did I suffer to get stronger?
Is that the way it works?
What a warped reality.
I would pray to be saved.
When it got worse, I prayed to die.
When it got worse, I stopped praying and then I just stopped feeling.
Numb to it all.
The equivalent to when you are sick and can’t taste, but you still eat.
I lived with a dead spirit, and I thrived.
I locked myself away and I didn’t emerge until years later.
Time flew by and now I stand in front of this mirror trying to figure out who and what I am.
The reflection still has no reply.
It just stares back and sobs silently.
Writers BLOCK
I wish it was easy for me to write down my thoughts.
At first the words are dormant, suspended in the deep, black abyss –
A dimension in my mind.
A place where I yearn to swim.
Sometimes, I can only access it in my day-dreams or in my restless sleep.
My place is a quiet beach.
When the world gets too loud, and the chaos is stifling, this is where I escape.
Where alone- I am me.
I watch the words, my feeling, my loves, floating in the ocean right there –
in front of me.
They form fragments of sentences with each break on the beach,
only to get lost in its retreat back to the endless sea.
Help me find my words!
I scream out across the turbulent ocean.
Bring them back! – I demand.
The roaring laughter from the waves just drown my requests.
I must look so silly.
So I just sit and wait for my words to return to me.
