Looking out into the familiar,

Crested waves confront my lower body,

As a few more steps are taken,

Until they reach my thighs,

Causing one final cold gasp to appear.

 

This, was further than before,

Which was more than the last time.

I can no longer see what is beneath,

Or trust this gentle slope will continue.

 

Glancing behind, the shoreline beckons control,

But turn I must and move out further,

Each movement now more tentative,

Searching for firm footings,

Until my breasts are under.

 

Here I stand once more,

No longer glancing back,

But thinking forward,

To commit fully to His Will.

 

And pass control to Him.

The Flower

It’s me here,

The Flower.

The one you have been waiting to bloom,

The one you have watered,

The one your sun shined upon,

Even when I didn’t deserve it.

It’s me here again,

Wondering if you are watching me,

Of course you are,

There I go again seeking attention,

Sorry …

 

Hi, I’m back again,

Asking those questions,

The ones about insecurity,

The ones about my heart,

Am I being true to you?

 

There, it’s out again,

The one worry I have,

As I act in the world,

With my gifts,

And my faults,

Am I with you always?

Please don’t think I am a child,

Even if I am.

 

For I know you love children,

I know you love me,

I know you love all.

And, even though I may be unsure sometimes,

Know that I love you.

With Loving Insecurity.

Your flowering daughter.

Why is it I see the tree, sometimes as if it was chopped down?

Each part into neat little sections, as if the cuts were intentional,

And I had something to do with it.

 

Perhaps I did.

Accepting decisions,

Making decisions,

Reacting,

Responding,

Or sometimes, just getting out of Dodge,

Even though, now I look behind,

No one was chasing me.

 

A life is not made up of just experiences,

People,

Places,

Things,

Homes and more.

No, it is the memories,

Good and bad which inform my next moves,

Or next stays.

 

Darn it, didn’t realize it was that simple.

 

Or perhaps it’s not after all.

Not just a jolt,

But a ritual,

The morning coffee sits, beautifully reheated from the microwave,

Steaming its wares at me,

Inviting me to start the day. 

 

With the sip formed from lips of addiction.

A gentle brush,

Such a minor unintended touch,

Of one leg passing another in the vestibule,

Creates a revolution.

 

As if a relationship has been made,

And kept dearly for years,

Daily routines,

Shared lives;

Pain and suffering.

 

And then its over; As if it never happened.

 

But it did.

 

The black and white rendered image of this firebird flower pretty much sums it up at present.

On the one side I am frazzled by all the input and changes in a life,

And at the same time, pleased about what has been achieved.

Rather like a climbing a mountain,

Ascending seemed like it was endless,

But now at the summit; I am rather pleased with myself.

 

The black and white rendered image of this firebird flower pretty much sums it up at present.

On the one side I am frazzled by all the input and changes in a life,

And at the same time, pleased about what has been achieved.

Rather like a climbing a mountain,

Ascending seemed like it was endless,

But now at the summit; I am rather pleased with myself.