musings

a lifted lid
a trove of treasure beneath me
flashes to carved blue skies
a face pressed into a Cure t-shirt
firmly gripped velvet
colored glass stained lips
the sea and unspoken prose
a cathedral bell score
for our white sheeted heaven
intoxicated by
the scent of crushed violets
the taste of salt
all over
again

The evening and night skies have been a Pantone book of color as of late due to weather phenomenon and celestial alignments. Every tone of blue, bonfire and smoke. Rarities like us. I feel like a moth with tattered edges circling a blue-eyed votive flame. Nature may be stroking the sky with her best but when words set me ablaze into a shade that rivals hers and the color of my hair like no other? This is ritual in its most alchemically visceral form. There’s beauty in Our dance.
The longing.
The act.
The ache.
And the burn.
xo

Two years ago I was released from the legal confines and shackles of marriage. I won’t say it has been an easy journey, in fact, it is one of the hardest things I have ever had to do and one of the most painful experiences I have had to endure. In ways, it still is. Grief and trauma aren’t things you just forget about, or let go, you just learn to carry them differently, especially when it’s something you do for more than just yourself.

I have learned so much about myself in the past 3 years… lessons of trust, loyalty (or lack thereof) and even amongst the rubble of a destroyed home I managed to find my capacity to endure, love and overcome. A better version of the woman I am and will continue to become. A cluster of gemstone hidden in the mud that needed to come to the surface and a lot of polishing to feel seen.

The calm that arrives after the storm is worth sailing enraged seas. Sure, there will be casualties along the way, but I tread on because sometimes we elect to change the course for the life we want and deserve, instead of settling for the one we had. And We are so fucking worth it.

Happy Anniversary, to the beginning of belonging to myself.

because when it comes to these matters
when you get to know, have or experience even a fragment of me
you will unequivocally know I am…

It’s interesting to see things from ages ago. The faces I used to make, the company I kept, the manner in which I used to see and navigate the world. I’ve spent months contemplating what to do with old social media accounts that I deactivated several years ago. They just sit there collecting e-dust. Untouched. For a while I just liked to pretend it wasn’t there because the idea of it was daunting. There was so much there for me to endure. Nothing but memories that felt like daggers every time I saw them.

I guess that’s where the growth is in ways, because for once in a great while, I could look at the photos, the messages, and it not cut as deep as it used to because the truth is, this is where we are now. Is it a bummer? Absolutely. I can’t help but ask myself how I managed to get here. I mean, I know why but it’s a real mindfuck. How do you go from being someones friend or lady, to the diminutive adjectives used in the place where my name used to be? And just like that, we are strangers once more.

Nothing like skimming through decades+ worth of imagery and words to send you back to wonderful moments, the color of your life, the moments you forgot about and the sometimes dark that hid behind smiles. The lies that so many of us tell ourselves for the need to keep up the facade and expectations. Instead of being honest about how messy we all can be. I was done with that and now more than ever, it resonates even harder. I’m messy and complex… but so much more honest with myself.

I miss writing, reading and somewhere along the lines I fell prey to the drugs of attention and empty validations. It isn’t what I am about and in hindsight, never was. The great distraction and I thought I knew it all. The mirror we look away from because what looks back isn’t its best.

In any event the files were requested and as soon as I obtain them, I plan for a full on delete. I am fucking tired of the fb machine and how unproductive it has become. Not when I have art to create, things to say in person or in written form and a lot more authentic living to be doing.

Time to build something better.