We’re all authors

Ibiza Spain
We’re all authors

We’re all authors.
Our minds are always writing stories. 
Oh, the drama that goes on in there! 
Mostly we don’t even realize the pen is at work. 
But those habitual patterns of thought, 
those beliefs we hold
and assumptions we make,
pour out to fill chapters in our book. 
Amusing, lighthearted stories, 
stories of danger and fear, 
stories of hate and love, 
sadness and happiness. 
Endless themes for our fickle minds. 
The novellas we love - and those we hate – 
shaped by our engagement in the world. 
It all comes to us in a rush - 
what people say, 
how something makes us feel, 
our basic human needs - 
and we scurry to scribble out our truths 
onto the page where everyone can see them. 

so much to see

So Much to See

Come out of hiding
Express your Self with abandon
Step into being wholly who you are
Allow divine energy to flow through you
Embrace the sanctitude of sharing your truth

Reveal your genuine Self
Verity emerges as you open your soul
Your luminescence rises above the noise of the world like fog along the mountains 
As you empty yourself naked, exposing your depths
Who you are flows like water moving from a pitcher to a clear glass 
Your truth freed from within, so much to see in the emergence

This poem is also part of a collection I put together called Meditative Blossoms.

The Truth Is

 The Truth Is
  
 The truth is 
 she doesn’t have a single reason to believe she’s anything
 but worthless. The story repeated over
 & over: the father who left, the mother who followed 
 him in a drunken stupor, the family that claimed her 
 but grew tired of her rotting in selfish silence.  
  
 The truth is
 her behavior’s erratic. She acts in ways that’re random, 
 unpredictable, like one minute she sits cowering 
 in the corner and the next she’s shouting 
 at the spider who’s come too close. 
  
 The truth is 
 she wears her hatred like a robe, clothes herself in fathomless 
 fear, a terror that life will continue on
 like this for another day, 
 another year, another lifetime. 
  
 The truth is
 deep within her trembles a belief: there is more. 
 If she keeps moving toward the small flicker
 of light, like a little star sparkling inside her, 
 steady and deliberate, quiet, cautiously, 
 she will find that there really is no space
 for shame. 

I wrote this poem in response to a prompt in my workbook, How to Write Poetry: A Guided Journal with Prompts by Christopher Salerno and Kelsea Habecker, from the chapter on truth and lies that suggested writing a poem consisting of lies and a truth about yourself.

This poem is part of an online collection I call All the Shapes of Joy.