frolic
do you ever want
to dance while in a rainstorm
spirit not dampened
droplets streaming down your face
all cares cascading away
your marriage a wreck
you seek to escape at last
flee to the true world
don’t open the door
think of this as a warning
from someone who lived this life
please take me seriously
or do not listen
see for yourself what’s waiting
turn the knob and push
the storm engulfing you here
is the storm waiting outside
(after the untitled and undated painting of a muralled room by Juan Brufal)
he washes the dishes in the sink because he knows I cannot bear to have wet food underneath my freshly manicured finger nails. he lets me decorate our home and never ever says its too girly. he holds my hands during scary movies, even if he thinks it’s silly. he scratches my head when sleep eludes me, slowly sending me off into dream land. and if those dreams turn out to be nightmares… he holds me still. he kisses me on the forehead because he knows it is my most favorite kind of kiss. he reminds me to take my medicine in the mornings, and on days when medication is not enough– when my anxieties consume me and has me fall into pieces– he picks me back up every single time. some days, when I’m crying in the mirror, he hugs me and tells me I’m beautiful. and he means it. he knows my favorite drinks to buy at the gas station. he always stops to get us ice cream even though it never sits right on his stomach. he watches trash TV with me and sings Taylor Swift in the car. he always puts his hand on my thigh while driving, and when he gets home from work every day– he kisses me. twice. he is always patient. never mean. he is always gentle with me, treats me like something he has prayed for.
is this not what love is? to know every inch of someone’s mind and care for them anyway? to cradle someone’s aching heart in your hands and say “it’s okay, you’re safe now. I love you and I’m going to take care of you.”
Sometimes we hold on to things longer than we need to.
We let them take up space that could be used for something
different and serve us better.
These things are not always physical objects they are emotional baggage we have carried around for years.
We tend to put a price on things whether monetary or emaotionally because we have invested time or money into these things thiking they are worth more and thats not always the case.
I tend to have emotional clutter more so than physical, though I have enough of that too. I am also more willing to find a new home or donate the physical stuff and hold on to the emotional.
How does one get rid of that selfdoubt, inadequacy or whatever else we are carrying around that needs let go?
A physical object is only worth what someone is willing to pay for it. We tend to let those physical things go up in value as we let our personal value go down because of what others make us believe we are worth.
Find joy in the little things
The insignificant
How can I
Everything in my world is big enough to suspend me in orbit
The way you smiled today could never be trivial
My years are littered with the inconsequential
A plastic heart on my keys
A jade egg in my bag
A dog in the back seat
It’s all surmountable
At the end of this road I know the little things will make me think
Oh what a life
How beautiful
mist cloaks sandstone cliffs
rust and ochre high pearl blue
handprint smears the sky
summer dawn
first thing I read
haiku
scent of coffee
infuses the kitchen
five scoops
dayglow
ruby cardinals sing in
honeysuckle
elf wren
comes to the door
trilling joy
sunrise
…is always
enough
Her nectar dripping from the enveloped flower of her being
Like honey sticky sweet, she savors herself from her fingertips
How she longs to be back within the primitive Eden
Skin bare to the elements and her voice able to be lifted up to the sky
To the goddesses imploring her to
Find magic within the trees, across the ice cold waters
To yearn for her full body
To feel the heat of earth pressed into every fiber of her being
A kind of delicious enchantment she discovered so long ago
A yearning to quench
And even when god left her
She still calls upon the empowerment of her body
To reclaim that secular power
That man said only this so called
Greatest man could conjur
Pear tree blossom snow
Born on spring winds
White petals shroud
Blown-down pine limbs
River birch gyrates
In the gusts, its crown bends
With a crack, its twirling ceases
Spring will have its way
