Fly

I feel like an imposter
Wearing a second skin,
Painted with all the things
People want to see;
But like a snake,
I’m ready to shed
And get rid of the little
White lies I tell myself
And those around me.
I am a cliche phoenix
Born again from the ashes
With brighter feathers
And stronger wings
And I am free to fly
Or to stay.
I choose my own path,
A divine path,
A kind path.
I will fly,
I will be happy,
And I will be wild.

alive

even when she falls apart,
she knows she’s got it together
because instead of reaching for
a knife, she reaches for her pen
and spills ink instead of blood.
she lets her emotions run free
rather than locking them in
a fragile cage with no key,
where they batter against the bars,
the metal twisting and screeching.
she’s no longer trapped,
no longer a slave to her mind;
she broke all the locks
and let herself be wild,
weird and unapologetically
alive.

little lamb

they warn you of
the boy who cried wolf,
but i’m more afraid of
the girl who cried sheep;
the one that made me care
and made me cry
ugly tears
in the glow of
my laptop screen.
i never doubted
her innocence
or her state of
mind, but maybe
i should be more
careful with where
i place my bets;
she won
the whole pot
and i was left with
nothing but a bruise
and a nasty ache
just beneath my
ribs, though it didn’t
quite make it to
my heart.
she was a little
lamb with the bite
of a bear,
and i was
easy prey.

Invitation

She sees the rain
outside her window
and feels dreary,
hunkering down for
a day in bed
with hot chocolate
and a sad book,
but for me,
the rain is
an invitation
to dance,
to move my body
and my soul
to the music
of each drop
in ways
I never thought
possible.

The rain is
pounding
on my heart
and I feel more alive
than I have in
years,
dancing the first
dance
since I was a little
girl, standing
on my dad’s
shoes,
wearing nothing
but a smile
and a new pair
of diapers,
ready to
take on the
world.

Now I’m in
yoga pants,
taking on
the world
one thunderstorm
at a time.

via Daily Prompt: Invitation

Meditation with a side of coffee

On the weekends,
we can fall apart
and Monday morning
we piece it back together –
maybe meditation
with a side of coffee
or medication
and a dose of
booze.

Either way,
our smiles are
just as fake
and our eyes
are still full of
lust and greed
and all the other
sins we committed
on the Sabbath.

I can almost hear
the prayers
of my coworkers
and I wonder
if they’re for me.

If they are,
no one’s
listening.