What happens in the chamber
of a narrow mind?
Does the air grow thin?
Does the dim light flicker?
What would happen if
a door opened?
If they dared to look beyond it? If they viewed the world as it is, cracked but not broken?
If they acknowledged not only voices that speak with the loudest inflections, but those small voices that bend?
Imagine if they saw liberty as
not just a ruse but something
that belongs to everyone?
The axis of the Earth not
just them, but you and me too.
And on an unrelated music note.
A video of yours unruly feeling a bit unwell but always goofy. Also a song just because
If there’s one thing I love almost as much as poetry it’s dresses. Today I give you my fashion sense and a song. New poem coming soon. 💕 Happy Sunday y xx
And one of my favorite songs
“Come on, and we’ll sing, like we were free
Push the pedal down, watch the world around fly by us
Come on, and we’ll try, one last time
I’m off of the floor one more time to find you’
Hello lovely ones. Happy Sunday. This blog post is a mix of of beauty, fashion and poetry. Please excuse the no makeup, hair in a messy bun look in the video
Sometimes when low dark clouds hang above a
mind that is usually crystal
When lucid thoughts
become cluttered with
When negative voices
linger in the darken chamber
speaking in disorder tones.
It’s hard not to become
brittle and break.
But if we can silences those
naysayers for just a moment
Maybe we can hear the sweet
cadence of a call note
reminding us of life’s affirmations and blessed beatitudes.
Maybe we can release ourselves
from desperation and self doubt. As hope’s
breathless alert finally resounds.
“We’re like Romeo and Juliet
We’re like 40 dogs; cigarettes
We’re like good times that haven’t happened yet, but will
And I can tell you where we’re gonna be
When the whole world falls to the sea:
We’ll be living ever after, happily”
Sometimes we have
to move beyond the full
length mirror, the curled
hair, the made up face,
the audience waiting
for a grand illusion.
We’re all an imperfect play,
hoping someone will take
note of the things we leave
out. See beyond the war paint
and hot iron, and find enchantment
in a confusing plot. We want someone
to love our secrets, our darker selves as they
tumble off the stage, stained
crimson from the fall, to love
our grief, our less than moments
where we dance over our own shadow, into chaos.
Someone who’d traded their own conflicts
and essentials with us, take our hand,
pull us up, and show us something generous,
pure and beautiful.
Incomplete, but together we
walk into the night,
all our bitter truths in the wind.
We journey on, our own fallen civilization
of happenstance romance. Finally, understanding
this is love, this is love the way the broken do it.