I water me

It seems I have the energy to spread myself around a bit
more than I thought.
I've realized how dangerous and limiting it can be
to get stuck in the stories we tell ourselves,
about ourselves.
I spent so much time feeling angry and bitter
about who I wasn't or thought I couldn't be.
But the truth is, those are just untapped facets.
My potential is great, just like anyone.
You can do many things, but not every thing.
I'm smart and witty and courageous and kind
and sometimes silly and real and full of hope.
All these things and more.
Strengths Quest shared the lesson of focusing on strengths
at the top, not all the rest below it.
Harmony. Empathy. Developer. Relator. Restorative.
All of those things and more.

I write to become visible,
to remind myself I exist and have words and vision.
I exist. Just as I am.
I'm growing my own damn garden. I water me.
Planting those seeds and watching 'em sprout.
It's fun, it's real, it's sometimes confusing,
but I'm not scared.
I've survived that controlled burn.
I'm growing my own damn life.
One bit and moment at a time
I evaluate what I like and don't
directions I'd like to sprint
and when it's ok to just be.
To just sit and be right here,
right now.
Just me. Just me. Just me.
So so free.


What the Water Gave Me. Frida Kohlo. 

Even though I struggle still, always will.

Things I took for granted.
Couldn't see the tree you are.
The forest, you see, it grew unwieldy.
You forget and seperate and fantasize
of green, green grasses.
Of laughter and joy beyond compare,
of others that weren't there.
Maybe your dream came true,
even nightmares can, too.
One or both or each other.

Can't say it and won't say it
not to you.
To miss, to miss, to say things
that don't matter anymore.
It fixes nothing,
but my head is clear.
I'm singing and singing to myself
even though I struggle still,
always will.

Love and well wishes through the flags around my heart.
We're bad at predicting happiness, they say.
All along, I knew it had to happen just this way.
Another dollar, another day, another skirt floating by.
We're special because we're not. All the same.
Blood veins and childhood shame and softness within
running around and searching for a will, a reason, a way.
through it, around it, to make sense of it all.

The world isn't really so crazy, neither is love.
It's just that finding it makes you feel faint,
can run a dagger straight through.
Then there's all the ways it might disappoint you.
Expectations and demands and wants and unequal hands.
The only error is getting attached to any of it, they might say.
Attachment is the way and name of the game,
but I'm re-branding what that looks and feels like.

Trying my damnedest to be ethical and fair along the way.
I'm a scientist, you see.
Prodding and probing and swaping and trading variables.
Seeking relief, but finding tidbits and bits in the process.
So damn much to learn and retain and re-train.

Today I put on mascara and captured my hair blowing in the wind.
Captured who I was in that fleeting moment,
sitting here and still here.

Bite Down

Relief reveals itself ever so slowly,
but I'm grateful all the same.
It's true what they say about time,
it does heal
but more so quickly with a calculated eye and ear
to what you feel and what it means
and how to learn and grow.
To have perspective.
It seems some get stuck in the process,
and that very well coulda been me.
Stuck and stammering and angry.
But it seems I wasn't meant to live there,
at least not now.
I thank the goddesses for the resilience
and commitment to betterness.
It happened and is happening,
a continuous process
of riding all those waves and tackling battles
of tears, of psyche, of such strong emotions and beliefs.
You fight for so long, it's easy to forget the strength it takes
to get up and go and move on and on.
But then the moments of levity and open air make themselves known.
I've starred up equal parts cursing the skies, yet amazed at grace
and gratitude and channeling strength I never knew before.
Healing is pain and healing is hard,
but you bite down on that rag or wood piece
and complain and moan all the way
one day waking up and realizing you made it.
I made it.
I made it.
Thank the goddesses almighty, I made it.


Art by Sofia Bonati.

Jazz and Soul and Loneliness

Oh what a difference a day makes.
The changes in perspective and moments of reprieve
are all that get me through.
Flirtation and necessary reminders
of what is possible and what could be true.
Thank you, thank you, universe.
I promise to not turn a blind eye,
I am in the midst of a rebirth,
a new leaf and reunification.
I'm a sucker for jazz and soul.
The soul of each new soul I encounter.
Each possibility of connection and togetherness
reminds us the world isn't nearly so small,
so alone, so hopeless.
Though we are alone and struggling with the inherent loneliness
of existence and taking up space.
The trick is to not judge the feeling,
we all feel it and trudge through it.
Let's trudge together, shall we?


Art by Eugenia Loli.

A Sorceress in All that Remains

It's true I likely focus too much on feeling put through the wringer,
without realizing that I competed. I tried hard and for so long.
I wielded the weapons of war,
tasted and knew both sweet love and the bitterness and again sweet.
I fought and fought and loved and loved.

You don't want to believe it will not be quite enough.
Love conquers all, they say.
Love finds a way.
But it's not true, you see?

It's not that I'm tainted or sullied beyond repair,
it's just that I see love all the more clearly.
There are many ways to use love. This love we speak of.
Use it well, use it poorly. Abuse it, lose it.
Take it for fucking granted.

Sometimes love conquers just you,
it shows you the foolishness in believing it's all there was.
It's a fire, it's a flame.
It can rage and roar and burn so quickly out of control.
I felt it, the good and pain and the burns that remain.
To have held such a thing, for even a time.

Mostly I just feel like an untamed sorceress, newer to magic.
Learning the dark and most pure of magics.
Conjured it up and watched as it grew and grew and grew,
never felt concern about it's sustainability.
Oh to watch it grow, to cultivate it
and have someone there with you aiming for it to thrive.

We tried, we tried. My lord, did we try.
But the love magic doesn't care.
It cackles and revels in joy
as it watches you burn alive, toil and turmoil all the same.
It doesn't care that you care. That you tried.

The death of love is an odd thing to feel, to know.
With each memory of joy and happiness,
you feel it drain from you, taken from your very heart and hide.
I think the depiction in Eternal Sunshine is so fitting and fair,
it's true that even as the anger and sadness runs through,
you can't help but feel grateful and want to hold the goodness so near.
The complexity of it all is that it all coexists,
it hurts so because it was so good for so long.

So grieving, you see, it almost feels like a process of honoring,
what you had, what you are, what you hope to one day be.
You memorialize that person and that time and love,
and try not to lose perspective as it burns through the core of you.
It was pain, but it was joy and it was love,
one day, I hope that's all that remains.

Favorite Dinosaur

I'm not sure there's anyone I can talk to,
though not because of lack of willingness.
It's just that there's nothing to say,
no new insights or reflections to bear.
No additional healing or revelations.
Not now.
I'm just breathing, reminding myself this is the way
That today is better than even a month ago.
Do the grief work, feel the feelings.
It's not glamorous to do the work and feel it all.
And the contrast isn't fair, but what of his feelings?
Where do broken hearts go?
I'll never know, mine is firmly lodged in my chest.
Nowhere to go, but here.
And whereever you go, there you are.
I sit with that and think of it and spite it.
I wish you'd go, I wish your spirit would leave my realm.
All in due time, when the time is due.

I once heard that every emotion stems from two places,
love or fear.
Today as I walked myself through breathing,
I identified fear and the fear that I'll never feel that way again.
Who's to say?
Thoughts are not facts. Thoughts are not facts.
The struggle is surviving those impossible moments,
being your very best friend and enthusiast.
I'm learning to do that and have such gratitude
for the friends and loved ones that remind me it is possible.
They prop me up in the midst of blues and hysterics.
It's ok, it's alright. You're doing this just right.

Healing and medicine presents itself in many forms.
What it is one day may not be the same the next.
Seeking and searching and healing,
without consciously using anything to self-medicate.
I've seen what that can do and I understand the appeal,
but I'm trying to channel strength and focus
to feel the feels and work through the pains.
Each day, every moment.
It might be easy to blame you or others,
but I've done that. It's not the way. I've tried it.
Mostly there's nothing and no one to blame.
Life and love is a continuous gamble.
We all and each you and I played this game.
Maybe it's true there are no winners.
Does it mean we shouldn't play?
Doubtful.
This one wants to know what my favorite dinosaur is.

Ambitiously Stuck

Am I ambitious? Am I stuck?
Perhaps, ambitiously stuck.
They say they're looking for a hard worker with goals.
My goals lie in wellness, in contentment,
in connecting and making the world a bit less seemingly big.
The aim of helping and guiding others through the darkness,
formal or informal, a goal nonetheless.
I don't need fortune or fame, per say,
but it'd be rad to be known for noble things.
Crazy classic life.
I don't need to be the person who shows off abs
or speaks of gym visits and far away lands.
It's hard to not at times feel overwhelmed,
to compare and contrast,
though I recognize it ineffective and ill advised.
My goal is to understand and be at ease
with so much that cannot be known.
To know thyself and love every bit.
To tackle the spiritual realm,
to change the world one tear and happy glance at a time.
That seems worthy and important, to me.