Beautiful Mosaic

The words flow through my mind
Like the wind through the trees,
Dancing about like leaves on branches,
Flipping and flopping—oh, what a sight.
But this is dyslexia, if you must know.
I read and spell like a jumble, so slow.

My words come out twisted,
Like a tongue twister I can’t tame.
When I try to speak, my thoughts get flipped,
Making people giggle or snarl in shame,
Thinking I’m lazy, or worse—ignorant,
But that’s not it, not at all.

On top of that, my mind races,
A hundred miles a minute,
The creative side taking over,
My vision, a blur, as I try to finish.
Focusing on a task? What is that?
ADHD is what they say,
But I’m not hyper, not today.

At 32, I was diagnosed with this,
They called me lazy, but that wasn’t it.
I try so hard, but the simplest things
Feel like mountains, impossible to climb.
I am misunderstood,
They think I’m dumb,
But deep inside, I am smart,
If only they could see that part.

I’m trapped in a fight,
Yearning for someone to see me,
My heart tangled in a storm,
With all this comes anxiety and grief.
Triggers hit me hard,
But at least I stand,
I guess that’s something to be proud of.

Empty space fills my soul,
A part of me is missing—
My child and his soul,
Who am I behind this mask of pain?
Sometimes, I wonder about that myself.

I’m a puzzle missing pieces,
Maybe one day they’ll see me
Like a beautiful mosaic on the wall,
All of me, not just the broken parts.

The words flow through my mind
Like the wind through the trees,
Dancing about like leaves on branches,
Flipping and flopping—oh, what a sight.
But this is dyslexia, if you must know.
I read and spell like a jumble, so slow.

My words come out twisted,
Like a tongue twister I can’t tame.
When I try to speak, my thoughts get flipped,
Making people giggle or snarl in shame,
Thinking I’m lazy, or worse—ignorant,
But that’s not it, not at all.

On top of that, my mind races,
A hundred miles a minute,
The creative side taking over,
My vision, a blur, as I try to finish.
Focusing on a task? What is that?
ADHD is what they say,
But I’m not hyper, not today.

At 32, I was diagnosed with this,
They called me lazy, but that wasn’t it.
I try so hard, but the simplest things
Feel like mountains, impossible to climb.
I am misunderstood,
They think I’m dumb,
But deep inside, I am smart,
If only they could see that part.

I’m trapped in a fight,
Yearning for someone to see me,
My heart tangled in a storm,
With all this comes anxiety and grief.
Triggers hit me hard,
But at least I stand,
I guess that’s something to be proud of.

Empty space fills my soul,
A part of me is missing—
My child and his soul,
Who am I behind this mask of pain?
Sometimes, I wonder about that myself.

I’m a puzzle missing pieces,
Maybe one day they’ll see me
Like a beautiful mosaic on the wall,
All of me, not just the broken parts.

Heartbreak
Is everywhere like dropped dishes
She sits and sips her coffee
Appears calm and composed
Amid the shattered glass that today was, figuratively speaking
This time

She looks through her memory of today
And finds the pieces of porcelain that have pretty filagrees and bits of flowers
To laugh if she can
She looks aside from the pieces
To see what is not broken
Fixes her eyes on what is whole and real and doing well
She clutches those things in her hands
She has to be careful not to grasp them too tightly
In case even that
Were broken.

She waters plants
She sings songs
She breathes cold air
She plans a garden
She plans a project bigger than this day
She shops for dishes
She is defiantly hopeful

The church ladies said “what a devoted mother”
The neighbor said “your so busy all the time”
Truly
She’s running from one moment to the next preventing disasters & providing cues.
She:
Hugs this child and hopes it is somehow healing to them both
He:
Stares out a window quietly
No words
He is a mystery
Hope is present like a cat that doesn’t like attention.
She is sure
Today was “not that bad”
Brave face to the moon
She is sure
Another day will come
Soon enough.

Sometimes I cry silently beside you
But my tears burn loud like screams
Your ears are so hollow
Like my voice is shallow
I wonder if I’m talking in a dream
Because I don’t feel heard

My concerns bounce off the wall like an empty apartment
My worries shut away in a chest locked with a one of a kind key
Insecurities become secrets because only I listen to them

Hear me
Acknowledge me
Validate me

I’m drowning in your rebuttals
Your disregard seeps through my pores
I choke on your counter neglect

How do we continue on?

My perception of life allows insight into things that are often missed by others.

I choose to be silent, letting my written words say what takes my breath away.

I see the injustices, and relentless undertones. So many are inflicted by a hate that they have never had or known.

All for the sake of being different.

Looking away from a person who may have been born with deformities.
Blind, deaf or lame.
Even those who are impaired mentally.

There are times I burst into tears, but it’s not for me as much as it is for others.

Some consider me to be fragile or too sensitive, not grasping the burden it carries to care.

I feel crushed in return… getting a clearer picture of Yashua, connected by DNA, his blood running through my veins.

“But he was wounded for our transgressions, he was bruised for our iniquities: the chastisement of our peace was upon him; and with his stripes we are healed.” Isaiah 53:5

Yes, Yashua is my brother, and God’s first Son.

I suspect for such an uncommon belief not to be received.

Saddened by the amount of misunderstanding of me it brings.

Aware of the way others look at me. Not so much about beauty, but this certain je ne sais quoi encountered by my presence.

Some have lashed out at me in hopes of a reaction, because I remain composed and calm during times of chaos.

I have been called the “quiet storm”.

Style Score 100%
(prior to final draft)

Dear Unsealed,
I do not know where to begin but I will begin to write as my subconscious dictates the story. I grew up when women did not have rights. Now in 2025 we are back to the same male patriarchal society. I felt very misunderstood throughout my whole life. As an empath and creative personality, I still feel misunderstood around judgmental people
I was led to believe that the man held authority over everything. Back in the fifties white male misogynist pigs dominated it. Now we are back to this same idiocrasy of white men wanting to dominate everyone and everything.
I, and other women were taught to get married, have three babies, buy a house, and serve your man cocktails when he gets home from work. Some households were extremely strict with their women. Women were not allowed to buy a house or buy a car until the 1970s. now we are back here again with white male dominance.
I was married at 20 for a brief period. The marriage was annulled due to incompatibility. The thoughts of some families were to marry their daughters off to a man to take care of them. If one is raised in this culture, you either accept it or rebel against the whit male patriarchy. I rebelled.
I am going to make this into a noticeably short story. My message to women of every culture do not let your man dominate you. Rebel against such nonsense. Men who want to control are very insecure and have severe mental issues of paranoia.
I would not have married the car race guy if my mom had not insisted, I needed to get married to fulfill her dream. I briefly accepted the mentality of that era. I was always in a fight or flight mode for many years.
I suggest to younger ladies do not succumb to the lunacy of a male patriarchal society.
My father was not like that. He wanted me to learn mechanical work. My mom was oh no I could not learn mechanics as I was prima donna girl. My dad and mom had an argument about that issue.
My philosophy is do not let anyone push you into marrying just to get married. Love is love. I am an ally of the LGBTQ people.
I now instruct people: we are one human being species with many cultures, ethnicities, languages, different skin pigmentation, and personalities.
What I learned through my years from 1949 to 2025 is do not let a man talk you into having his babies, especially if you just began to date. That is a red flag of dominance and how the misogynist sees your worth as a woman. I say block him on social media, refuse his phone calls, and ignore him if you see him out and about. Watch for red flags of narcissism in every relationship. If you are the narcissist then crumble the story, throw it away because a narcissist cannot change. If you are an empath, then stay as far away from the narcissist as you can. If you are not either of those personality types, then take heed to watch for red flags to prevent an abusive relationship.
My advice is to focus on your career, go to college, and refuse to acknowledge people who condescend you as a human being. Walk away from a future abusive relationship.
I was boy crazy at ten years old. I read teen magazines and idolized boys in the band. I matured young, as I began puberty at age ten. My advice to me would be to focus on writing for the teen magazine instead of being google eyed over the cuties in the band.
As of now I am 75 years old. I accepted a coffee date with an old guy. I told him someday soon. I have known him for two years. I want platonic relationships and at this age there is no intention of anything but friendship.
This concludes this short story, focusing on one aspect of my life among many others. I have a lot of stories to tell. I shall write them all one day. Perhaps I should include the X-rated too.
I have survived all those relationships as I have learned that I did not always make the right choices. As one grows up to maturity you learn to appreciate the times you made the correct choices and to always remember the consequences of making the wrong choices.

If you feel misunderstood, then analyze the situation or walk away.
Peace everyone!
Be yourself everyone!

Dear Unsealers,

My goals have always been productive This year I let go of fear Listen to my heart when it tells me NO To feel how my body embodies joy Say yes to the moment Make friends with strangers Take a risk Be seen so that those who love me can draw near Have an affair with creation And devotion as my potion To use my imagination as my compass Dare to be unproductive Let play lead the way Be friends with my inner me <3

New Year, new Me shall see Twenty Twenty-five

Transformed by the holy and living God. 

I should seek the Lord more than ever, but

I am nothing.

My life needs cleansing.

My mere existence is thanks to the Lord.

I seek goals while the Lord shapes me

Oh, Lord spark a purpose for the road.

I am a mess.

Your light is dazzling. 

I have been blinded from your greatness.

The Dark drowned in pools of misery.

Tricked me to fall in that same blackhole.

I saw their pain. 

Happy to sadness

Although I could never feel their pain.

I could never fit into this world.

I thought I was the burden because

How can my life!

How can my life be 

Compared to the world’s gory horrors.

My hope vanished in the air and then

This nightmare seemed to swallow itself.

It was a lie.

But a shooting star,

A vivid sign to write poetry.

I need to become disciplined and

My Lord gives me strength in my weakness.

My King save me!

My Lord and Savior,

I will worship him and he has been

Faith, unmatched unlike other human

He is God and will create the best,

The Newest Me.

The one with tongues that

Will speak with a soft, but thundering 

Melody that will reach many ears.

From english to spanish, I will learn

Italian.

A melody that

reaches the depth of my soul and heart.

The sounds that inhabit a room of 

Intimacy and scented perfume.

He takes my hand.

Love scented roses

Mesmerize my eyes and holds my hand.

Always guiding me and renewing.

I should not worry because at the 

Highest Mountains, 

Depths of the Ocean,

The shame of my sins and my mistakes,

I will embrace my God and he will 

Perfect our relationship in trust.

In Confidence,

I will reflect love.

Slow to anger, selfish love becomes

Forgiveness that is my remedy.

I will be patient to others and 

Active to my 

Self-care and Body.

Not just hygiene, but nourishing meals.

A daily routine that challenges 

My body to radiate itself

Like bright glitter.

Not to flaunt, but stand

Against the power that holds me down.

I’m determined to showcase my goals

Til I accept my Lord makes things new.

I am Renewed.

This year, I walk with seeds in hand,
To cultivate dreams, to grow and stand.
A garden of truth, where courage takes root,
With love as my anchor and self-worth as my fruit.
I’ll learn from the earth, her wisdom and grace,
Craft healing remedies in this sacred space.
A student of nature, her word I’ll heed,
To nurture my spirit and plant what I need.
The voice inside, once soft, now clear,
Will echo with purpose, unfazed by fear.
Through words, I’ll inspire, through truth, I’ll ignite,
A beacon of hope, a source of light.
Steps once faltered, now steady and bold,
Guided by faith, by strength I uphold.
The past may have scarred, but its lessons remain,
A testament of healing through joy and through pain.
I’ll craft my own path, a website, a name,
A space to empower, to stoke the flame.
Sharing my story, my trials, my climb,
Proving that healing transcends space and time.
For family and self, my heart will expand,
As I teach, as I love, as I firmly stand.
I’ll honor the past, its lessons, its pain,
And greet each new day with gratitude’s refrain.
2025, a year to embrace,
With goals that align, with a steady pace.
A journey of purpose, of dreams redefined,
An alchemist’s vision, both dark and light intertwined.

Serendipity

December 31, 2025-My future self reflects in the mirror.

As I’m chanting a meaningful phrase,

I am clearing the room with divine sage.

It has been done… great, wondrous, aspirations achieved.

I’m confident my future self knows my highest timeline transceived.

“What,” you ask, “Do I want this year?”

My spirit guides, lead me, making this clear.

BALANCE, LOVE, GIVE, RECEIVE.

Keep learning to LET GO, ACCEPT, and be UNAFRAID to GRIEVE.

Travel a little, read, and ATTRACT.

Challenge your comfort… when necessary, REFRACT. 

Write poetry, a novel, all with authenticity.

Do something brave every day; serendipity.

Enjoy creativity, LOVE MY CHILDREN in all aspects of life.

Play board games with family and friends any night.

EXPLORE and grow in spirituality.

Become a reiki healer, whimsically.

LOVE MY CHILDREN, be silly, play with the dogs.

Always be open. Don’t let distractions or barriers mud up the cogs. 

I saw my first wishing well when I was still a child
The idea was so novel, I remember how I smiled
What a silly thing to believe, I told myself that day
Why would you pointlessly throw all your pennies away?

I wish I had a ticket back to when I was a kid
I wish I could have learned a little sooner how to give
I wish I’d had the courage to tell her that I loved her
Or hadn’t acted so embarrassed every time I hugged my mother

I wish all those poems I wrote weren’t left unfinished
And that those songs in my head made it out to begin with
I wish I wasn’t such a dreamer, a believer, or
Maybe I wish that I had believed a bit more

I really wish this poem wasn’t written by a hypocrite
Afraid to guarantee any of the things that he says
And maybe then I wouldn’t doubt these words as I say them
And I’d believe in the promises I made, verbatim

I wouldn’t laugh at the people filling wells with pennies
And look down and realize that I’m the one who’s chucked to many
So here’s my final penny, the only one that’s left
It’s something that I’m trying very hard not to forget

I wish to go back and hug the younger version of me
And tell him things are never quite as hopeless as they seem
I wish that I could stare into his eyes, head to head
I wish that I could stop that kid from wishing he was dead

Wish that I could hold his hand, but when I look at my side
It baffles me to realize he’s the one who’s holding mine

Every time he made a wish, taped up a dream that he liked
All those melodies he hummed, all those pretty little rhymes
He’s holding out their broken pieces as he stares into my eyes
You can fix these, He whispers, You’re the only one who can
And then he knocks the horrid little pennies from my hands

I’ve been wishing all my life, it left me penniless and poor
But lately I have found that I’m not wishing anymore
Yes, wishes got me nowhere, so I traded them for goals
Believe your life is in your hands and you’ll hold the controls

This year I have decided that I’m going to believe
For that little kid who told me wear your heart on your sleeve
I’m going to finish those songs for the one who began
Because I owe my inner child for the man that I am

I’m going to hug the ones I love, pick them up and spin them ‘round
And hold on tight forever like I’ll never put them down
Lose myself giving to people, light a smile on a face
Because that’s the way I found myself in the first place

I might buy a ticket back to my home by the mountains
And find somebody throwing pennies, sitting by a fountain
And I might knock those precious little coins out of their hand,
And as they bounce around I’ll giggle like a crazy man

After they curse at me, I’ll tell them, pennies are like moments
Please, don’t just throw them all away wishing that doors would open
If you only looked around, you might find that there’s a key
Pennies are so valuable, don’t treat them like they’re free

to feel my sadness
and the madness

the silence
and imbalance

to love my hatred
of my ego wasted

twisted and
unmotivated

to care,
and to continue

something new
long overdue

I was today years old, when I realized. There is a reason it was never my season. I cannot do what everybody else does. I will not go wherever they go. Alone I may know. As I journey this winding road. Picking up pieces of peace, as I grow. Sewing seed of redemption and faith. As my eyes see the lies I taste. My dreams hold on as my memories change.

10 years ago, I could write a song about anything. From wars on words and vengeance to resiliant melodies. Easier to imitate than to live. Terrified my all wouldn’t be worth the give. I hid behind intelligent performances. But emotionally I could not lie, so logically loneliness began to overwrite. Permeate the inner sanctum of my mind. Making simple the impossible. The rejected, the respected. The forgotten, the source and seed harvested in every moment of grace.

Loneliness made an enemy of me. The moment it let me think that my obedience was punishment for the smile and laughter God gives. For the praise I lift in love, even when my tears have only just begun. I am more than anger and rage. I’m more than smiles and joy that you can’t erase. I learned to love me, flaws and everything. Merciful thru my falls. Forgiven for AWOLS. Uniquely seasoned and reasoned for being me.

Improvement can be a fickle thing
Results galore it can bring
Toil and sweat are required
To get that which is desired

Fifty books I hope to devour
For the mind is but a budding flower
Fact and fiction I hold them dear
Those stories that play in my ear

Knowledge isn’t my only quest
It would also be nice to improve my nest
Can I convert my shack into a castle
Renovation can be such a hassle

They say good things come in threes
So my final goal I will seize
A dose of fitness motivation
Could be my old age salvation

Goals achieved can bring a dividend
What will their accomplishment portend
A healthier body and open mind
With a nicer abode in which to unwind

(Note: It won’t matter what your goals are if your fear of others, is greater than your faith in yourself. Trust your intuition/feminine.)

I’m writing because I have something to express that is of importance to me. It may be moving to you, it may not. But I owe MORE to the blank page awaiting my ink drops, than to strangers who I may never meet, or who don’t have any real stake in my feelings.
My own-self understands that whatever I write could have been done better, but I don’t live life in ‘could have’. I choose to live, and write, for better or worse, in ‘I did it’.
Ultimately my words are my own. Their excellence and/or failure, mine. What I express today, it’s greatness, may mean little to me tomorrow. But that’s not the point. Every letter, like every drop of rain, is required in some way by all of us.
For myself, I don’t judge a rainstorms importance by how many drops fall from the sky and if they all got to the roots of the plants that require watering.
My words are the unsealed storm. It may be quiet like a soft springs drizzle, or storm in thundering downpour. They may drown you or lift you up. And I understands, a verse that upsets one, can just as easily enlighten another.
My job is to write with my truth and passion, not judge. To trust the flow of my pen, not the stagnation of streams. And that’s a writers job–pushing the pen on blank pages and creating sentences that connect what I feel into ideals of what I seek to express. It starts there. It may end there. But what I write can never be completely ignored or discarded, because it was seen, felt, and expressed through me—as human being who is a part of a humanity that yearns to express itself through those who create its stories.

Letters are just letters, until someone arranges them into words, and forms them into sentences through their feelings, and into stories. Each and every time I do that, with integrity and fearless-feeling, I am a true writer. And what you feel about my words is up to you. Because that part of the writing is about the reader, not me. My job is creation, the Feminine, not self-judgement.
So I end as I began: I’m writing because I have something to express that is of importance to me. And when I’m done writing it, the rest will be up to you . . .

and I’m all write with that.

FEAR NOTHING

ERIC SANDER KINGSTON
wishonwisdom.com

“Give yourself permission to write.” Barbara Kingsolver

One novel to write the wrongs
Of a society that says I don’t belong
Where a woman neither mother nor wife
Is looked down on for living an unfulfilled life,
Berated and branded a broken soul
In need of someone’s other half to make her whole

One novel to break the contract
Of a creator’s falsely progressive act
Representation dangled in a cruel game
To be yanked away, pawned for money and fame
The rallying cry of my lived reality
Silenced by the masses’ romantic mentality

One novel as an act of resistance
Of lust and romance as the root of existence
A story to leave the stereotypes upended
A forgotten identity lovingly represented
Born from the ashes of what might’ve been
That the marginalized may rise again

One novel before the year is out
One novel, and this my vow
To defend a group cast out and betrayed
To keep to my goal and never stray
Weaving a narrative authentically told
My voice never packaged and sold