The girl who wished to be loved Her eyes brown and glint Showing the past, present and future Long curls like mother earths grass Each strand unrefined, yet brazen Long pull of her cigarette Exhaling yesteryears The future was an escape, lingering in dreams that only she can perceive. A time capsule broken Expired memories Fingers running along each corner of her page that was once touched That heart shaped face, damp... But a soul would have no rainbow if the eyes had no tea

"I have no Parents; I make the Heaven and Earth my Mother and Father. I have no Home; I make Awareness my Dwelling Place. I have no Life and Death; I make the Tides of Breathing my Life and Death. I have no Divine Power; I make Honesty my Divine Power. I have no Means; I make Understanding my Means. I have no Magic Secrets; I make Character my Magic Secret. I have no Body; I make Endurance my Body. I have no Eyes; I make the Flash of Lightning my Eyes. I have no Ears; I make

Sunshine fills the air... I am nude, sipping stews of spiced Chai I write with leisure as monarchs flutter to the fragrant whispers of rose, gardenia & lemon balms... I thank God for the glory of this day.. How my heart resides warmly on this veranda. I think of him. he is the scent of home... the olfactory of what I always remembered as a small girl... those empty spaces, I've dreamt of filling.. moons ago, we shared our dreams

I. under the canopy of a trillion stars, a precious jewel was planted into the rich soils of mother earth. in between the quiet realms, of darkness; weeks slowly passed... roots spawned across the surface of the ground. days passing, seasons shifting... until one day, the fullness of time finally morphed into one. II. a big chrysalis embarked in the heart of December... gentle eaves of lanterns and fireflies surround her small cocoon. the shedding's of her skin molt and sloug

"At it’s root, creativity is not about success and not about failure. It’s not about knowing why, or what, or even who. It’s a mystery, a spiritual place to live." ― Quoted from Clarissa Pinkola Estés, in her book: 'Women who Run with Wolves' she was born a hybrid rose, tender at the touch; yet her stem was mighty strong, with petals soft-hued, & blush. under starry skies, the veil was growing thin, waiting to be treasured, her glowing, virgin skin. leaves of silken blossom,

I know you seek my words, to see if I exist - and wonder where I am, in the world of sunken mists. but darling these roots have died, my...

The lushness of autumn blooms among the olden trees. crimson, copper & amber... mother nature always showing her ineffable beauty. I pen my thoughts, appreciating the roots of my soul... these mighty bones that have traveled through many winding trails. .. I thank my angels for their guidance. I eat each bite of my food with gratitude. I see my reflection when I converse with others. I look at Bindhi and Faedra. My stray babies that chose me. I think of my papa and how much

horizons are changing, leaves, turning... I feel light as the crisp air. I feel a change within. keep going.

“It is because I dove into the abyss that I am beginning to love the abyss I am made of..” Clarice Lispector After a long year of seclusion, I have felt an urge to rise from my nest and discover the hidden paths that beckon. Last night, I attended a Full moon ceremony hosted by new friends in their beautiful abode. Rain pattered against the large skylight windows, even a frog croaking outside in the background. Natures atmospheric sounds... I began to transport myself into t

dreary days of absence still linger, head far from the nape of his wings. remembrance of his earth colored eyes and soul-light. my love...

The myths of her longing cradled in the pause of unspoken crave. silken desires ribboned in secrecy, aching to be touched by the warmth...

her soft, angelic lips; the ones that speak of truth and old world tongues... precious eyes like a fairy child, waiting to devour at midnight hunger... she dwells amongst the secret abode of lost lands; for whom will give rein to the wraths of her bountiful love? only the feathers on the trail know.. ~

I have a powerful story that completely changed my life forever at the age of 16 years old. I am now realizing how difficult it is to...

She ponders below the August night-sky pregnant with stars, Face upon the riverbed, acknowledging her mirrored reflection. Bones built...

I lie here, listlessly on my rooftop, My brown hair sprawled against the prickled concrete. Chimney swifts flying overhead, The Sun...

This bare skin has no place to repent, Warm and enflamed, fire within, Sweet ambrosia blossom through this estate. The Gods take a sip,...

Amidst the depth into one's eyes, Entering all but none, The compass through our ocular speck.

Lavender silk, Red-stained lips, Serpent tongues, Entwined like sweet grass. The earth in his eyes, My lotus in full bloom. Euphoric...

To meet eyes with one, To meet eyes with many. Seedlings emerging. Roots birthing. No bridle in sight. The mesmeric fusion, Of two that...

Crestfallen whispers to the moon, Woven winds coiling into the nudge of my lonely breath, that was once synced with blue skies and...