Gathering myself 

Gathering myself in again

Protecting selfishly

What sanity remains

Fighting off years of pain

With another punch

In the air

Still with no place to land

No purchase in wounds

Just a gaping hole

Aching for it to be filled

And to discover a ground

Worth standing on

  
(Photo from fanathepurp.co.za)

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She Reached

She reached out

in the stillest calm

Disrupting the mangata

From the boat she lay

A road to nowhere

This path

Between sky and sea

Yet she seeks each night

Relentlessly    

  (Photo by SnoopelGoupen found on Flickr)    

  

if…

If there were stars

to comfort me

I would learn to fly

and be found

In their arms

If there was a sea

To subdue the pain and anxiety

I would swim deeply

If there was a heart I could mend

To as forget my own

I would take up a needle and thread

Both day and night

And if there was a place to go

To run from myself

I would run a thousand miles

then a thousand more

Just to feel right again

  
(Photo from Google images)

The Pier

The boards were rough. Unfinished planks, gouged out in some places, worn from sea water and wind. The pier rose out over 100 feet into the Gulf of Mexico and was lined with pelicans in hopes of meeting a lazy fisherman not watching his pail of freshly caught prey. We walked this pier nearly every day; To the end and back, hand in hand. Always regretting never wearing our flip flops as we dodged the more broken planks. Watching the wind across the choppy gulf with white caps too numerous to count and revelling in the fact there was only now.  Arms brushing arms, cinnamon sparkled noses and cheeks to kiss and salty lips to linger on while white clouds drifted in and out of the suns face. This was our spring bliss, forever engrained in our minds, imprinted on our hearts. 

  
(Photo from fishing-NC.com)

She Feels

Her heart quickens when it hears your voice.

The stirring it creates baffles her.

How your voice reverberates throughout her entire body;

A jump, a start and a pulse that beats faster.

Her knees weaken and her muscles quiver remembering the way you touched her.

The way you know what she needs at what precise time.

And how her release, her pleasure, is just as important to you as your own.

The way she thinks of you being inside her, and the way it causes her to catch her breath.

How her lower parts can begin throbbing and aching, long before you are even near them.

You confound her, this response her body has to you.

How untamed she feels around you, or even when she lets your power seep into her thoughts.

You are exactly what she needs, the freedom to let her body experience the unreservedness it always feel so in need of maintaining.

The permission her body and mind has to feel, instead of suppress, unglues her paradigm of what a woman should be. 

And for that she is humbled and grateful.

~an adaptation of a previous written piece

  
(Photo from the Internet)

Scattered

He said breathe

And she let her heart go

Into a thousand gatherings of seed

Finally set free

  
Pic by @sonnybees ~used with permission

Ready #POMWords

When it was time

He led her

Along a path

Through the garden gate

Then summoned the wind

For her in flight

When she was ready

To carry hope

To spread light

Speak freedom

But she turned

Afraid to leave

The safety

Of his arms

Until in awe

She witnessed the wind

Lift him off the ground

Saying

It’s time to let go

My Beloved

But you

I will never leave

Together

We will go

And birth beauty

  
(Photo by Marion Cullen found on fineartamerica.com)

The Edges

I felt the bludgeoning

Of the rocks in my swirling eddy

The edges smoothed

By rushing waters

Wanting so badly

For my jagged wounds

To be subdued

By its currents force

On my body 

But it was all in my mind

My dreams of entering

It’s water

Still lay on the shore

Of a trickling brook

No wider

Than the breadth

Of my arms

 
(Photo by Brooke Shaden)

Find her work here https://m.flickr.com/#/photos/brookeshaden/

Colours

The cloud was temporary

But the colours that seeped

From her soul… 

            …Those were indelible   

 

(Painting by Zakhar Krylov)

Fighting

she fights every insecurity

every day

to some degree

Some days she gives in

Others

She won’t bend

Her clarity settles

Just in time

For confusion to build

The tumultuous existence

Of a woman’s scope

In desire

To fulfill longing

To seek beauty

And live out truth

And hopes one day

She will be found

In all of them

Squelching the inner critic 

To find her whole being 

(Photo from tumblr)