The Line In The Sand

Another clue stashed into the folds of his costly leather wallet. One more hinted fractured promise. How could she be so stupid? Too captivated and na├»ve to see the fraudulent grin beneath his rehearsed smile. He plays her well. Again and again. He has captured her diffident queen and has left her scrawny pawn but one space to move at a time, as his cowardly crown skillfully sashays across the board behind his guarding knight. Her mind gets instantly cluttered with a tenable amount of paranoia. Questioning his whereabouts and doubting her performance; or lack thereof. She seems to be pushing him away rather than drawing him in. Is she not enough pleasure or satisfaction? Night upon night, she searches the bed for his presence or a remnant of his virile scent. Her lonesome undesired body lays under her heavy cotton blankets as she imagines him entangled in silky red garments that appetizingly embrace smooth satin limbs. After how many burning flags will she conclusively etch her limit into the sand? When will she have gained enough strength to set sail and leave him forever stranded on shore? She is undeniably misusing her time as he mischievously spreads his semen without exhibiting a speck of culpability. Instead, she frantically seeks for more clues — more self-inflicted proof — further damaging her already broken soul. Despite the clear evidence, she investigates every crack and corner to find additional pain she can drag to rest as she reposes her racing head in her empty bed. When will she acknowledge that she is entirely deserving enough to be made a priority, and that her happiness cannot be neglected or robbed from her? To behold the endless possibilities, she must initially end the impossible. Set things free that were never truly existent. Release him and make him somebody else’s problem to fix.

Brave Soldier

To this father
he offered this daughter;
To this man
he offered this woman;
To these children
he offered this mom.

The nights weeping as a child
prepared her for the tumultuous relationship
she would run from
to raise her children alone.

She wore this life on her shoulders
because he knew she could carry the weight.
Some are born with a halo.
But, she was given war paint as she crossed past the gate.

He gave her a world he knew she could handle.

Keep Quiet

People, in general, should learn to not critique a decision when they have not lived your situation.

Disagreeing — or stating what they would do differently — means absolutely nothing; unless they have experienced firsthand what you are dealing with. They might judge or say they would have made the “better choice”, but trust your gut that the route your taking is the best option under the circumstances.

They did not live it!

Their view is therefore purely strategic and logical only to them.

Trust that if it were their emotions and their life in question, chances are they would take the exact path you did.

Have faith that you know what is best for yourself, and do not allow these people to boggle your mind.

My shoes are by the door!

By all means, walk a couple miles in them. Perhaps you would have a better understanding of the situation.

You cannot feel someone’s hunger unless your fridge is empty.

When you have gone through a quarter of the crap someone else has, then you might know what you are talking about.

Otherwise, keep your uninvited opinion to your narcissistic self!

Awakened Birth

Ever get the feeling that you are searching for others like yourself?

The sensation of viewing things differently and feeling like nobody gets the bigger picture gets quite overwhelming at times.

I consantly hear folks speaking of their enlightening moment where they were “awakened” and of feeling like their purpose called out to them.

Now, perhaps this is quite simply my ego half of me pitching its pitch, but I have always practiced kindness, love, and every other “purpose” these gurus have recently discovered. It is not new news; it dates back to strapped sandals and robes: treat others how you wish to be treated, love thy neighbour, and so on.

The amount of love and kindness I offer has always been on my list of priorities. These things are not purposes, they are qualities that can be found in “good” people.

I have always placed others first. I would hand my last chunk of bread to an utter stranger. It is who I am. I never hurt feelings or poke fun at people. Part of me wonders how these newly enlightened folks acted previous to finding their reason.

Is it possible to have entered as an awakened soul?

While others search to be good, to do better, I feel more and more like an extraterrestrial being. There is zero room to speak of the enlightenment which followed me out at birth because it would be seen as an ego trip.

My heart is big; not my head.

Guardian Angels

He silently whispers that he has to escape;
Summoning the guardians above -- words of hope;
Begs for the clutter to vanish, to finally feel enraptured by life.
Clarity distinctively appears out of reach;
He grasps onto the olive branch as it abruptly disintegrates;
Attempting to cling to any sign of his existence;
Praying to find, to be found.
To make sense of this chaotic reality he once controlled;
Asking for a speck of importance -- dash of recognition;
Drizzling explosive teardrops down the curves of his concave cheeks;
His fist in the air, his feet on the unsteady ground.
Listening for a voice, but not hearing a sound.
He shouts screams that he has been forgotten;
Swearing at the angels above -- words of hatred.
If not found, then he will find himself.



Does not turn the page in a heartbeat;
Does not treat you like you do not count;
Does not trick you into doing things; 
Does not twist your world upside down.
Does not trip you on your way;
Does not tear at your goals;
Does not tamper with your feelings;
Does not torment your soul.

Love defines a place of warmth and peace;
It is a soft spot to land that keeps you on your feet.
Love pushes you out of your comfort zone;
It tests how much you will grow and have grown.
Love makes you perform tiny gestures of kindness;
It allows you to shine and acknowledge your brightness.
Love feels good, it fits right;
It delights, it excites, it ignites.

+ vs –

The world pleads for a tad more positive inspiration and a decreased amount of negativity, criticism, arrogance, and misleading perceptions of how life outside of our personal bubble might resemble if our curiosity ventures off into the unknown and highly misunderstood surroundings.

The media depicts tales, portraying horrifying images of faraway land and cultures, as though we will inevitably be faced with enemies or natural disasters the instant we depart our doorstep. Stories are massively sensationalized because we are unfortunately and instinctively drawn to drama and drastic events of grandiose nature.

What ever happened to “the simple life” — where two people claim great pleasure in sipping tea and sharing a few good laughs?

How precisely are we meant to accept and love our “neighbour” or fellow human when the news repetitively brainwashes us into believing that “bad people” roam all around us?

Where can we — as “regular” tea-sipping people — view or hear about all good things our planet secretly has to offer?

Where can we cram our brains with positive information about life around us?

Why are heroes and saviours hidden in the shadows when they clearly deserve greater airtime than any farfetched erroneous story?

The falsified portrait of the remaining parts of the globe demonstrate to our offspring that negativity sadly outrules positivity, that doing bad seems more accrediting than doing good, that achievements practically go completely unseen and unnoticed.

Things need to change!

Apparently, the universe delivers what our subconscious firmly believes and immensely multiplies its offerings to satisfy our magnetically charged request. With the entire earth drifting off to sleep, with the very last thought or image to have travelled into their brain being of catastrophic proportions, imagine the magnitude of what the universe will return.

More negativity, criticism, arrogance, and misleading perceptions!

Blooming Pearls

Her beauty captivates the room like the blooms in an ethereal garden.
The intricate sway in her stance invites petals and stems to a dance.
The pastel shades embrace her cheeks, the pearls and the lace glorify her body and face, as she lightly caresses the floor underneath her delicate feet.
Angelic she seems, as her presence it beams, and her curls bounce around with the peaceful sound.
Her ladylike posture elegantly braces the air, as her fierceness creates wind in her hair.
Able to command and control, from her confident soul, she unknowingly attracts earned respect.
Light magnetically surrounds her aura and outlines her beautiful spirit.
Her elevated amount of pride and dignity frightens the ashamed and undignified.
She carries herself like what she carries within, as she prances the surface and spins.
Creationist of her kingdom, her throne but a chair, yet the pose in which she is seated shows to all she is there.

Curtain Call

My story is not to be heard.
It cannot be a phrase made of words. The stuff I have seen can't be viewed on a screen; cause the image would just be a blur. My life was not printed on scroll. I was unfairly placed in this role. The crowd they applaud, and the curtain it called; as the act it began to unfold. The viewers they sat and they stared, as the straps held me down in this chair. I was bound to be found, to be safe and be sound; but the emptied out seats did not care. The encore was chanted and begged. Repetition grew close to the edge. I moved on to part two, just to light up the room; but was asked to play part three instead. The chapters all end in the back, as the pages they flip like a track. Once the book it is done and you grab the next one; my story falls last in the stack. The dust it collects and grows thick, as a magicless hat without tricks. The show must go on, from the stage I belong; yet the motionless tape left me sick. My story is real, it is true. It is not to be viewed by a few. From the cast in the past, to the now and the last; there is no role involved meant for you.

Bring Brightness

butterfly, pause this chaos for me;
be the smell of the rose in the weeds.
your intricate flight,
and its precious delight,
flutter the petals in me.

butterfly, take every worry away;
be the brightness I need every day.
your delicate shades,
and their loving embrace,
fill my heart that lays well-tucked away.

butterfly, find a home you can land;
be the warmness I crave on my hand.
your inspiring wings,
and their fixing of things,
flex my limbs to permit me to stand.

butterfly, stay for a while;
be the laughter I want from my child.
your bare presence,
and long-lasting essence, 
fuel my soul with infectious smiles.

butterfly, bring gratitude please;
be flowers that bloom under trees.
your meaningful reason,
and predestined season,
follow the cycle in me.

Kick-Ass Mom

Gasping, in search of her child, she awakes through the minutes of night. While others lay lightly on their cotton-plush-pillow, she ponders the meaning of life.

A hand on her slender ribs; her eyes squinting to see if the chest of her child still performs the way that it should. She accepts what will come, but would certainly modify details she could.

The path has been beat; her feet drastically scorned from the road left behind and ahead. Reality creeps, as the sound of the crack, when she fearfully rises from bed.

The commencement each day seems an ending instead. She is countlessly last. She fasts, but her children are contentedly fed.

Folding the pleats in the crumpled-up sheets, as the wrinkles continue to form. She advances with caution; a crowbar of metal withstanding a treacherous storm.

Easing the life of all others, her strength will soon carry her through. Her heart remains hidden, but her love it is pure, it is proof.

A crisp smelling blanket covers their souls as she washes away all the dirt from her toes.

The table is set, and the dinner is served to the liking of each one around. She collects dirty plates and removes every sprinkled splatter and crumb from the ground.

For now, she provides for her loved ones a better tomorrow; despite the struggle she faces today. No crutch, no limp, no challenge too grand, can kidnap her cape away!

The mornings will brighten, the nights might grow calm. She could cave, but she’s a fighter, she’s an angel and a mom.

Ridding anxiety using the traffic light technique

The smudge of a thought turns to the creation of envisioned outcomes. The fear of what might uncontrollably unfold then causes uncomfortable physical signs to form. Sweat accumulates in the pits and the palms. Tips tremble and cannot be kept steady. What started as anticipation in the mind, transcended to the body; preparing for the worst.

From decades of repetitive training, the nervous system learns to function through a circuitry process. Each previous shocking event, whether it went well or horribly bad, left us still standing. Our mind and body therefore automatically adopt the exact defence mechanism, through every difficult moment life tosses in our direction, because it worked time after time before.

It does what it knows!

It performs the way we taught it to!

The only way to derail the predestined circuit is by allowing our mind to not control our thoughts before the unknown outcome becomes known.

Whatever will be, will be!

All the shaking fingers and sweaty hands in the world cannot change the course of the universe’s mystical way of working!

Instead of wasting energy, on trying to forcefully bend the track, focus on breathing to beautifully navigate down the unfamiliar road ahead.

Our mind frantically places airbags all around our vehicle – ready to deploy – when, in reality, the path might only be for pedestrians.

Imagine a traffic light next time anxiety creeps. Close your eyes and see nothing else. Train your mind to see only the glowing red light. The outcome will slowly unfold the way it was intended, and the light will eventually turn to green in your mind. Sit with the red light; focusing solely on its bright glow.

This repeated technique will stop all other anxiety-causing thoughts from forming, and will therefore spare you from the psychological and physical damage repeated anxiety is responsible for.

It amounts to the same result as meditation. But, for some of us, switching from a state of anxiety to a feeling of peace is really quite difficult; perhaps nearly impossible.

You do not need to envision a peaceful buddha, smell invisible lavender, or have zero thoughts, you simply need to not overthink or overreact while the light is still red. Only the universe possesses the mighty power to change the colour of the traffic light. You must trust it.

Things will fall into place alone!

Little Legs

Little legs leaping mountain peaks; barefoot through the treacherous burs and the thorns. Sheltering hurt deeply in the core of her stubborn shell; though falsely displaying a stunning assembly of well-striken armour adorned. The tested strength, in her feet, left her beat with defeat; as her best was quite shy to be good. But, mysterious wind generously gusted; gently shovelling ashes from her barely pounding crippled heart. The surface of the soil lifted her numb body, the roots beneath the dirt spoke soft whispers to her racing mind, the blow pierced through her soul, as she radiantly rose from the entangling ground. Unimaginable sense of what discretely lies past upcoming curves, chasing an unknowningly crooked journey, choosing this course. Secretely refusing to rather remain on the road where the pavement practically perforated her previous presence. Absent knowledge of where her little legs will land her, but clearly steering her soles from the soil they travelled to take her before. The gust of the blow is now wind in her hair, and she’ll run till she flies in thin air.

Dancing Darkness

Unapparent curves adumbrate her acicular, yet divine, goddess-like figure, as she baringly graces the sturdy pole with her wobbling confidence. The devil slitheringly dares her to dance; as the angel agonizingly deplores her rehearsed steps. She breaks the unbroken and smashes the fixed, as the beat repeats every hellish night and the lights of shame beam down on her darkness; confiscating her glory and pride. An endless list of wrong turns drastically surpasses her lengthy 5-inch weapons, yet she stays and sways her dignity away. The hollers and screams, to her on-scene display, release a sense of feeling craved. Her misperceived sensation of being viewed as undesirable, inadequate, and insufficient drifts from her core as she strattles the floor. Clandestinely though, she hopes for the ground to collapse beneath her to salvage the scraps of her hidden purity. Another dance, a few additional bills, before she perhaps renounces to the only her she has ever truly been expected to be. Entirely lost, in her magnetic performance, her hair strands veil her breasts like a curtain hiding the pain in her liberated chest. Tomorrow, she will flutter like an angel, but tonight she dances as the devil claims her soul.

You Come First!

Blame not yourself for another's destruction when you reclaimed yourself from being destroyed. Their response to having reached your limit belongs to them.
Be true to your you when accepting or refusing situations not meant to intrude your life. Stand for your beliefs, have your morals and values announced, heard, and respected.

Select who comes in and who must go, who stays far and who stays close. Never place yourself aside or disregard your existence. Do not cave-in when you must show resilience.

See, the choices made in your past are easier to forgive once you accept that you did not make mistakes; you were simply setting a limit for yourself with every tough decision you were faced with at that time when you decided enough was enough.

Let them gaze at the lines of your back and critique every action, word, or gesture they forced you to pose or pronounce. Their opinion concerning their stepping out of bounds truly does not count.

Miraculous Bond

Reposing, savouring each echoing tick of the clock's tock.
Showering her suffering child with endless cuddles.
Reflecting, reminiscing all aching events from the wretched past.
Smiling her worries away with a loving embrace.
Returning, sharing many meaningful moments at last.
Shifting her focus on matters that matter.
Reaching, rubbing delicate skin with a healing touch.
Staring at her precious baby with admiration. 
Reuniting, holding on tightly to a love withstanding time.
Storing the presented miracle in her heart's chest.

Fierce Fired Flames

Remarkably overcoming each disaster. Blurring her final destination -  the trickery of life modifies her predestined path.

Firmly clutching her indestructible glorious crown. Solidly strapping her overly experienced boots. Tightfully-clenching her strong iron fists. 

Winking whispers at her reflection. Powerful voice released from a statuesque look that could certainly kill.

 Weighted low-sunken shoulders. Beaten chin; pointing to the mischevious sky. Widely-spread flaps of armour. Endangered eagle that flies. 

Bullets draw blank. Sharp claws dig the plank. Tips of her delicate toes dip down; touching the water beneath. Steel skin turns to scales. Gills form as she breathes.

Fearlessly fierce, she battles each round; till her withering body gets tossed in the ground. Elements lose; every hurdle she hops. Scratching the bottom, she climbs to the top. Rungs of the ladder; like thorns to her feet. Fusing to metal, clenched jaw with her teeth.

Cup of Thoughts

As the warmth of her caffeine-filled start caresses the colour of her lips, the thoughts pour out from her feather-like tips.
As deeply-gathered memories surface to appear on blank mutated manmade birch, her voice releases from her uncontained words.
The rushing sensation, caused in her brain; similar to the sound of letters frantically throbbing from a prehistorically existing typewriter. The liquid turns cold, the pen uncontrolled. Jotting drips from her cup of overflowing ink, she chillingly discharges every drop that she thinks.

Single Bloom

Daintily, depositing lifeless seeds in the stubborn soil.
Kneeling, patting the earth with her seasoned hands;
As she invokes mother nature to commit.
Simple sprout requested;
Single vibrant colour;
Sole petal to bloom.
Daily, watering sprinkles of kindness on the selfless soil.
Praying, trusting the world with her reasoned heart;
As she conjures the universe to consign.
Reasonable sum demanded;
Respect extended in return;
Role fittingly fulfilled.
Delicately, withdrawing poisonous weeds from the settled soil.
Begging, searching the ground with her unreasoned thoughts;
As she provokes the sky to relegate.
Urgent matter required;
Understandable unanswered prayer;
Unwhole garden inside.