I rise before the sun and put together a big cup of pour over coffee. Every thing is silent, this is why I am awake. My lover lays sprawled across our bed, our dog next to him. Observing them even for just a moment reminds me of just how lucky i am, I have always been the girl with nothing, and now I am flooded with love, I am drowning happily in everything that I thought was not possible for me.
Since I was young I dreamed of the person I wanted to be, now I am here. I am the home that I always wanted and needed. Once you are shown love, it changes you. It uproots your soul and pry’s open your eyes. With my eyes open I embrace my walls that have always kept me safe, I hug my body for always being there for me when all I wanted was to die, and I have come to appreciate my kindness and bitterness. I apologize to myself for all those years that I wasn’t good enough, I apologize for the abuse, and I forgive myself because love is forgiveness.
The sun has breached early morning sky, shattering the darkness with soft pinks, blues, oranges. I could never pick between a sun rise and a sun set, but there’s something about the early calmness that reminds a soul to relish every single moment.
I like mornings. That’s the time that I am most alone and just with myself.
via Daily Prompt: Sincere
Bring me your truths dripping slowly from your fingers
like warm golden honey,
just like you.
You with your wild hair
stealing the moonlight from the sky herself,
you with your sincere heart,
something most in this world just can’t seem to understand,
something most can’t bother to see.
You are a reality,
everyone wants to live in a day dream.
“Write because you want to communicate with yourself. Write because you want to communicate with someone else. Write because life is weird and tragic and amazing. Write because talking is difficult. Write because it polishes the heart. Write because you can. Write because you can’t. Write because there is a blackbird outside of my window right now and oh my god isn’t that the best start to the day? Write because you’re trying to figure yourself out. Write because you might not ever figure yourself out. Write because there still aren’t enough love poems in the world.”
I used to think that something was wrong with me. Nothing felt right, nothing fit. Since i was a child I would rearrange my furniture almost weekly, except now that I’m older instead of moving furniture I just move myself, place to place, coast to coast. I refuse to glamorize my lifestyle, traveling is beautiful, but i would never call it freedom like most do. In order to travel you have to give up the idea that you’ll always have a place to call home, because every time you do return home, it’s never the same, you’re friends will all be strangers, some will love you despite your absence. You’ll miss weddings, birthdays, births,the time your dear friend got a life saving liver transplant, you will give up all of the little details, like doing dishes in a real sink, and closing the door to your bedroom. You will constantly feel like you don’t have enough space. This is the price of traveling and I can’t yet decide if it was a fair price or not.
I’m not so good at introductions or with explaining who or what I am. I just am. I’m not even sure what the point of this blog is, but I’m going to write anyway.