This isn’t a usual Live True post. I’ve been attending to everything else around me these last few weeks that parts of me have been neglected. The part I have missed the most is my creative side. This is the place that always feels most “me”. So instead of the usual type of post where we discuss how to be more true to ourselves, I’m just going to show you how it looks for me. I hope that by allowing myself to be who I am that you will be inspired to be more of who you are. Where do you find that you feel the most “you”? Spend time there.
I am ME when I am writing so I’m including my most recent pieces, even those that are still in progress, here. I hope you enjoy them.
Rejoice
It takes a brave woman to release one’s heart.
The greatness you celebrate in pretty things,
handle with care. It is our pursuit of happiness
that deserves close examination.
More should have said care for yourself.
Not all your belongings belong to you.
The woman sitting next to Cinderella
is never satisfied. What makes you
loveable will take you by surprise.
Many things are possible;
each asking for your attention in their own way.
Luck is as feminine as a premonition.
Don’t strive to be merely beautiful
when you are destined to be regal,
captivating, an amazing soul.
The harmonious gesture
of the morning befriends you.
Think of what will happen
for a woman who holds her courage
in the palm of her heart.
Overcome
Of course I pray. What, you’ve never written a fan letter. Applauded at the end of the show. Bought the poster and the tshirt. Found yourself saying, wow, that was amazing. Retweeted. Pressed LIKE.
Of course I pray. What, you’ve never wondered how or why, while driving over the Bay Bridge or through the center of a mountain where a freeway now lives. Realized that people must carry something bigger within us because we see these insurmountable obstacles and think, Nah, we got this. Understand that faith is an action so we must believe when we read that with God nothing is impossible
Of course I pray. What, you’ve never heard God in a baby’s laugh or in the smell of the day after rain. Read the first line, Let there be light and just knew it would all be good. Ever take it all for granted–all of it–breathing, love, cherries, until that perfect poem moment when you don’t and you find yourself on your feet crying, Author! Author!
Of course I pray.
The Mythology of Longing
Standing in this place
of gods and idols,
with nothing but questions
in my hands. Each step an echo
of all I do not know. I’ve traded it
away for what you hold
in clenched fists behind your back.
I’ve seen the man behind the curtain,
know the monster beneath the tower,
become the fly spinning for the spider.
Never wanting anything better,
I trip the trap,
lick the poison off your fingertips.
I am an insatiable well
divining water in the drought
of your eyes, the desert of your mouth.
Weigh my heart against a feather.
Even emptied of blood and desire,
it is still too heavy not to tip the scales.
Denied by God is a lie I tell myself
like a secret spell that opens doors.
Even in the flames, I knew the cold
nights to come, where I’d lay alone
and watch my breath escape
like a small cloud drifting over my bed.
To the deity of our past,
cast me like a sacrifice into the fire.
Watch my wings burn away.
Steal a feather from my wrist,
write my name in blood
inside you, marking you mine.
Your veins curl and twist
carving my dark scrawl
into your flesh, hidden from view.
Unwanted, you try to ignore it
but my ink sneaks out on your tongue
and you are instantly beguiling, tempting
to all without trying.
You cross the bridge of locks, and suddenly
know the combination to the vault,
carry the key that fits.
I cash myself in, convert my currency
into something you might spend
on long nights without the bright flashes
of beautiful faces to entertain you.
Empty your pockets of me, a pile of stardust
that has lost its wishes
because my only wish was you.
You are a careless arsonist, leaving me
charred and unrecognizable
to loved ones, family left
shaking their heads, wondering
where I’ve gone. Nowhere.
I knew it when I read the map.
This is the road to Nowhere
and its capital city, Nothing Good
where I take up residence
until an archeologist kneels
in my rubble, gently
brushing you away from the ruins.
The truth is smaller.
Your hands gather me,
label and catalog me with the others,
floating in jars. You give me a new name,
speak Latin to my body
stretched out and anchored
with pins, preserved behind glass.
Added to the collection, until something
reminds you of me, which happens
less and less now. I saw the net
even at a distance and flew inside.
With no effort on your part, I am caught.
Now my wings will crumble at a touch,
and so you don’t,
but I won’t thank you.
I dream of the ashes, the dust,
the nothing left
because it’s all burnt up
sending smoke to Heaven
where we are cursed and released.
You pray like a thief
carrying pleasure in your teeth.
Hold my heart like a relic.
May it bless you when you go.
Live True To You 