Willingly Stuck

Flagrant lack of maturation.
Complete unwillingness to evolve.
Unable to research or gather therapeutic information to increase in growth.
Blatantly under-developed and overwhelmingly unequipped.
The belief that sides must be picked and that battles be won.
Refusal to branch from the trunk of one’s roots.
Elongated development severed at the base.
Discovering and dismantling patterns previously created.
Tweaking at the treasure of personal existence.
Searching through depths resistant to change.
Stretching of limbs and widening of horizons.
Broadening knowledge mindful of theories unknown.
Unadaptable to surroundings.
Fading into transparent intensity.
Choosing to be without truly being.
Evolving begins when resiliency ends.
Knowledge is power unless unattainable.
Desire to reach heights is not granted to all.
Conversations with some crack like grout on a wall.
Impossible to witness my light when one seems stuck in the shade.
Unadvanced, unimproved, unawaken version standing before me.
As I throw unassimilated truth at the crackled portrait.

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Radical Acceptance

To reconstruct a firm foundation, you must primarily deconstruct the original version of your unsteady self.


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Following years of unsuccessfully trying to change, forgive or forget my past, and attempting to reposition my bricks, I realize now that I was simply adding cement or creating holes to the misaligned and wobbly structure.

Recently, I have discovered radical acceptance; which has left me feeling quite silly that a simple word like “accept” could be so immensely foreign to me before.

There are certain things in life you have not the power to control. All the kicking, screaming, begging and praying will not improve the solidity of your being when a brick should be labeled as reality instead of being seen as a crooked piece impossible to repair.

The term “radical acceptance” simply means that what is there is not meant for you to fix. That upsetting brick in your structure, or stubborn screw in your scaffold, is out of your control.

By radically accepting all of the unchangeable things in your life, you actually gain a lot of control.

Ask yourself the following question:

Can I change or control this?

If the answer is no, then it is reality – not a crooked brick. Nobody has the almighty power to change reality. You must therefore radically accept that there is nothing you can do to make that brick better; other than accept its presence.

May I Sit Here With You?

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Worn body cemented to the curb with nothing attached but his homelessness and scraps. Only blurred visions remain that creep and strike his confusion. The place and the people once creating his home are now haunting shadows as he sits there alone. The flakiness of his hair and clear chips in his teeth tell an unhandled tale of a recent journey. Permit my wandering soul to join you for an empty cup of thin tea as you triumphantly pour me the thick walls you tried scaling. Confide all your troubles and tell me your truth, and I’ll be all the people unpresent for you. I breakingly drive by your invisible home, and watch you sit there and share spoken words on your own. The immense light shed from your pores eclipses to me all the perfect lit doors. Their tea might be warm and our soul might be cold, but they know not the depths of our stories untold. Tell me your chapters enclosed in your book and I promise to listen. Find strength in your lonely fingers to turn every page as I comfort your unscrubbed shoulders and have your unrubbed back. Your tea is as void as your bottomless glass, but your cup overflows with your struggles and past. I would sit there with you feeling homeless but home, for myself too would not want to rot there alone.

One Day

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One day I will pack not a thing that I own. I will travel, venture, discover and roam. One day all my worries will be far behind. I will inhale to breathe in the beauty of life. One day I will worry for only myself. I will not be surrounded by all needing help. One day every choice will be something I chose. They will not be forced on me by those I love most. One day I will see what the world has to give. I will capture its essence among those who live. One day I will wake and will walk different towns. I will not fall asleep with this sadness and frown. One day my two feet they will show me the world. I will not be held back by the weight of my curls. One day all the air will be different and new. I will not feel polluted by carbon you do. One day all the roads will lead only to good. I will not be with folks doing nothing they should. One day I will search for more positive light. I will grow old with humans who figured out life. One day I will pack and I might not return. I will finally be living the dream I have earned.

Must Be You

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Mind your manners
Free your soul
Be your you
Do what you’re told

Change your thoughts
Achieve your goals
Set your limits
Respect the old

Sit up straight
Stand with pride
No tattle tales
Or telling lies

Look not behind
Not up ahead
Sleep at night
And make your bed

Follow laws
But value you
Do not to others
Done to you

Speak your truth
But do not blame
Please do not curse
Or use his name

Eat three meals
And drink a lot
Let go of feelings
Share your thoughts

Spoil you
But save up too
Your wedding day
You must wear blue

Pay your bills
And go to work
For others home
Take care of earth

Recycle things
And do not hoard
Breathe not from chest
But from your core

I’ve had enough
With what to do
I can’t be me
And must be you

Empty Pockets

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the drips from the plastered shield above echoed loud into buckets like rain
the growls of the children roared to be silenced with crumbs from the grains
the shallowness of the starving piggy was burning a hole
the collection of bills and lack thereof bucks
smelled like pennies that stank from the coins they had rolled
their knees they had prayed, and their hands they had begged
but his wallet was empty as cheques bounced in his head
with mouths left to feed and no shoes to their feet
they wanted so deeply to meet all their needs
the cash from the trees – non-existent like leaves
that had fallen like pour – drops that covered the floor
the pot filled with gold – but a bucket of rain
as they emptied their pockets and paid with their pain
their life it was hard, but their love it was strong
with tears in their eyes they still vocalized song
the branches now grown and their bellies are full
and they know deep within they did all what they could


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Her skin but a carpet for others to stomp
Her heart but a slinky, a toy or a top
Her soul is not seen
Her cries go unheard
Her feelings are said, but they don’t speak a word.

Her skin it now boils
Her heart simply pounds
Her soul it is shattered
Her cries are pronounced.

Her feelings are hurt as she crumbles inside
Her life it might live if her body it died.

Her throat though it burns from her well-silenced voice
Her mind it repeats this is not the right choice.

Her skin becomes thick
Her heart but a brick
Her soul it is shook, but her spirit is fixed.

Her feelings they go as another day comes
Her life it is hard, but she only lives once.

Her people can’t step on the scales of her skin
Her heart though it pours they will not be let in.

Her shaking rebalanced
Her trembles a force
Her mind now a stream
Her soul from the source.

Her birth comes again
Her spirit it grows
Her score is forgotten
Her river it flows.

Her tears in the ocean a sprinkle of rain
Her pain divides waves as her strength it is gained.

Her carpet released as a rug for her feet
Her skin slowly sheds all the ache and defeat.

Her body a wall from the stones that were tossed
Her self becomes found from the version she lost.

Packed Up Heart

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I have no clue what else to do,
To stop the pain I’m going through;
The blanket slipped right from my hand,
An outcome came I had not planned;
Your golden heart it turned to black,
The day you left your things to pack;
My love it aches for your return,
But bloody veins they boil and burn;
I loved you then and love you still,
I always have and always will.

Saboteur Whispers

Trapped in between her emotions and thoughts
in the process of things she herself she forgot.
Unhappy, unwhole, and unwanted too,
she promised her heart things her brain could not do;
Bring her peace through the pain,
make herself be a choice,
hush the saboteur whispers and find her true voice.
She counts in the end as her beating heart beats
and convinces herself her priority’s me.

52 Inches Away

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That woman with 52 inches of hair and a body like a sculpture had everything meticulously figured out. Her inner and outer strength were as apparent as the old yellowish stains on her now pearly-white teeth. She had brilliantly overcome every mountainous obstacle life tossed in her way. Her boss-lady-like heels pounded the ground beneath her and her shoes kept her going in an unstoppable manner. The new skin on her fresh face glowed like the flame from an unlit and untouched candle. All was okay, and everything finally felt right. While gazing at her journey – at the amount of dust she had left behind and the dirt she turned to ashes – her feet walked on delicate sand as life tickled the cracks of her toes. She wore pride on her sleeves without weight on her shoulders, and the stance in her stand made her seem like a warrior.


Life took her hair and all she had known. Her lit cigarette burned like her flesh turned to bone. She built up a wall with the force she had left, and the dirt became part of her every breath. The skin in her folds showed the path she was on as it sagged to the beat of everything wrong. Her feet dragged on the earth – like bricks in the mud – as she twisted her ankle through the waves and the flood. She would walk through the town with her scraps on her skin as the sand in the glass simply buried her in. Life knocked her down, in an unforgiveable fashion, like the pain that had settled in place of her passion. Passing each day in the depths of despair because life took away all her reasons to care.

The 52 inches turned to 52 weeks as she struggled immensely to hang on to her roots. The branches on her tree had all withered and died while she punched on the bark and her knuckles they cried. She fell like the leaves hidden deep in the snow like the hair on her head refusing to grow.

Dear Diary A:

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Dear diary,
Don’t read my words
The crap I write
Is quite absurd
My trembling hands
Can’t grasp the pen
Cannot control
Who, what, where, when
The ink I splash
Are only thoughts
Of things I think
I need to jot
Which is a blur
Just turn the page
The yellow shades
Show that I’ve aged
My i’s have dots above the t’s
The f’s exclaimed were not from me 😉

Flying Free

You lost you and left me, but have led me to find,
That the person I've made does not make you mine;
You are you without me, I am me without you,
You finding yourself, does not mean that I lose;

I will still be around when your you becomes found,
We may be apart, but will always be bound;

It is hard, but I get that it's not about me,
For your you to be you, you must fly and be free.
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Remember That Ride

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Driving by in the road with emotions afloat
Down the path up ahead
Don’t know which way to go.

Tucked well past the sign behind unpatched potholes
Three horses of shades
That aligned the meadow.

Near enough to be loved, but too far to be touched
Nestled one on the other
Neighbored close like a crutch.

Their beauty a scene as they stand in the sun
Truly magical strut
Turning craters to bumps.

Fixing aches deep inside all my thoughts that I hide
Feeling love from the field as I smile and drive.