Wednesday, September 12, 2018

{ f(re)emale } - writer. yogi. mama. photographer. lover. austin, tx

You can't shame me with your insecurity, I've grown too happy to be torn down.
When I begin to question, I come back to my mat, to my body, to my breath, to my light.
Finally, when I look at myself, I don't see your shadows on my skin.
Absence now feels like space, let me twirl, cartwheel, and fling myself into possibility.

Loving feels so good.
I have untrammelled energy for the many people I encounter.
The pain and self-doubt that once weighed me down was so clearly my bruised ego having a fit.
Now I can say "take a seat" to the voices and stories in my head when they start to pipe up.
A river of breath and love continue to wash the murkiness of my past.
My soul shine is evolving.

I don't care what you think of me, I care about what you feel.
Compassion I wear like an immaculate dress, even as I stand naked in front of the mirror.
Life is a spectacular revelation.
Each day new, with the potential to throw open the windows and demolish the masonry I so carefully constructed around my heart.

Freedom, today, feels like being a woman.

rugged love


Tuesday, September 4, 2018

{ slip slip } - writer. lover. mama. yogi. photographer. austin, tx

You went quietly into a place I couldn't reach. I saw it without my eyes and felt it without my hands.
Still, your body stayed and you spoke, but it wasn't you anymore.
Were you stolen or was it by choice?
Either way, the sunshine was gone and you were unrecognizable.

Were you hoping I could help you come back or did it feel good to be gone?
My days felt heavy, confusing, and like the ground was tilting underneath me.
I wasn't ready, I didn't see it coming and I had no plan of escape.

My shoulders wanted the end-of-a-long-day embrace I could count on.
My head wanted the firm flesh scented pillow of your bicep.
My mouth wanted the sweetness of your lips and saltiness of your skin.
I gave you my secrets, told you my scars, and you scratched them open and left me to bleed.
I asked for tenderness and it turned out to be too much to request.

Once I dated someone who believed "time heals every wound."
I don't know everything, but I don't believe that time is the healer.
Passing days, months, years even, have not eased certain aches from my heart.
Love is the mother, the father, the divine.
I can sit in this place is discord and nothing makes sense, except for love.

over it

Love the hard places until they become soft.
Love the ugliness until it shines beautifully.
Love the broken heart in your chest and knots in your belly until you can take a breath, and then another.
Love the days you have here and draw them out for a long, long time.