This is my second blog actually. My first was lost due to a hostile takeover, as was a large twitter account.
Live and learn and never give up!
Starting this blog was a rite of passage and a big leap for me.
I never knew what a ‘blog’ was until 7 or 8 years ago?
I assumed it was some mysterious software/social media diary
for new age hipsters way more interesting, cultured and smarter than me.
I never thought I could write outside of a classroom
setting, much less create a website/Blog like those higher beings.
I felt like I could only dare to write IF a REAL WRITER
deemed me capable and worthy.
I thought I had no right to write, until I was GOOD enough.
That is was and is a lie.
A safe place in the saddest way.
I am so happy I left it
I never thought I would be read by anyone without having to ask.
I never dreamed to be read by honest to goodness poets, writers, philosophers, teachers, world-travelers, artists and insanely cultured, intellectual, well-educated beings.
I hadn’t written consistently since college. Most of my writings were meditation pieces, thoughts and prayers and ponderings about my life. Usually only when things were going really bad or I was really happy. Never consistent.
I thought it was impossible to be a part of ‘Poetry Twitter’. I was so intimidated in the beginning.
It was like cliff diving from the tower of Babel into a sea of angelic ink.
(and sometimes it STILL is)
I was welcomed with open wings by the most amazing, talented, brilliant, inspiring poets. I connected with people from every corner of the world. Strangers, yet kindred spirits. Our love of words connected us, our poetry made us friends.
And some of those I met were more than inspiring poets I liked. Some of those I met were more than beautiful souls whose open hearts & open smiles reached out to me as friend, not as writer, but as a person worth liking.
Those are the ones I treasure beyond words. Those I met long ago, have remained in my life & have become those friends I call family. who bless my life everyday with their beautiful soul thoughts & their pure, perfect, open hearts. They are Angels on earth, they teach me how to accept & return agape love. They are sisters without strings. They are the wind beneath my wings.
That’s when I started writing regularly and became a part of the poetry community.
Their acceptance of my cringe-worthy attempts at verse humbled and motivated me. They reached out without agenda.
Their sincere enjoyment and words of praise inspired me to try new things.
They made me feel like I belonged because they treated me as a fellow writer, not an upstart beneath them nor an attention whore out to beat them.
They showed appreciation for a creativity I truly couldn’t see.
They made me feel that my writing was worthy of being read and was actually enjoyed by others.
They gave me faith in my creative self.
They gave me permission to believe my words could have value, power, warmth and their own special beauty.
They set my false humility free by showing me it’s ok to embrace joy in my abilities.
A whole new world opened up for me.
I was given the priceless gift of possibility.
I wouldn’t have ever continued without their encouragement and support.
For that, I will be forever grateful to those past and present souls who gently pushed me out of my cozy nest of mediocrity and made me spread my wings and fly into the great unknown of expressing me.
My writing on here is the main portal I choose to share myself, my prose, poetry, my political views and religious beliefs. This is where I can write longer pieces than I can on twitter and where I can share the writings and teachings of those who inspire and intrigue and encourage and delight me.
You all who read me know me much more intimately,
in certain ways, than my own family.
There are also many parts of me I choose not to share.
I know that I will one day, but for now I’m where I need to be.
I am always humbled and honored when you read me. Again, thank you. ❤️
Although I feel I have yet to find my completely fearlessly creative ‘voice’.
It’s feels like it’s on the tip of my tongue, if that makes sense?
I still write.
It’s become a part of my life, a part of me.
I would say I’m in the Comb Jellie phase
when it comes to my knowledge of Poetry and Prose
and all that the world of writing entails and encompasses.
I’m a novice. I’m a reader and lover of the magic of imagination, of the storytellers.
The chosen few who can create entire worlds and bring them to life through
their own unique visions using WORDS… it blows my mind.
Writing is a most beautiful terrifying thing.
When I am driven to write I lose all sense of time, a good and bad thing.
When the words inside me pour out and out, I want them to be understood perfectly.
In my writing I want everyone to find me and truly ‘see’ what they need to see. To know me and feel their own unique feelings thru my words.
A mutual sharing and beautiful connection rare to the rest of humanity and kindred to us, we who love the written world bridging soul and thought.
In my writing I strive to be always real in how I express my heart, mind and soul.
I know I will not necessarily be agreed with and I don’t ever write to appease others or make sure they like me, but I always hope to be respected as a human being.
I pray that I’m seen as real.
I know I’m far from perfect, but I pray to not be seen as a complete monster because of my beliefs, or worse a complete idiot, uninteresting and boring.
In my writing I die of insecurity praying no one will find out about the ‘real’ me.
So often I rewrite until I feel like I have nothing but trash on a page.
I hate everything and feel inadequate. I feel like an imposter and second guess my motives and feelings and berate myself for my shallowness of soul and lack of meaning.
that’s the time I leave for a bit…
Letting real life claim me brings perspective.
Doing what needs to be done, my duty, my mundane endless list of everything means later I can find peace when I retreat in silence. When I’m not running away I can let my mind reflect on higher things. Aloneness and silence lifts the veil. I swirl in a sea of emotions, uncharted dreams and imaginings.
I find old and new parts of the girl I lost long ago and the person I am learning to be.
Writing is part of my deepest being and gives me hope and joy.
It’s the only thing that is truly my own.
Writing brings me fulfillment and a sense of accomplishment.
It’s where I can spin sweetest scenes of butterfly kisses, indigo twilights, and sea foam breezes or I can whip a deluge of icy rains, blood-red skies filled with howling, hellish things, flying and swooping likes vampire bats across the page.
In things I write, not meant as more than social commentary or pretty prose and poetry.
I often stumble upon the miraculous light of words as self-discovery.
It’s sometimes a glorious, loving light as I read and am reminded of the beautiful, untarnished, guileless, loving, pure pages and sacred depths of the me made by a Creator. The me loved unconditionally and meant to be forever happy eternally.
And sometimes the light comes as seductive words that burst into fiery snakes, swaying hypnotically, dripping ruby slivers of silk and moonlight into a smouldering sea of longing. Unchaste thoughts rise in golden waves of Lust. Crashing, unpeeling, revealing buried passions and desires. Carnal treasures on a creamy page. Exotic, unseen, diamonds inside of me, discoverings of new facets and sides and longings. Writhing smoke of fantasies and erotic dreams of pleasure and pain unveiled in feelings once foreign to me.
And last, but not least and more often than sometimes, words strike jagged bolts of blinding, burning light. It’s always shocking and painful to be stripped raw of pretence and ignorance and the delusional masks of my reality. It hurts to look upon the truth about who I am, was and still can be. It hurts to see all the unkind, narcissistic, callous, graceless, deceitful, unloving ways I can be. It hurts so deep to count the seemingly infinite times I hurt others and only think of me.
It’s a funny thing about writing that I can’t share much of the things I post here with those who ‘love’ me. The ones who think they ‘know’ me inside and out are the ones I shouldn’t be afraid to let in to the book of me. Ironic, isn’t it?
The pain of being misunderstood or rejected by others is a greater suffering and betrayal when it comes from those closest to you.
I’ve learned thru writing these things;
Putting your self-love and self-worth in the hands of other broken people, makes you weak because they can’t love you unconditionally, but they can love you perfectly, as perfectly as they are capable of loving another human being.
The good thing is it will make you stronger when you realize you are not obligated to be the person they want you to be. The fear of pain can be overcome when you know what you truly need.
I let go of my need to never let things go. Some things are unfixable.
The pain of having your happiness depend on how others see and treat you, THAT is an agony worse than death.
I’ve strived my whole life to Break those chains and to walk away from toxic people, places and things.
I’m finally doing it. I still have so much more work to do though when it comes to my family and letting go of my need for the approval of my parents.
I suppose we never truly
outgrow that …
This is the place I am at. This is why I still write.
I am humbled and grateful to have all of you who follow and read me.
You make this piece of my world a joy
I love reading and discovering every one of you.
Thank you for just being you!
Peace & Love always