When she calls

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When she calls, you must decide whether or not you will answer. She resides in all of us, calling us all back to the depths from which we came. She is inside the soul, and she is calling us home. So if you are looking for me, you’ll find me in the mountains or by the sea, maybe with my head in books or surrounded by trees. Either way you’ll now know where to look. I am home. A chapter in Mother Nature’s book.

The creator

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There’s nothing I want more than to be closer to my creator. For you have shaped my skin and bone. Made every beauty mark and scar. You stretched out the subtle space between my two front teeth. You made my hair so wild, it even defies gravity, and my skin the very shade of the earth, that we walk upon.

All this, so that I would remember to love myself, never settling for less than I deserve. You made sure to send people into my life who would help teach me, patience. Molded me with kindness and fire, so that I could push through adversity. You made a rough draft of my life, crumbled it up into a ball and said, I’ll let her decide. Whether she will or will not follow all my signs.

Love me either way, but constantly remind me that really, truth and raw beauty lies inside.

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It’s the rain

It’s the sun

It’s my messy handwriting

It’s that never ending search for the one

It’s the plants, that hang down from the wall

It’s my favorite flower of the sun, she stands tall

It’s how badly I crave to find someone who will listen to it all

The good, the bad, the dark and ugly

The foolish nonsense that it involves

My mind, a terrible place, but once the pen starts, it doesn’t stop

One click of the key is all it takes

So it’ll be the rain and then the sun

It’ll be whatever it takes

To make sense, where there is none

Le but de l’âme

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I could easily be that woman.

The agreeable one, the one who smiles and laughs…even when I find remarks less than humorous.

I could get married and have children

Cook and clean.

Look nice and delicate.

Be nice and delicate.

Capture my beauty through photographs,

I take of myself.

Be in the moment, live for now.

Love in seasons.

I could be that woman and many would love her.

You see, there is nothing wrong with a woman like this.

If anything, I would prefer to be her.

But she is not me, no matter how earnest the attempt.

I am a thought, always evolving.

Never satisfied…

How could someone love a woman like this?

One who rarely smiles,

One who rarely understands herself, but is in constant search for more,

More of what she, herself does not know.

Strange, how there are so many books, testimonies and scriptures explaining what it is that wise men seek…

Even the Bible states that a man of wisdom seeks knowledge.

But what of my longing, what of my questions?

The abundance of my happiness must stem from what?

Marriage, love, fertility, material belongings? All beautiful things. All fleeting, fleeting as am I in this moment. Fleeting like the short span that is a lifetime, but never like my words.

The soul’s purpose.

the smell of pine

The rain continued to bounce off the glass window beside our bed. It’s been a whole week of nonstop rain. Last night, you said that we should stay inside all day and I suggested that we build a fort, made of all our sheets, blankets and pillows and you agreed. The next morning, it was still raining. I opened my glass window slightly, only to better hear the rain. What a gentle, but violent drum it had, and suddenly the aroma of pine trees had entered our bedroom. You tossed and turned, finally sitting up in the bed. “Morning.” You yawned. “Hey.” I replied looking back at you . Scratching your bedhead, you got up out of the bed to use the bathroom. The more I start to think about it, the more I realized that you were never really the sentimental type, but that was okay with me. You spoke clear and plainly, always straight to the point. You were never great at reading my mind or buying me gifts. So whenever, I was feeling some type of raging emotion, I had to explain it to you, otherwise you would be clueless. Which made being mad at you completely impossible. At times you were bit too practical for my liking, but no one’s perfect. I, on the other hand have always been the temperamental type. Overthinking, over-analyzing, always wanting to know what was on your mind. Sensitive, but ever so passionate. An explosive combustion. “Hey you, can you come back down to Earth now?” you whispered kissing my coiled hair. “Yeah, I was just thinking, you know sometimes this… feels like a dream. ” I mumbled looking up at you. You pulled me back into bed, trying your utmost to convince me that this was surely no dream, then we fell asleep with our hands and legs intertwined.

When I woke, I was laying in a twin sized bed, somewhere in California… alone. It really was a dream, I thought. When I went to look outside, it was raining. I slowly cracked my bedroom window, and there it was. The gentle, violent drum of the rain striking the Earth and the smell of pine.

Heritage

Mocha complexioned girl, with intuition beyond her years.

Struggles rooted in the ancestry of her blood.

The rhythm of song and dance living in the marrow of her bones.

Far before she knew how to walk.

Words formed in her mind, before she could talk.

She was alive in more ways than one.

Chakra, the earth’s spirit flowing like water lilies down the curve of her sultry body, line.

Intertwined like vines on aged structures. Demolished. Broken. Bind.

The fight that Mother Nature won.

Recreated and reborn every morning slightly after dawn. A miracle and a blessing it is.

That she dwells in her and her light is now mine and we are one, one divine human being.