Mother’s Love

I remember your butterfly flinches and your turning around as I slept with a body pillow to hug and protect my body; temporarily serving as your home. Your subtle internal responses to the sound of my voice, and the way you followed the comfort of my hand.

I remember the excruciating pain. But the instant you cried, and I held your febrile body, wrapped in a warm blankie, the joyful tears trickled down as the stitches of the open nest were being sown.

I remember your first bath, your first drive home, the first time your precious eyes squinted to get a glimpse of me.

I would lay on my back, your ear flattened to my chest, and would sing songs as I gratefully observed the miracle before me in awe.

Your flawless complexion, your tiny brown eyes, and every other inch of you was pieced and delivered to perfection. The twitching smiles, you silently shared, as your pleasant dreams made you giggle.

In that very identical moment, I vowed to always be there for you; despite the struggles ahead.

Hold on to my hand as you clinged to my finger with all of your might.

A mother’s love it is granted, unconditional too. I will always accept you through all that you do.

Tickled Thumb

He slipped her heart into his denim pocket, brushing her bangs from her purely crafted beauty. He tickled her thumb, with the stroke of his presence; allowing a sense of relief and security to encompass her body. 
He offered his love, with the warmth of his soul. She was broken apart, but he saw her as whole. In great disbelief, as he sat there and stared, at the elegant woman before him. 
Her skin, the symbol of love. Her curves, the crush of his lust. The dimple he desperately seeks, behind tear-covered cheeks, resurfaces as he smothers her with hope.
He gazes down slightly, at her palm, in his hands; caressing her sorrow.

Unknown Path

Remarkably overcoming every disaster. Blurring her final destination, the trickery of life modifies her predestined path. 

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

Winking whispers at her determined reflection. Powerful voice releases from a statuesque look that could kill.

Sunken shoulders carry the impossible weight of the world. Her undefeatable chin points at the mischevious clouds up above. She widely spreads her endangered armour, throwing glances at the defeated battle below.

The bullets draw blank, her sharp claws dig the plank.

Her steel skin transforms to unscrapable scales. Gills majestically form, permitting her to breathe. Her toes turn into amphibious paddles. Navigating the darkness of the lonely sea, as she frolicks in the depths beneath.

No challenge is too grand for her courage to be captured. 

She prances like a feather, through the grass and the fields. She swims freely through crashing oceans, and succeedingly soars in the bipolar sky. 

There exists not a beaten path she's not daring to try.

Is this the one?

Petrifying pound pinching behind the brittleness of her chest. Escalating sense of uncertainty painfully gasping each breath.

Sweat from her palms, holding down her weak knees, as she cradles and rocks for the burning to leave.

Inexistant aid, not a witness around. Thoughts of being found tightly curled on the ground.
Will this be the one?

Body uncrisping, air flowing through, knotted up limbs begin to undo.
This wasn't the one.

 Inhaling cautiously, praying agony's possibly done.
Position vertically rising.
Will the next be the one?

Rocky Lotus

Fragility, stuck in cement, she is a vase of flowers underneath the bling and the tats. She's a sprinkle of bad and a whole lotta sass. The stubble she wears, on the sides of her crown, removing her hair as it falls to the ground. She's a lotus of rocks, a petal of stone, in a garden of sticks she's a fountain of bones. The scars on her face are like veins from a stem that's been plucked from the field and tucked into cement. 

Acrylic Pores

Dripping dabs of her aura and revealing secrets as her colours splash across the plain canvas. The thickened paint pours from her refined pores like acrylic wine seeping from her chest. The burning brush beats to the rumbling crash of her emotions as she covers the edges and corners of her story portrayed. The paint leaks from her pastel fingers as it colours her oily cheeks with a hint of a smile. Her tale dissipated from her fragile core, leaning strong against the sturdy wall for all to admire the fire released from her flames.

Knotted Vines

An unreachable dream of glittering streams and whispering fairies. The knotted vines entangled in the density of dark shadows. The shivering cold weakens the warmth of the flowers and freezes their stems to the imperfect ground. The crippling roar of the clawing creatures deafens the laughter of the creeping critters as they scurry beneath stones to not be found. The glistening moon becomes engulfed by the immense spook of the clouds. The life of the dreamer unravels all but enchantment. 

Stop the Cycle

Self-esteem: Others will try to drag you down through their use of hurtful words or display of careless actions. They will poke at your weaknesses and belittle you to try and break you down.

Self-doubt: You will begin to believe what others have wrongfully said about you. You will second-guess who you thought you were. You will wonder if you somehow deserved for them to break you.

Self-destruction: You will convince yourself that the blame is yours to carry. You will begin poking at your weaknesses instead of relying on your strengths. You will try to fix what is not fixable and was never whole to begin with. You will abandon your own needs and desires, simply to make things right again. You will feel lost, hopeless, and responsible for everything. You will feel completely broken.

Self-reflexion: You will begin questioning everything about yourself, in an attempt to rebuild your confidence. Like an eagle, overlooking the situation down below, you will begin seeing things from a different perspective in order to see the lesson for what it is. You will ask yourself how you can put your pieces back together.

Self-awareness: Through accepting to learn, move on, and grow from situations, you will have a greater sense of why you crumble, what makes you tick, and what weakens or strengthens you. You will reach a point of thoughts, emotions, and feelings just passing you by, and you will have the ability to simply say “hello” to what you accept, and “goodbye” to what you refuse. You will start knowing and showing what you stand for. Although some moments will still be difficult to handle, you will not allow them to consume you as they once did. You will feel enlightened. You will begin feeling fixed.

Self-care: You will commence a process where you realize that you count and matter. You will remove toxicity to attract light into your life. You will do things that are important to you. You will learn to set your limits and will ensure that these are respected. You will begin enjoying life again. You will feel good about yourself through brief, but much-needed moments you choose to invest in yourself. You will work on fixing you.

Self-love: You will accept who you are, wholeheartedly. You will surround yourself with love and sprinkle yourself with kindness. You will give others the impression that you have life figured out, as they witness your light blinding the vision they perhaps once had of you. Through loving yourself, your strengths will intensify and your weaknesses will dissolve. Those who enjoy poking others will realize that you cannot be poked. They will acknowledge that their technique only works on the vulnerable folks who have not yet reached this part in the healing process. You will surround yourself with good people and appropriate feelings. You will finally have stopped living your life in the same redundant cycle that has continuously destroyed you. The more love you exude, the more love will freely enter your life. Don’t be fooled! You might still have difficult moments or harsh critics to overcome, but the more you practice the green, the further away you will be from the red. You are you! Being you is wicked awesome, and you deserve nothing in return; aside from genuine love and pure happiness! Others will stop breaking you, because you will feel unbreakable. The vicious cycle will be broken, not you!

Wired Brains

Every one of us has been programmed, from an early age, to deal with our emotions, feelings, and difficulties, the way our parents showed us to. Whether that means sucking it up buttercup, or kissing it all better, depends on aspects such as transgenerational transmission and teaching better when you know better.

Our parents, through their own trials and errors, either willingly or unwillingly (but rarely ever ill-intentionally), try shaping our future to prevent us from reproducing the same “mistakes” they made in their younger years. Often times, they unknowingly condition our reactions and thought process through modeling their own self-regulating methods. Children are either not taught to self-regulate from lack of attention received; from refusing that any form of feeling, emotion, or vulnerability be spoken of, acknowledged, or dealt with; from never having needed to because their parent firmly regulated them instead; or from learning to wrongfully react to their surroundings and to what is eating them up inside by copy/pasting through example.

In no way does this place the blame on our caregivers, who did what they could with what they had and what they knew (lets not forget that their brains were also wired to “survive”); it simply explains a big piece of the puzzle as to why our electrical minds and mechanical hearts function differently from one person to the next.

Most of the time, our current situation rattles our core; not because of the present moment, but due to how a similar event caused us to react in the past. Our wires automatically send waves of the last time I felt this way or this happened, this is how I reacted and it worked. We therefore repeat the reaction, over and over, because that is how we were programmed to “survive” and move on.

It is actually possible to completely reinvent parts of your DNA; to drop the unfortunately often imposed transgenerational transmission anchored within us, and to reprogram our “survival” methods. Lots of work is needed, but by simply acknowledging the feeling or emotion, allowing ourselves to feel what we’re feeling in the present moment (as nothing more than a feeling), reflecting on how WE wish to work through it, and moving on, we can slowly rewire our brains.

There is absolutely NOTHING wrong with being slightly or overly emotional, or feeling overwhelmed at times; it is entirely part of our natural human nature and required self-development. Learning to choose how we react, and being able to self-regulate, are primordial needs to successfully achieving individual fulfillment.


No emotions are shown. They are rigid as stone. They whisper and hum, in their bubble, alone. Blocking smells, light, and noise, pitching tones from their voice, inappropriate things make them smile and rejoice. Away from the crowd, when the people are loud, endless talking of things you care nothing about. The hyper or hypo (real sensitive touch) makes them hate being rubbed, or they cradle too much. They speak from their mind, without filters or signs, or they overreact to what you find benign. They take things too literal, repeat what’s retained, then, they run it in circles; inside of their brain. They piece things together, the way they know to, and the pieces land snug, but seem unfit to you. They do wonders in art, and their memory’s strong, but cannot seem to fit in the group they belong. What seems like a curse, is a blessing (dressed up), cause they push hard in life and they never give up.

Fire and Ice

Touch from a flame
like the blade of a sword.
Bitter ice bits
as a pinch from the cold.

Numbness of finger tips
rubbed to keep warm 
like a lava-filled ocean
with magma that forms. 

The burn as it melts
from the depths of your blood 
like humungous-arse icebergs
that shrivel the flood. 

You heat heaven; 
yet freeze over hell
like mom nature be casting 
a mystical spell. 

Above or below 
the barometer scale.
Like fire joins ice 
your blood blisters and boils.

Thick and Thin

Through buckets of tears and puddles of rain, he stood brave through the storm; by her side.  Turned the string to a rope, when she ran out of hope, as he tucked her limp body at night. 

The streaks in her strands, they grow old like her hands, as the depths of her wrinkles expand. Through the thick and the thin, from the good to the bad, still devoted to being her man. 

He has carried her heart, till now from the start, and his love it will not fade away. As others would run, for the sake of his "one", he has chosen with her he would stay. 

Give and Take

Forgiven sins,
Stolen souls,
Bitten shells become dust.
Given; yet taken.
Begins and it ends.
As it should, and it must.
Grieving loss,
Losing love,
Rotting limbs into crumbs.
Given; yet taken.
Begins and it ends.
As they will, when it comes.
Express feelings,
Grip freedom,
Release all the fears.
Given; yet taken.
Begins and it ends.
As you can't, once it nears.

Lighted Lupins

The fresh scent of lupins is sent across land; as wind leaves the neighbouring waves. Liberated perfume (extracted from vast meadows) descends through the white water river, trickling down through the man-made town.

Folks from the sea, offer biscuits and tea, to whomever comes sit for a chat. Every child’s a cousin, from stories ago, and the older ones stomp; as they jig on the floor.

Little, yet more, love and less lack. Periodic escapes in cabins down tracks, immensely dense lupins tease them all to come back.

Cheeks of Stone

Forcefully standing, yet brutally misunderstood, he trots through life with armour for sleeves; a stoic slave to his parts, ripped apart from his heart. 
His tranquil vulnerability is superficially cloaked with a fallacious quantity of perfection and is sumptuously styled to portray an indestructible coat of arms. His emotionless appearance crumbles from the eternal dryness of his cheeks. "Be a man!", they shouted. 
His weakness renders him magnificent, but the carelessly moulded stone that blocks his pores and blurs his thoughts remains intact. Unable to chip at the monstrous boulder, gentle caresses delicately dismantle his titanium-layered skin. 
A streaming tear seems prohibited, but a sturdy rock does not dissolve in rushing waters.
The noticeable extravagance and grandeur of a man is not diminished at the slightest smidgen of emotional discomfort. There exists no apparent need to achieve a tearless legacy status. 
Feelings are meant to be worn on sleeves; not buried beneath flat sheets of metal and solid stone.


Foreign unattainable concept to some, but abundance to most. Repeatedly searching to discover what does not hide and cannot be found. A thought of a thing that should easily be felt; not thought. There is no falling into it or out of it, it is there or nonexistent. Its presence does not drag along pain; only its absence or loss holds that power. There should be no conditions lurking in its shadow; determining whether it remains or dissipates. It carries pure happiness and joy; not painful hurt and judgement. It improves sense of worth; not guilt and doubt. No scale, no increments can define it; there it is, or it will never be. It does not appear with a hammer and needs no building; the foundation is not a project, and sturdy walls should not need to be dismantled. It does not resemble a piece of home; its wholeness is home in the adequate form. It soothes and appeases the soul without tearing and breaking the heart. It is a merry dance; not an eggshell tip-of-the-toe walk. It does not go, through words or actions, it does not grow from watered seeds; its non-toxic air should bring you peace and should allow your lungs to breathe.

Put your blue tee on!

As I stood there, second guessing the outfit I had firsthandedly selected from the mannequin on display, I felt the warm touch of an old soul cling to my bare forearm. I could literally count the well-defined wrinkles on her right hand; like the rings of a rotting fallen oak tree. She further approached me, in a near “too close for comfort” sort of manner, and murmured softly to me (while peeking in the opposite direction): “I’m sorry ma’am for all of these tears, but my husband has mostly been having bad days lately and today is a wonderdul day because he feels handsome”.

Unsure of what had just happened, my eyes left the elongated mirror and turned the other way; to where she was looking. A very old man stood proud, with a bright blue regular tee on, as he smiled cheerfully at the glass reflecting his posture. His level of content was possibly comparable to that of a two-year-old boy, riding in a coin-operated car, right down to the very last penny, in the middle of the shopping centre.

As he scurried away to remove the happiness from his chest, the old woman turned to me, once more, and added: “with his advanced memory loss and state of delirium we rarely ever get a smile out of him”. As the lump crept up in my throat and tears began overflowing in my eyes, she thanked heaven for the perfect blue tee and said: “today is a good day”. Little did she know, I cried my pretty little blue eyes out the instant they exited the store.

I will always hang on to this event; which I am so grateful for. I think back to this old fella often, and, without knowing it, his happiness that day has since inspired me a great deal.

When life seems to be falling apart, I close my eyes and remember his impactful smile in the mirror. If a simple blue tee can miraculously make an old hopeless couple forget overwhelming worries, for a few split seconds, then a smile can fix or help me focus on what truly matters. Unfortunately, not all days are guaranteed to be good. When they are, embrace them!


The tangled stubborn knot in the profound pit of her concave stomach. The murkiness blurring her capacity to remarkably navigate across the treacherous waves of life. The weighted cinderblock wrapped tightly to her delicate ankles. The strangulating pressure testing her battered heart. The “im” to her possible and the “un” to her kind.

The mud clumped densely to the stem of her refined lotus. The oversized gloves strapped to her unbreakable fists. The reason to her falling dirt and the cause to her rising ashes. The “un” to her apologetic and the “im” to her penetrable.