The Beat of One’s Own Drums

to march to the beat of
One’s Own Drums,
to imitate no one,
to innovate 
from a place of deep faith
and confidence-
such a mandate
is not for
the faint
in Heart.

it takes courage 
to be free,
to be the You
that often only You can see,
to be unique, a bit of a mystique
in a world of followers and shamers.

we were made in God’s image,
reflections of The Divine, The Most High
one and onlys are we –
wonderfully crafted 
for a specific purpose and time.

the sake of humanity pleads:
spread your considerable wings!
march to the beat of your very own drums!
no need to compete,
there is more than enough room
for everyone.

Artwork: Walking the Line, Edwin Lester @artistedlester

Loaded Head

where is my Heart in the Moment?
what does It wish to express?
what needs to come up
to come out,
to be said,
seen,
and lovingly released?

i feel no thing,
which can mean
numbness or peace,
cold apathy
or searing heat.

“just leave Me be!”
The Heart begs,
“focus on this Moment instead.
live outside your loaded head.”

Silence is A Song

Sometimes
silence
speaks louder 
than words.

So much
can be heard
listening
from the space
that binds
the human race.

Energy feels more
poignant
in deep silence;
vocabulary is more expanded.

Silence is not the
absence of sound,
no, more the concentration
of the profound.

An unmasking of sorts,
in silence,
we stand in the nude-
fully exposed-
nowhere to hide
nowhere to go-
a straight line
in lieu of
a circuitous route

A-sexual

A-sexual,
this is what
it can feel like
to be menopausal.

What use to be 
exquisitely
sensitive 
has deadened.
no amount of 
stimulation
will it 
reawaken.

not one for
medication,
I bide my time
with 
meditation.
Such is Life:
The Lord giveth
and He taketh
away and then
returneth
another day,
as per
His Way.

An Untold Story

buried deep
inside,
a part of self
wishing only
to hide,
preferring to
“live”
a lie.
how to see
it
let alone speak
it
that,
which altered
a Life.
innocence
forever lost,
a new trajectory
is now forced.

but not
without
a heavy cost.

one can only run
from The Truth
but so far
before it
festers and scars.
An untold story
will travel from life to life,
causing all matters
of angst and strife
until it is
revealed,
brought
finally
to the Light.

 

Voice

It is a
courageous
conscious

Choice

for a woman to use her Voice
to speak her Truth
from the root
of her pain
and shame
at relenting
to an old patriarchal
game
that would have her use
sex
for financial gain.
A decision that then
drives her mad,
utterly insane,
a mute
filled to overflow
in self-disgust and deep blame;
a sad dimming of her Glow,
her innate beauty she can no longer see,
feeling more like a mere commodity
to be bought and sold.

Without a Voice,
her story left untold,
passing The Burden
onto the next generation.

OLD

i look in the mirror
and feel old
outdated
faded.

i am looking through the lens of fatigue,
a tired body is ill at ease,
not always accurately does its mind perceive.

pulchritude has never been my currency,
the first thing most people see in me-
that which lent validity.

living in a world that places so much value
on physical appearance,
i mastered the art of dis-appearance
learning to hide deep inside;
shrink from severe lack of confidence;
stuff the pain with food
in lieu of alcohol or cocaine.

now, I mature,
a process treated with great contempt,
as if it were manure.

the gift of getting older
is that One gets bolder!
You tend to give
less of a fuck
to the ego
and the others
who think you just plain suck.
Ain’t nobody got the time
for that drama and fuss.