Fly free

Fly free

This is me

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I am a woman who appreciates life and all that it offers. Life is so unique and beautiful that it fills my mind with many thoughts and questions. My thoughts are overflowing on the contents of these pages.Who am I? Just me and the spaces in between.

Wednesday, January 14, 2009

Dashing to the finish line.


I thought I had found something real and now I realized what I had found was the same old place I started from but with new wisdom. I know now that what I had found was something more valuable than I could ever tell him thanks for. In the midst of my sadness right now I have found the strength to start over and accept the loss. I would love to hear a soft word or touch that he once have given but his sorrows leave no room for me in his world and that is the story of most , too brusied to love past the hurt or hold on to a touch of love enough to see as a saving grace that doesn't carry disdain or judgement but patience and strength to help him win the race. But I am not the one and I don't carry the love he needs and he doesn't have the heart to love me enough and so it shall be without hard feelings just two simple words Good Bye and a time to reflect at the lessons learned.
I would be a lie if I said that I don't lday down and cry at night and feel more sad that he doesn't seem to be moved , affected or concerned. But even in the washing I am becoming stronger. There are so many qualities about him that I hope oneday some woman will be able to receive. When we first met he caught me off gaurd because I had no intentions of finding love. It was beautiful to have a man look at me in amazement and ask questions to explore me. Risking so much when that was not his nature just to pursue the heart he once had and the joy of what he know love could be. He is amazing and I hope oneday he will see that he is not a failure, he is a King with a dream and vision, ideas and focus that few will see. Dark nights kiss gorgeous days and even a King had to lay in the hay but his name give us grace. Perhaps oneday he will see that my love and support was because I can see the dream and future he holds.
But those days of infinite possibilities and I miss you have been replaced by the failures we believe we have accomplished. We have accepted that the other knows the heart of the other; but when we look into each other's eyes is it love or disdain that is shown. For my part I am sorry for each time I ever took for granted it was alright to be someone I am not for all the pain I now hold in my heart my love has not changed and it is a shame that I would not say I love you as I knew to do because everyone needs to know, Lord knows I do. How often we forget the power of love but when it races pass you and you lack the endurance to chase it, you quickly rembember the warmth of its's embrace.
I wish that was able to express that the storm that he is dancing with;isn't forever and the measure of a man is how he responds and determines the stay in the wilderness. His worth is determined in the way he holds his head and the one way loves for another, no man walks alone...

Or do we walk alone becuase right now I have never felt so alone. Even as I write all this and accept his need for pride,happines and a sense of self worth and accomplishment, it has left me isolated,lonely and desiring to hear the words I love you, I miss you, you are beautiful and how much he values the things that I am doing. I miss these things not because I am chasing the dreams of others but it is because it is what I have always needed more than the big house..this is me and what I need. I hear more of what I need to change , what I could work on and how I need to not take it personal that I cannot control the tears that want to flow and if he only knew that I hate to cry, feel weak or sad .
But as I understand and accept that it isn't personal does he accept or understand that my pain , my struggles my needs or should i just accept that I have no priority in the windfall of uncontrollable change for a man that needs order. And in the end does the ends justify the means if it makes him a better man. I would have to say yes and learn to be unselfish and accept.
Eventhough my heart is breaking as I feel I am giving my all it is more important to love enough to let go of young girl dreams of having a man say to me that I am enough and how beautiful I am. Young girls dream in color and fantasies that he will feel honored to give just as much as me, the reality love is selfish and I have to concede had I learned that lesson years ago my heart would not slowly bleed.

Instead I have given and given even when told and shown that it was time to let go and dash away to the finish line. I have stayed to late walking away emotionally broke, drained, cold of heart and full of disdain. And no he will never say I should have made a change or asked her to stay because he had nothing to offer her because he was battling his own pain and she wasn't enough to make him to see beyond it or worth it to love unselfishly or maybe it was me who couldn't see just how much his heart bleeds at the things he has lost and..i wasn't even worth the sacrifice..and how his heart must swell , yell and blister that he took the chance on me.

And once again i walk away with gifts in hand but less than my heart to part , the same song and dance except this time I can say that my heart is finally broken, broken to an extent that it can not mend, but i can not say it is his fault , I can still see gentleness in his eyes . it is mine and i am finally done and can let go of love ..she was never mine. This little girl has finally learned that hurt and pain are not always intentional and can even make you grow. And this is my lesson learned as I cross the finish line.

Sunday, January 11, 2009

Dash (early hours)


It is in the early hours that I get to be alone. There are no voices calling for me , demanding my time , presence or energy. The only thing that summons me is me. I lay in the bed contemplating what I should do; the silence in the room is too noisy and filled with gloom. Odd: that silence becomes cumbersome because all of my thoughts are dashing to the front of my mind competing for my time in solace. It is in these hours that I should be making the most of some quality time and enjoy myself. This is when I discover that I don't know how and I become politely envious of those who do. I can not focus and gets things done , cannot be bored and do nothing , instead my mind runs thoughts like a hamster on a wheel over and over until when can spill out enough for me to catch and clean the this the beginning of insanity

She sits in her stoop and plays with her hair, twisting locs into loop
Children laugh at her for that’s all she does all day...they call her the lady in the shoe
some wonder how long she will remain and is this truly all she will do
but when all are sleep , she takes a peak out the window to see and begins her dash to freedom.
Her luggage is packed and she's not sure when will be back
She's adorned in hues of purple and blue and new shade of red; something she can get used to
Where will she go this time?
Will she dance with the weave makers; perhaps become a basket maker
Her legs are strong she's been moving so long when no one can see dashing in and out of the darkness and shadows, she'll stand still this time and sift the sands for pearls
There has to be a rare black one there, maybe this time he'll be there and the can search together
So much to do , so much to do
She'll ride the waves of salty waters and return back as a dusty daughter
Dawn breaks and she must get back, so many things to unpack
In her window she sits twisting her locs
Staring out at tainted innocence wondering if they have ever truly lived

I think of old nursery rhymes and those that seem to be so despondent to life in the early hours. Perhaps it is just me but there seems to be a freedom of will that I can never see. That grasp on life in a way that others can never just let be. And in the early hours while thoughts run frantically perhaps I should just take a bag and pack to begin a journey. The idea of resting is grand but in honesty we have never been friends in the traditional sense.
Now I reflect back to an imaginative wild child with unique perspective and a will to be free, I have somehow become the woman in the window mundane and routine and alive in memories as analyzes the world in her mind.

As the early hours beckon me, I think I should let the thoughts run free without fear and pull out my good running shoes and see where they lead me.

Friday, January 09, 2009

The Dash

For those that are reading, by now you know that I do not edit or make changes. I write in the stream of my thoughts and just like life there is not an edit, rewind and undo button. If there were such a thing I would purchased that years ago. But instead life happens in the details and between the dashes of life and this post is a start to deconstructing and reconstructing the woman I know as me.

Jan 9th 2009

The ending of year and the start to another…I have always lived by the details that life presents. I look at as the mourner who stares at the tombstone of the one they loved; the mourner doesn’t concentrate on the dates but that dash in between. It is that dash that embodies our lives of memories and moments of truth , joys and sadness . That marker in the ground is made bold by the dash. Death is not the only dash in our lives but the markers of our lives are each day. Jan 9-2008 – Jan 9-2009 . The dash of a year and what are the details that another , myself, lover, family and friends will play in the highlight reel, most importantly what will be I be mentally reviewing?

I spoke with my Father and learned something new this year (others may have known-those that choose to dig deeper and see my heart). I live my life by the essence of failure. She works her hands around the peaks and swims in the bed of my tears, her grasp is strong and tight and steps with heavy laden boots in the valley of darkness that entrenches the markers of my life. I’ve always enjoyed her kisses and thought of them as sweet touches of reality that keep me rooted and grounded , so sweet I felt her warmth touching me and her reality gave me the inspiration to touch others with cheer and rays of positive growth.

But now I feel lonely and deceived. The touch of failure wasn’t so sweet and the reality is now swallowing me whole. She is my moment of truth, she is my dash: failure and I am not sure we know how to part because she wears so many shades that I wear so well. I wrapped my warm creamy skin in the strong richest hue black embolden by fear with deep shades of mahogany guilt and ebony regret and together , shedding them leaves me naked and exposed and running to new shades that may not blend as well .......and so life begins 9:50 am - dash of whenever I end the relationship of whom I have been caressing as my friend

Tuesday, April 15, 2008

Self Discovery

Many nights I lay awake praying to the creator about the journey my life has taken. Bruises and scars that I have are yet to be revealed to anyone that I feel understands. And now at this point in my life I have stopped looking for the love and acceptance, understanding. I search now for self discovery and solutions. Mostly since I have not discovered many of the things that shape my soul. I wonder why Jeremiah wept the way he did, it had to be more than the city around him, perhaps there was some sorrow so deep that he could not bear to bring it to memory. Yes much like others I am constantly spinning my axis to the nexus of understanding of who I am. The more you know the less you understand.
The beauty of a creative mind over thirty is that ignorance is no longer romance. So my soul bleeds on anything that will allow the ink to be received. Today as the wind blows she runs her hands across my soul and I realize that life leaves us chasing the kiss of the wind. Our bodies left cold from her disappearance.
I have been chasing after that invisible kiss. Relationships bring bliss that feels like the strength of the wind blown kiss. What they do in reality is teach you who you are. My solution to those of us that are now in relationships: Patience and strength , pray readily for the two. If you do they will ride you through the force , anger , beauty and more of love.
Patience will remind you that your all is good enough and no man or woman can take that away from. strength will remind you that power is yours and only you allow it to be given away. I am discovering that I have given away too much of my power to those that didn't deserve while I sat by patiently for the word that he wasn't the one. I should have had more strength to trust that I was strong enough to know that my instincts were right, he wasn't the one and if I was patient with myself he would arrive. All the acceptance and understanding doesn't mean anything without patience and strength , I have loved a man or two that held a quality or two but never encompassed the entire package and perhaps neither did i for him. And my discovery today is that one quality does and will outweigh another. Subtracting one from the equation lessens the strength of the soul.
And I am writing: random, rambling and thoughts because I am a rambling, random thoughtful person on a path that is ordered but I somehow lost the ability to clearly read the map. I start over and try my best to get back on track.
Get naked. Start over, can't crawl into the womb but I can shed off the clothes to release myself of the burden of people's expectations in relationships. Anyone who so desire can do the same. Learn who you are, for who we are is that beautiful naked self. We bring that person hoping to meet another that is on the same path. And nakedness is so beautiful. When Adam first saw Eve he didn't noticed her cellulite that slightly decorated her thigh, or the bulge in her belly. He didn't care about who she was before or the mistakes of yesterday when she trusted another's will and not his, not her man. He never made mention of the grave sin that she made, he never criticized, he stood by her side. She was him and he knew her flaws, hubris and all She was his wife his love and his mate. He accepted and love her to such a degree that he would disobey the greatest and only Creator. This man that got to walk in the cool of the garden with the one most are seeking to find. Love, true love is just that bad. It supersedes the negative, outlives the pain of yesterday, forgets that he or she made a mistake. Why? Because on the path to self discovery I've learned that Love is rooted in patience and strength. And no matter who I was yesterday the woman I am today in my most raw, exposed naked form is FLAWLESS to the one who is strong enough to stand and be patient enough to love my art.

So the next time I run into the arms of my man I have to ask how strong he is and the temperance of his patience because I am on a path of self discovery and that may cause me to often run naked. I hope he loves me hard enough to accept and understand.

Monday, March 24, 2008

Anger Love and Walls

I've talked and talked enough
Listening becomes a chore and words that once soothed my ebony skin begin to feel blue black sin.
I Love you yet the words I hear make e fear that we have reached the end. yes I understand that tears are healing for the soul and weeping words from the lips gives balm o wounds that need not be, but yet at the end of sipping I feel empty, needing to empty my bladder of the barrage of chatter that makes me see Anger not love and the walls brace my heart and I resolve that love and anger have the same mother and are never independent of each other.

Guilt and shame are making Love wildly while chasing the passion f anger and love. Words from the past dance like stars born of cosmic collisions and it becomes clear that ones vision of what happiness and joy must be is always born out of chaos and anger and shine brilliant from heavens as a child lays down and gazes at the sky from the dust of the earth. And it makes me wonder from birth could be possible to erase the gene of hurt and see that collision just as heavenly as the creator imagined. Instead I see anger at all of the particles that are bumping into me and the reality is that while it is all meant to be heavenly it feels like hell and I have fallen the eight time past creation into destruction and my 4 point axis of creativity is forgone into a consuming squall. And yes in my eyes he sees anger and in his heart there is love that can climb this wall.

It is amazing that as much as we talk of love we talk little of the anger that accompanies it until the relationship is over. But that is not true. I am finding myself in the position of a solid relationship and that I can some days recover the walls that have embraced the chambers of my heart. And as soon as I hear certain themes I retreat and need time to process and think because my reactionary causes are filled with anger disappointment and fear. I fear that letting someone close is another heartbreak waiting to happen. So instead I smile and pretend that in the end it really doesn't matter because the anger comes when it has ended and that fortifies the walls that I build. But unlike most I am too polite and suppress the anger that I feel and smile to conceal or concede to please and beneath the surface she lies beneath in a red sea of flames and while I love the anger is one in the same.

And no this isn't the best piece of I've ever written but I am angry tonight and this is what I had to spit out while saying nothing. Tomorrow I will smile and nod as if nothing has happen and the words exchanged were built up out of a reaction to stress. I will justify the wrath and the pain inflicted me and the other as an out of character feat and realize the only bit of insanity is that I can not allow myself to feel angry long enough to feel what love is like without the support of walls.

Thursday, March 06, 2008

Random Thoughts marching on

It is a cold winter night in the rocky mountains. Living here has not changed the impact of he frigid winds mother nature so calmly blows between her warm lips. I cannot decide where to lay my head in between his arms, near the fireplace or on the space of floor looking up at my ceiling that reveals the beauty of the night sky from my skylights. It is a new story inked on the same paper yet a fresh page, nothing really changes. Just like the cycle of cold winds; the song and dance of love, change and harmony plays in and out of tune, depending on the writer the lyrics will complement or deny the rhythm.

SO here I am still pondering him or the floor, how classical will the melody be is this an enduring score? How many have said that they enjoyed the masterpiece without seeing the art of the details, how keen is his eye. Gently and warm he sleeps and inside my spirit weeps unable to afford another tear in the fabric of the peace this woman keeps, so at a distance I shall keep them away but in my bed he sleeps and one arm reaches for the floor and the other around his waist it keeps.

And I yearn for the frigid night for it is all that I know but the melody has changed and the story becomes warm and now I turn to close the window to keep the whisper of the rigid night at bay. In what was once my bed we now lay and we write new lines on the same paper of the same story but a different page worn, weathered and frayed. My eyes unable to keep sharp like the thoughts racing swiftly in my mind, I pull my tired body between the love and comfort of his thighs destined to write new lines.


It has nearly been a year since I have touched this blog. It feels as if most things in my life have been smeared by fog and writing has not provided the serene clarity it once gave. But on this day I call back to her and ask for the tranquility she always saves just for me.

She is sweet and somber
I call to her and she responds with eyes of wisdom
and offers her body to me as my pad and my letters dress her gently
I run out of ink while pouring out my soul and she weeps to refill my pen
I apologize for the neglect and she kisses me telling me to forget she is always here
And in that moment I confess once more to her, and inside I die as I reflect what took so long for me to remember her sweet smell.
She lays me down gently in her papyrus arms and I curl up like hieroglyphics on her walls
I ink my story stronger than the grains of sand before , my words permanently sown on her henna skin.
She whimpers as I tell her the news of the days before I used her, she frowns in jealousy of the comfort another gave in her place.
I stroke her face and comfort her letting her know that no one can hear my soul the way she does, she is the keeper of my words and her womb receives me tightly.
And as I use her as my scroll she bleeds for my whisper and I am reminded just how much I missed her.
Forgone to long I sing to her my lullaby and and promise to caress her daily, she needs me and I need her, she is the mother and keeper of my words.

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