When the trees lose their leaves,
their vail falls away.
They stand before us, naked,
and the skies all turn gray.

Trees don’t go out looking,
for something to fill the space.
They wait through the winter,
wrapped in its cold embrace.

They don’t waste time worrying,
wishing that they were warm.
They know it’s just a season,
and soon new growth will form.

I’m sure they miss the foliage,
they had the year before.
But when God takes something away,
He always gives back more!

So when you face a loss,
that brings you to your knees,
know that it’s just a season.
Like when the trees lose their leaves.

Time for a new prospect
Have my eyes on a couple.
Might Burts a few bubbles, just
To see if it is worth the trouble,
Taking a chance.
Making some plans,
With some Subtle demands
But….
Only time will tell if it’s prosperous.

What’s your rhythm?
Today, I awoke thinking about mine
My rhythm, designed by The Divine

That said:

It’s a rhythm of love
Created by The One Above

It’s a rhythm of joy
Authentic, not a ploy

It’s a rhythm of peace
May it never cease

It’s a rhythm of patience
Open to innovation

It’s a rhythm of kindness
Graced by divineness

It’s a rhythm of goodness
Painted on a canvas

It’s a rhythm of faithfulness
And large doses of gratefulness

It’s a rhythm of gentleness
Created not to dismantle this

It’s a rhythm of self-control
Gentle but bold

It’s a rhythm of the Fruit of The Spirit
With me? Let’s hear it…

It’s a rhythm that’s introspective and fun
Moving to the soulful beat of the drum

It’s a rhythm of flow
What’s your tempo?

The Fog

The sky was wet
No drops
You could still smell the fall of it all on the blades of green
I can still hear its naked skin running across the forest
The crackling of the branches sounded like his jaw clicking
I’d open my mouth, trying to mimic his steps
The fear convinced me of what was getting closer
The vicious fog man
Grandiosity in his carnivorous form
Go home.

Art for another
Poetic inspiration,
Took dedication.

Dear Julia Roberts:

You and I met in 1988 when I saw you as an up-and-coming actress in a film called Mystic Pizza. I didn’t really know you, but I was intrigued by the film’s name; I grew up less than fifty miles from that little pizza place in Mystic, Connecticut. My husband used to ride his bike past the real Mystic Pizza all the time. His grandmother lived near there.
I remember watching that film, seeing a young actress with a certain twinkle in her eye thinking, boy she’s going to go far. And you did.

Pretty Woman is one of my all-time favorite movies. I used to binge watch it repeatedly, watching that Cinderella story end like every young girl thought it should; with the guy getting the girl and the girl getting the guy. Of course, having Richard Gere be the guy didn’t hurt, but that’s another letter.

After that, there was no stopping you. Every film you made, to me, was a hit. Watching you play different women, some strong, some not so strong, helped me believe I could do whatever I wanted with my life. And I did.

I lived vicariously through your characters. Notting Hill and Runaway Bride were two more of my favorites. But when you portrayed Erin Brockovich in 2000, I think that was one of your best films. It allowed me to see a more serious side of you as a strong woman with a passion for the underdog. Talk about perfection; you played it well.

As time went on you continued to impress. Taking time to have and raise a family, immersing yourself in philanthropic ventures, and speaking out about causes that are near and dear to your heart. I’ve really enjoyed watching blossom into a beautiful, passionate and talented woman that I’ve come to admire.

I know we’ve never met, and likely never will. But I wanted to know that you’ve made an impact on my life. And for that I’ll be grateful forever.

the day you begin at your lowest is the day they need you to smile,
to “look like you want to be here,” to put on the mask,
so you don’t ruin his day, so you don’t make her uneasy.
honesty is selfish, so you force the grin,
the dam holding back grief as it threatens to flood,
an apology for daring to express a neurotic emotion,

intrusive thoughts rush through cracks,
the fracture in understanding reality where you don’t know how to accept what’s true,
having faith in the dark of your closed eyes that you will see light when you open them again,
these truths that shape your identity and guide your actions,
an inundation that leaves you horrified by what belongs to you,
until you fortify for mind with a pill
as i slip into comfortable delusion, breathe shallow,
my medicine tastes like lobotomy.

the hollow platitudes of condolences that feel obligated to speak by the collective obligation to speak,
“hope you feel better”
“you sound crazy.”
pressing at the seams of your fragile control.
it thrives on this quiet, this forced calm,
i’m impatient.

makes you wonder where the clear water went,
if it was ever there at all,
makes you feel like you had it coming during the day you’re at your lowest,
when you’re meant to lead a presentation for your boss- pace your self and inhale deep so they can’t hear tremble in your voice,
when you’re meant to join your family for dinner- running through multiple choice scenarios in an attosecond to formulate the intricate lie you’ll tell your mother in lieu of causing her worry,
when you have no thoughts to share as tour body puppeteers your actions to fulfill your daily routine,
somewhere deep within no matter how hidden,
a forcefully forgotten memory of trauma is randomly triggered and you lose control, embarrassing yourself by letting see the face behind the mask,
the pain behind the smile,
makes you feel like you deserve to hurt*** yourself

Conversation for reciprocation
But don’t follow my suggestions.
I’m self healing self medicating.
To follow this you’re gonna need
A deeper understanding.
I have a few books I recommend you read.
If you can understand it
Let me know what you think.
I was brought to the brink.
Had to broaden my prospective.
Then became empathetic,
Eccentric to the public.
With these feelings exerted
Comes exertion.
Had to explore while reciprocating
Information & understand,
“The Journey is the Destination”.

I use to hate writing
But I think it was the action.
Now, I’m writing with
My thumb, never cared for penmanship
Or my grammar & punctuation.
I liked drawing, took my time with it.
Now I’m creating different images.
Writing these words
From past experiences.
You can see this projection.
Working on a new project.
My prerogative turned poetic.
Forget the pen, man, ship. These thoughts,
You can hear & see this plot.

The hot, oily aquatic liquid begin to build up in my eyes as I glanced at the night’s sky;

A moment’s glance and I saw only a single star;

Pondering for a while, more appeared before me;

How lovely this world of mines, that even in the heart’s darkest moments the light is still present