reel in
my feelings?
no!
been there,
done that.
lost a seminal piece
of my femininity.
then, a new body.
we do not return
as we came.
bits of us fall away
over time.
we give them away
unconsciously
desperate
to simply
hold
on.
reel in
my feelings?
no!
been there,
done that.
lost a seminal piece
of my femininity.
then, a new body.
we do not return
as we came.
bits of us fall away
over time.
we give them away
unconsciously
desperate
to simply
hold
on.
not a physical
space,
my Home.
a defined address
in some town
within the confines
of country.
no,
not the Home
that beguiles me.
must be
untethered,
all over,
wherever Soul aligns,
The Rivers flow,
and the winds beckon.
surrendered,
receptive,
fear-less,
curious,
adventurous,
my path,
make and break bonds,
have and do less
to Be more.
.
π
.
stay with us
here
please
fully incarnate
not easy
for you
we know
the air
often heavy
here
very dense
so much sadness
pain
disappointment
a seeming lack of
basic kindness
disproportionate
to the joy
The Light
and tenderness
still
we ask
be
here
now
stay
your Presence
is requested
know that
you were carefully crafted
for such moments
as these
that you are
a vital piece
of this Universal Puzzle
a pivotal role
you play
in this Grand Comedy
without you
a different story
an alternate trajectory
one affects all
all affects one
no separation
hold on
stay
you are not
alone
never were
never will be.
.
π
.
likely
the most egregious
manifestation
of toxic masculinity:
Empire –
the relentless
drive
for bigger and more,
the insistence
to divide
and conquer,
to possess
and hoard,
the thirst
to pillage
and hurt
indiscriminately –
children,
women,
trees.
at its highest vibration,
masculine
is creative
and generative –
the perfect complement
to the feminine.
when did it all go astray?
fortunately,
The Pendulum
always
swings both ways.
nothing
lasts
forever.
poet,
a prophet
who tells truths –
sometimes directly,
at other times, cryptically
depending on context
and the audience.
.
poet,
an oracle,
playing in
the different realms
with graceful fluidity.
.
poet,
an empath,
sensitive to energy,
penetrates the masks.
.
poet,
a tree,
deeply rooted
in the Soul,
limbs reaching
for the mind.
.
many reasons
the choice
to care
for another –
love,
guilt,
greed,
obligation,
tradition,
expectation.
regardless,
this work
takes much
in and from.
it tests patience
and frays boundaries,
can become
all encompassing
and, at times,
heartbreaking.
critical, caregiver,
to care for yourself
in equal measure.
fill your cup
to then pour from,
eat with abandon
to then feed
with boundless compassion.
.
π
.
β€οΈ
once
upon a particular time,
there lived a little girl.
curious was she,
always observing and asking,
wondering and wandering,
in her own world.
one day,
she came to a fork in her road.
“hmmmmβ¦,”
she exclaimed,
bemused.
“this is The Way,”
an old Owl pointed.
“no, that is The Way,”
a young toad insisted.
perplexed no more,
the little girl
promptly
sat
down.
.
π
don’t feel like
what I was
then
just yesterday.
body feels looser,
more spacious.
mind,
lighter
a little less judgment
and constriction.
heart
beats slower,
breaks faster,
heals
spontaneously.
all of me
stretching,
breaking agreements
defying parameters
that no longer fit.
maturity
settling in,
eldership,
dusk.
.
ππ₯°
.