Many will say they are your friend,
But will they be there until the end?
Will they bestow a helping hand?
Lifting you up, so you can once again stand?
Even when you’ve butted heads
And can’t take back words you’ve said,
Will they venture across the divide,
Just to stand there by your side?
Will they tell you what you need to hear?
Or do they sugarcoat you out of fear?
Do they have an honest heart?
Or do they speak ill of you when you’re apart?
Are they the type to help you grow?
Or do they drag you to the depths below?
Are they there in your times of need?
Or will they take advantage of you for their own greed?
Will they carry you through your pain?
Or forsake you for their own gain?
Many will say they are your friend,
But when push comes to shove, you will find their love is just pretend
With that said, a true friend you must also be
So be not the one who’s absentee

To express and not to impress.
That’s what my wardrobe mantra has always been.
My insecurities, my assets, my emotions, my sartorial choices. My clothes have always been about just me.
What I wish to is what I wear.
Wore them pants wide with arrogant pride while most felt pressurized to snuggle into those skinnies.
Dared the unforgiving jumpsuit before it pole-vaulted into it’s current fashionista glory.
Fashion trends may fail but personal style always stays and slays.
Fashion has copycats but style is unimitable. Fashion runs the risk to look frumpy, style is consistently classy!
My clothes have always been my strongest mode of self expression and hold the power to strip me.
Strip me of my fears, my vulnerabilities, my facades and expose my inner moods and eccentricities which can be quite scary!
I have always looked at my style as a metric of how well I know my body. I realize my body is ever evolving with age and hence organically so must my style.
For what fits may not necessarily flatter.
I let no brand, no magazine , no nobody tell me what befits me. For that is my mind and my body’s prerogative only.
I shall always be my own fashion house, my recurring muse , my own runaway supermodel and most of all my own worst critique!
As I contemplate color blocking warm and cold, throwing some solid pattern on prints , or experimenting with unconventional hemlines , I would like to do so with complete abandon of external validation.
For ultimately it’s always about what the final look does for me and never about how others choose to see.

Signs that a man has truly grown
Is when he’s able to see life through eyes not his own
When he stops chasing after the foolish things he seeks
And knows when to bridle his tongue and when to speak
When he is able to quiet his soul
Walking in temperance and self control
When he’s willing to forsake his pride and make himself low
Making himself not a spectacle or show
When he sees others as greater value than he
When his hands are shackled, yet his heart remains free
When he’s able to overcome fear
And willing to let go of his own life and well being, which many hold dear
When the desire of his heart is to give
So that those around him may live
When regardless of his position
He never forgets the art of submission
When in the face of adversity he stands
But to his enemies he’s still willing to bestow a caring hand
When nothing is able to quench his love
That he may mirror the God in heaven above
When he seeks after the truth of Christ divine
For the fruit of a man’s growth, these are the signs

Simply Me
Marli Wright

If only, if only, this little ol’ me
Could inspire just one, how wondrous that’d be.
I could win the lottery, share my great wealth,
Buy homes for veterans, grant them good health.
Adopt all their pets, and feed children in need,
Clothe them and house them, fulfill every need.
But how can I, just small me, spread cheer?
As Buddy the Elf says, “Sing loud for all to hear.”
Yet that’s not my vibe, not these days, I find,
So I’ll do it the old-fashioned way, kind.
By being myself, with a caring heart,
Sharing a smile, a hug, a heartfelt start.
Being there for the grieving, a comforting hand,
Kissing the boo-boos, helping them stand.
It’s not much to boast, it’s not grand or new,
But to inspire, I’ll simply be true.
This is all I know, the way I can be,
To inspire with love—just letting me be.

Broke my limbs and tore my spirit
As I walked and smelled debris
I could barely talk
Was hard of hearing
Even lost feeling in some places
Some places still looked nice
But they were broken
Why am I the chosen
To see these things
To be unfazed after the truth
After the storm and troops
Everyone is gone
No sound but mine
Where do I go and be fine
Limping on distraught knees
Existing with little breathing
I continue…
Down the wary roads
As I see the smoke
As the rain provokes
My will elopes
And I continue…
Through the Hurricane

What is the point of holding a grudge?
To carry along a heart full of hate?
To stand firm in wrath, and not budge
For it is but a burdensome weight
One must learn to forgive
To let streams of mercy flow
For their own spirit to live
One must learn to let go
Why must one torment their own soul?
Why must one harden their heart like slate?
For vengeance is but an empty hole
And it’s endless cycle shall be one’s fate
It has been said, an eye for an eye
But I simply ask why?
Life is short, and one day we die
So why is mercy something that we deny?
Harken unto this decree
Forgive and be free
Looking back you will see
Bitterness only holds you back from all you can be
Like venom in your veins
Circulating through your blood
When hatred reigns
One may as well be laid to rest in the mud
Living but not alive
Overcome by offense
Forward on they’ll strive
Until they get recompense
Consumed
Hurt ever looming
Never healing
Internally reeling
The torment won’t cease..
Forgive…
Release…
Live…
Find peace

I want to give you all of me.
But i see what you’ll do
I wish 1+1 could = 2.

Our greatest fear confirmed what we already know
That we will grow close and then have to let go

I want to be what you need
But, your void is hungry and hard to feed

I’m starting to pick myself apart.
I try to reach your head, but go straight for your heart.

You probably are realizing that I’m just a dream
Idealized goddess I’m not what I seem

I’m sorry that you thought that I was all you need
I tried to tell you that this was a dream

I was browsing through “My Mother’s Story” for a prompt. Not for my mother, and not for the children I don’t plan on having, but for me. I am my own mother in many senses.

“What was the hardest period of your life and why?”

My instant thought was “in a sense I am still living it, yet it has passed many times”.
It’s recurring. I am plagued with anxiety and depression many times for many reasons.
It never completely leaves me; sometimes it’s just managed better. It’s like keeping it in a box in the attic.
Then a trigger or a stress, consciously or not, just opens the attic door. Scours through the piles of chaos. Finds the box. And of course, proceeds to dump all of its belongings in every bit of the house. Messy messy I feel.

Right now, I am exhausted. Drained. Sad. Far from content. Miles from happy.
I want rest – not from sleep, but from life’s stresses.
I need clarity; a sure direction on where I am going.
I desire joy – self acceptance, motivation, calmness.
I’m yearning for change – beach, sand, sun on end.

I am the type of tired a nap doesn’t shake.
I’m so uneasy that a hug doesn’t help relax me.

Is this what a quarter life crisis feels like?
And although 75% of people in my age bracket experience this, does that actually make it normal?
Even more unsettling.

So I’ll take this day as both a win and a loss. Winning because I’m making it through with every bit of life inside of me. Losing because I know times have been and will be better.
The stable me will return. She will strike again with her optimism, free spirit, and bolts of energy.

Until then, a restless girl I will be.

A lot of guys get lost in your eyes
But I found myself in those depths that galaxies rest in
Your eyes hug stars and sprinkle glitter for their shimmer when the sun wants to shine
I didn’t know it then but when momma would sing Twinkle Twinkle Little Star it was a love song
Because I’m one of the dots to your constellation and the others are the children
Our love is so good it should be a sin
God forgive me, I know I’m not supposed to look directly at you
But your daughter has your eyes, and I can’t stop staring
She helps me stay centered with you when I get full of myself
Seeing my reflection in her eyes is one of my favorite things because it’s a moment of Trinity
God eyes saying straighten up son
Your eyes whisper I love you
My eyes catch us with His hands and say I’ll hold your heart
Followed by, I love you too
Our eyes share an embrace that never let’s go in silence
But anyone who sees the way I look at you hears the softness of a love song
They covet the way my eyes hold you like I hold the hand of our child
Their eyes have never seen a sight that sounded so pure
And anyone who sees the way your eyes reply to me, listens to that unforgettable poem on repeat
Then they get lost trying to find your gaze under my sunset
So, the closest thing to feeling that poem, is to hit repeat on this memory
I can’t help but smile when I see your eyes talk about us
p.s. your eyes make the best ASMR…

Facebook Facebook,
Here we go again…
“Like if you agree!”
“Share and tag your friends!”

It’s all the same stuff,
just on a different day.
“I never make posts like this…”
“So I just wanna say…”

No one really cares,
this isn’t even real.
“Click the link below!”
“What a great deal!”

Scrolling and scrolling,
the hours fly by.
“Someone liked your post!”
“Someone went live!”

But we’re all missing out,
on a little thing called “life”.
A husband stares at his phone,
and ignores his lonely wife.

No one raises their kids,
it’s easier it seems…
Children don’t make noise,
when they stare at the screen.

I worry what it’s doing,
to our world and our minds.
It’s become a way of life,
or a sign of the times.

I feel like a prisoner,
and I know I’m not alone.
We’re all prisoners now,
that’s why it’s called a “cell” phone.