Her Spirit’s a Free Bird

Don’t know why, but it’s Feb 10, and it finally, finally feels like she can go back. Like she can be in a dream again. Like she can see the imprints of stars in the sky again; like she wants to breathe in the rain again. Airy rain. Dirt rain. Delicate, dense rain. Like, like, like, like… again home belongs in her heart.

Her home is plaited with others’ needs, with the wants of simplicity; simpler times. And, her gift is her heart to you. Because, innocence is all she clings to and, honestly, it’s all she understands. Complexity complicates her mind.

She sees the dirt. She feels, oh, she feels the dirt in her hands again. She’s drowning light in the moment again. Every sensory delight arriving – finally arriving.

P.S. Please don’t step on her gift again; please don’t cage her again.

Because, P.S. Her spirit’s a free bird again.

Ok.. .

I’m ok, I wrote on page 29 of this book… I’m ok and “courage doesn’t roar” and it “whispers” for “tomorrow” (says Audrey), and, but I’m ok. I don’t need announcements this second because, in this second, I’m ok. And, every second counts, right?


“When you feel like a rug that everyone’s stepping on, remember that rugs are needed. They’re soft; they provide comfort for another’s feet.”


What I wouldn’t do for another chance with him; a third, a fourth chance with him. Chances until we get it right chance, with him.

The moment I realized that I’m not here to impress anyone – like you, or maybe unlike you, I’m just a humble resident on this earth who’s making their mark in minuscule or communally colossal ways, my high-pitched, trepid and filler infused, stuttering voice became deeper, my back stood straight, and my eyes faced forwards. The moment I realized that I’m not here to impress anyone, I started doing me. I looked at the crowd and took one second for myself to think “So this is living, huh? Being here to not impress because my being here is not necessarily impressive enough, but it is impressive.” And then, I spoke.

You know that feeling of forgetting what it’s like to feel anything? Then, being afraid, convincing yourself that your inability to feel means you must be debased? No tears; just a never ending gulf of air in your lungs making breath torturous. That is, of course, until someone says something that makes you uneasy; something that makes you quesy, and like a sly needle to a “I’m in my happy place that deals with no emotion at the moment, please leave a message — never — after the beep” balloon, you pop. So here we are, at 1:57 am; popped.

Waiting for that Shatter


Sometimes inspiration feels like it peaks through after that draining, suffocating, solid glass in your brain shatters.

Waiting for that glass to shatter is tedious, but when it finally does, and trust that it will, rays of light enter the dark vault inhabiting your mind. With that shatter, freshness seeps away the stifling air created by the glass box in your mind.

With that shatter, translucence takes over your mind. With that shatter, the invisible becomes visible. With that shatter, invincibility is a possibility. With that shatter, the scribbled notes on your desk become pages of flourishing poetry. With that shatter, you walk downstairs with a smile on your face, a heart ready to laugh, and a soul that’s ready to last. With that shatter, breathing becomes easy again. In, out; inhale, exhale. With that shatter, breathing is an unconscious act again. With that shatter, your world shines, your world illuminates, you illuminate, you mean it when you smile, and you mean it when you’re too tired to give useless spaces time. With that shatter, irrelevance blurs. With that shatter comes motivation, and a confidence that replenishes your doubts. With that shatter, inspiration strikes for a new tomorrow that’s anticipating light and joy you finally know and not just think that you deserve. And once you’re at a stage beyond the need for a glass in your mind to shatter, which without a doubt can come, you’ll know that inspiration was always at your fingertips. You’ll know that you’ve always been in control of when that glass shatters.