Monday, October 5, 2015

{ take up my senses } - yogi. mama. lover. writer. witness. austin, tx

The morning was tangerine grey.
A red cardinal broke the colors of the sky and landed on a branch of forest green leaves.
Your flavor is scotch and tobacco.
There are so many textures and I recall each one but hardly have space to record them.
White surrounds me.
I'm eclipsed by the shadows of my own fears and I run away to seek certain pain.
At noon the light had turned yellow.
The cast of life busily acting out chaos while we sought serenity and sleep.
Clouds so fragile.
They looked as if someone had taken a brush and smeared them across an endless blue canvas.
Your warm hand on my waist.
I am Mother and protector, I am Child and irresponsible, I am Survivor and stubborn.
Your gaze pulls me in.
A quick magnetic glance and our eyes lock momentarily, you're the only to make me look away.
Each day holds some powerful second where my world explodes.
Fireworks of life shooting into the air and bursting before my eyes.
Lay down a blanket on this hill, let's watch together.

Tuesday, September 15, 2015

{ perspective change } - yogi. lover. mama. believer. austin, tx.

From a balcony where I sat I watched you.
You were a speck in the ocean, jumping waves and enjoying freedom.
I knew you from the distance because I'd always known you from the distance.
Nothing has changed.
I know you from far away, your energy pushes mine and I fall.
You're still jumping into the waves and you're still free.
I hold you in high regard, even when you've made me insignificant.
Somehow tonight I'm on a balcony and I know you're a speck that should search for me.
I'm here with a spotlight, I've made it so easy, so clear.
Those damn waves you love to jump into, they pull and you crave it.
I tried to be in them with you but you want them alone.
The ocean to yourself.
I walk up the beach and look to the sky.
The white clouds against her blue heart reassure me.
My shoulders are warm and bronze.
I can smell salt, sweetness, and amber.
The sand is gritty between my toes.
This chin of mine held high.
Invisible wings keep me upright.
Each step I push the ground behind me to go forward.
I'm a moving beacon.
I'll be easy to find and hard to reach at this pace.

Wednesday, September 9, 2015

{ what year is this } - yogi. mama. writer. lover. austin, tx

That time. Your porch.
Storms all day.
White shirts. No words.
No regrets.

Yellow flowers. Sandwiches.
Never let me go.
Thunder. A breeze and blanket.
I'm lost.

Because the knot in my throat is so big I can't breathe.
The sting swelling in my nose and eyes from the rush of tears about to spill.
I'm an avalanche and the painful words broke loose the weight I've kept at bay.
There's too much pressure, I issued warning that I was dangerous, that I'm not okay.
You can't yell or push someone like me, this wave will not be stopped.
I'm sorry for what I can't tame, control, or explain.
I offer no apologies for my honesty.

Tuesday, September 1, 2015

{ grow up } - yogi. daughter. mama. survivor. austin, tx

I went to sleep last night in a pile of fear and bedsheets.
Before that...
I clutched my body pillow.
The short, synthetic fur soft against my legs.
The well loved stuffing inside crushed under my embrace.
It was too warm to have so much weight, but my cocoon was essential.
The folds of cotton around me held me the way I wanted my mother to as a small child.
My pillow held my head like a soft lap I could trust.
Laying in bed I told myself all the ways to heal.
I coached myself on how to breathe and recite mantra.
Recounted my truth, claimed abundance, and thanked god for support.
Anxiety did not leave me, but my body found peace to relax.
It felt tight when it crawled up my body and into my head.
I wanted to run away, toss my head back, close my eyes, and be finished.
I pressed my palm to my heart and said aloud "you're still needed and everything is fine, breathe."
Worry soaked up the tears from my eyes, took the blush from my cheeks, and put a white hair at my temple.
I was done giving so much to these self sabotaging thoughts.
I drew in breath and heaved out terror.
My muscles became too heavy to hold onto my bones and my weight intensified so that I sank deep into my worn mattress.
If the world consumed me, I'd go down breathing and clawing.

Today I woke up determined to find myself, my strength, my honesty, and my angels.

Sunday, August 30, 2015

{ thinking in words } - yogi. photographer. writer. weirdo. austin, tx

She wrote the words from her heart which her head could not comprehend.
About loss and about living, about affection and about nothing.
She described the feelings and sensations that meant the most to her.
Sometimes she would share everything.
Other times she held it inside like a treasure guarded by a tiny smile, until the words disappeared.
It could be quite poetic and clear.
It could also be vague, enigmatic nonsense.
Could she slow down and savor all the words of each moment?
Lately she wondered, how are so many words lost?
Her mind constantly full of adjectives and experience.
It was time to acknowledge the need for these words.
Not some, few, or the sexy ones.
All the thoughts, celebrations, and fears deserve deep exploration and voice.

Monday, August 24, 2015

{ slap } - yogi. biker. writer. mama. austin, tx

It started with a rainy ride.
White shorts, chambray, and streaming tears.
It's easy to cry in public when it's raining.
Only I knew, because raindrops don't taste like salt dipped heartbreak.
Muddy splashes into my shoes and my ankles covered in dirt.
I'd have thrown myself into a ditch for full emersion if I were back home.
It was foggy and I dove into my penance.
Thank god for the slap.
Verdant leaves heavy with the rain whipped my right shoulder.
I sped up.
A spark of hope.
Light emerging in my darkness.
Old drops fell as leaves could retain no more and released them to cleanse me.
This was my life and the magic air I used to breathe.
Through tunnels and under trains, was I riding or flying?
Something carried me or I was floating.
What I'm sure of is that I let something go.
Something daunting and that did not belong to me.
That sludge was not mine.
I'd have to open up, say it.
The more I share the more I receive.
I don't want to go back to that cave.
I want the grass to brush my legs.
I want the wind to muss my hair.
I want to feel pockets of cool amid the steamy Texas air.
I want to stay awake for this life, no matter what.

Tuesday, August 18, 2015

{ telegraph } - yogi. mama. writer. austin, tx.

Simply quit this torturous routine.
Baby who knows what life will bring?
Knock off the abuse.
Cocoon yourself in lilac, be enfolded in petals of grace.
They touch your skin like liquid velvet.
You're going to be okay, say yes to soothing.
Let the water run through your hair, take in the scent of divinity.
Light is inside you like embers just beneath your skin.
Don't fear your fire, spark it and be warm again.
You can't continue to punish yourself for mistakes, you never deserved that.
Feathers brush against the back of your calves and soles of your feet.
Strength from the wings of curious angels.
Slow down and find your North.
You're not as alone as you feel and someone cares that you hurt.
It wasn't ever right for those things to happen.
Take a soapy rag and remove the barrier.
Toss the whole bloody bucket and rinse the sludge.
You're shiny now.
Don't run from the mirrors.

Monday, August 10, 2015

{ a time ahead } - mama. yogi. writer. austin, tx.

Someday you'll hold your own and know that the stars are in the sky for her.
You'll understand that the sun wakes up to kiss her cheeks and sparkle light upon her shiny hair.
In time you'll see her smile, hear her speak, watch her grow, and your heart will belong to her.
She may break it, bruise it, and test it, but without her it wouldn't work anyway.
Through the pain you'll learn her language and the tears will become elixir.
Tell her she's the reason you're alive and affirm her sweetness.
Never assume that she knows.
Generations have toiled at tearing her apart.
Wrap your arms around her and plant firm kisses on her head.
Look her in the eyes when you say that you love her.
Be her foundation, guide her to see her worth, and never forget how much she needs you.
It will take great strength my love, but there is nothing more valuable in this world or any other.
Her eyes close and night falls, the moon lifts to witness her slumber.
Breezes blow to feel the softness of her skin.
You'll know all of this and you'll still want to give her more.

Wednesday, August 5, 2015

{ not my fight } - yogi. writer. nostalgic soul. austin, tx

I can't remember her name anymore, but I recall her Dallas skyline t-shirt and slightly frizzy brown hair.
She had freckles and seemed like someone who would swear a lot, brave somehow.
My instant desire was to be her friend.
Ridicule came like a blow, like a heavy fist in my gut.
I choked on my tears and childhood heartbreak.
"Little girls are so mean."
Sound encouragement for life from my French teacher.
There were phone calls of harassment and threats.
She wasn't going to be my friend, she wanted to ruin my face, she sought some vile leadership of Monday Skate Night.
I never told my mom about the calls, never cried to my dad about the ugly words spoken against me.
I hid in my room.
I closed off the world.
I failed to understand that this wasn't my fight.
My self defense of kindness was like ammunition to her.
Little girls or grown men, some people will splash their pain on others without realizing.
Maybe there is a reason she always wore the Dallas shirt.
Perhaps those cruel words you only have courage to say to me, because you know I will never snap back.
It's possible suffering souls draw from a well because they feel empty.
You have my pity, you have my love, but to hell with you taking my light.

Thursday, July 30, 2015

{ fishbowls + portholes } - writer. observer. austin, tx

There is smoke rolling from an open window.
It's 4pm and the sheets are rumpled in a passionate way.
There is a porthole that exposes nothing but a reflection.
Cheers above a coffee table and they scatter to the noisy street.
So many stories, they go up and they fill my mind.
Lights turn on and others turn off.
Stairwells and picture frames trying to feel like home.
Broken promises and futures unknown float in the air like bad perfume.
It's 8pm and who knows what the truth is.
The later is gets the fewer there are to see but they are certainly more vivid.
If you have an imagination and empathy they may break your heart.
Who knows what the fish see when they look out.