Mourning Sickness

A moment of silence for those things which have passed. Before us lays the flesh which must.... must be buried and returned to that which it came. For it has had its time. It had its season to flourish as it would. But now it must die so that others may live. For as long as this earth remains, there will always be seedtime and harvest. But in the midst of that cycle of sowing and reaping lies the passing on of what once was. Lives must be laid down so that others may rise up. Truly, parting is sweet sorrow.

These things we nurtured, cherished and poured ourselves into, for better or for worse. We have watched them grow to produce whatever fruit they would in our lives. Oh, how sweet that nectar that flowed from each bite. How filling the flesh that found its home between our lips. But what thing born of the flesh can last? This tattered world, broken and bruised, trying so hard to struggle for survival despite its destined demise. Even knowing that... we sample. We taste. We reveal in it, at times. Oh, the tree I have growing in my backyard may be distasteful to you, but don't look at me as though you have not planted seeds of your own, which you water both day and night.

So here I stand, looking at the bare branches, the wilted leaves, the soil that has been sucked dry in an effort to feed those roots. I wonder what it was all for. The harvest was good, oh too good for anyone's good, and I ask myself if I should make an effort to resurrect this dead thing growing in my garden. It would be no small feat for me to do so since I was the one that brought it to life in the first place. I know it like I know myself, and I know just which branches to prune and which spots to water to give it life again.

But for what? Oh, maturity has kicked in far too well to fool myself like that anymore. I cannot be the little girl sneaking candy from her father's jar when I think he's not looking. I know I'm better than that, even as my tastebuds cry out for another sweet flavor or sip from a fountain that was not meant for me. I know... I know...

So I will mourn you, even as I rejoice from the transition from death to life. For while my knowledge helps, it does not change the fact that I loved you far more than I should have. So as death settles into these roots, at least I will allow myself to feel the pain keenly. I won't run from it or act like it isn't there. The least I can do is properly witness the death and the burial of something I invested so much into.

To those things once cherished that now must be laid to rest. Sorrow lasts through this night, and mourning will eventually pass into morning. Every night must end at some point...

A Recovering Pretty Girl

This post has been a long time coming, and I have been waiting for a time when I was mentally able to discuss this topic from as objective a standpoint as I can. However, it can be hard to be objective when talking about something as personal as self image.

My beauty has fluctuated over the years, having its highs and its lows. Or rather, my perception of it has. I believe that we all have moments when we don't feel quite as attractive as we know we are capable, but I am talking of that foundation, that core image upon which everything else is built. What we perceive as the norm of our appearance is how we primarily see ourselves.

I never thought of my looks as flawless, but I never doubted my beauty growing up. Even after that unfortunate incident involving my forehead making rather close friends with a screw at the top of a slide, I saw the resulting scar as a gem to the crown rather than tarnish. I remember when my baby teeth fell out and my adult ones started to grow in, proving too large for my small mouth, they resulted in my canines hanging out in my gums rather than coming down completely. I was teased a handful of times, if that, but mostly by soon-to-be close friends and people that didn't much matter. Even the boys in my life confirmed the beauty I held, folded up notes in awkward handwriting speaking of rosewood skin and beautiful smiles. My bout with acne couldn't even shake the confidence I had in my looks. I have never claimed to be the most beautiful, but I knew of the beauty I held and stood firm in that fact.

But recently I've been reminded of the one moment in my life where I have allowed myself to feel less than pretty. Allegedly one too many pounds and a closet full of clothes that no longer fit as they should made me look in the mirror with a question rather than confidence. A few words from the wrong people were the nail in the coffin and I found myself in. Looking back on it, to steal a movie reference, I was The Bride being buried alive, trying not to struggle at the fact that my life seemed suddenly out of my control. Now, I don't mean a literal sense by any means. Obviously I could've done any and everything to shed the offensive pounds. But that was not the point for me at that moment. At that moment, pounds or no pounds, I felt unpretty.

My eye became overly critical. The flaws I cared less about became prominent and plentiful. The proud vixen turned into a poor vagabond, and I really wasn't sure how to get myself out of this situation. I have never been one to even think of struggling with self-esteem issues, and while I realize that my experience is a beach day compared to someone dealing with clinical diagnoses, it was for me a moment of something just short of despair and desperation.

Looking back, I honestly don't know what I could have or would have done different. I'm not sure if anything I said or did in reaction to those events would have made my unpretty stage shorter or have erased the chapter altogether. Because for a person to go from feeling self-satisfied and lovely on an average day, being less than that was like crippling me. At times like this, I can't help but wonder who really has it worse: those who had and lost, or those who never had.

Today, I looked in the mirror and noticed how flat my stomach is getting. And I hate myself for caring. How could I let other people take that away from me. Now, it would be one thing if I had to watch my weight for medical reasons or something that matters in the grand scheme of things. My actions were prompted by sheer vanity to live up to not my standard of beauty, but someone else's. And I'm tired of living with such a useless and unnecessary burden.

It's time for me to reclaim who I am...who I truly am. I know I'm not the only one out there who needs to do so. I pray that this blog reaches the hearts and minds of the people who need it most. I pray that this blog serves as a warning to everyone not to abuse the place you have in a person's heart, speaking death when you are supposed to speak life. And for those of you who are going through an unpretty chapter right now, speak life to yourself everyday. You are beautiful, truly beautiful. You are a masterpiece of God, and even if you have a little tarnish here and there, that does not take away from who you truly are or how precious a gem you are. Remember, beloved, that no one can take anything away from your essence unless you give it up willingly. Your joy, your optimism, your purity, your innocence, your laughter...and most of all, your beauty.

Be blessed and a blessing

Universal Truth

His finger lifted, and my eyes struggled to see where his gesture would lead. They lifted higher in the dim twilight, past a few flecks of light on the deep color of the horizon. It finally halted, and I smiled softly.

“Every time I see it, I see you,” he said softly, the night breeze carrying the words towards me before they could disappear.

We stood there, close enough to touch, the warmth of the summer air around us and the humidity breathing moisture left over from showers earlier that day. My fingers tingled, butterflies dancing on my sensitive skin rather than settling in my stomach. I wanted his hand in mine, but we both knew our boundaries. Some things, when started, could never be stopped.

A thick crescent, the moon poured down light, and I looked over at him, his head tilted back slightly as he looked to the night sky. Not at all the person I expected to stand here beside me at this moment in time, but perhaps that made it all the sweeter. Something I hadn't asked for or even thought I needed. Still, I wasn't quite sure what label to put on him.

“If I am the moon, then what does that make you?” I asked him.

He looked at me, and his expression caught me off guard. He'd always been so readable, his lips quick to smile or laugh, his eyes full of whatever emotion he felt. In that moment, it felt like the entire weight of his existence and mine, the power of it forcing my heart to race as I relived our shared past with him. The laughter, the tears, the joy, the sorrow, the affection... How could so much be conveyed with a glance? Still, he managed to do so, his features finally settling into that soft, fond gaze he always seemed to have for me.

“Well, I'm definitely not the sun,” he laughed, running his hand over his head. “I'm not bright enough for that.”

He shot me a look just as I parted my lips to say something, closing them reluctantly. A bad habit of his, and sometimes I wish the humility was false.

“Then you are the earth,” I replied. “Holding me in close to you with your pull, letting me influence you as I may.”

“So you'll always be just close enough, but never too close, huh?”

The words stung a little as most of them tended to. Truth always seemed to have a bittersweet flavor when he fed it to me.

“For now, perhaps. But all it really takes is for something to shift...to change... and who knows what the future might bring.”

Our eyes met once more, briefly, since I knew I probably couldn't stand to see what was there. All I really wanted at this moment was to keep standing here, the moon slowly dancing across the sky with its celestial entourage. The only thing that was missing was his hand in mine.

Happy Hour Revisited

These days I come bathed freshly in moonlight

Since our rendezvous seem to get pushed back

Later and later

Perhaps the liquor tastes sweeter because

Of the wait

Fewer drinks only means that

Each drop is to be savored all the more and

The burn is that much more intense

As my body is not quite so used to it

These days

Your flavor fills my senses

Coursing through my being

Humming through my body

Such a sweet fire

Such a slow burn

The only question is how much to indulge

Quite often I find that

The pain rising up with me in

The morning is

Worth the ecstasy of the night.

Jannae

"God is gracious" - Hebrew

• she can be outspoken at times
• as independent as a bird
• a woman of graceful movement
• an individual who follows up on others
• loves the excitement of the challenge
• a most capable warrior
• exploring things keeps her going
• has an adventurous spirit.

Words from my Soul

One day a long time from now. I will be sitting quietly somewhere. The lines of time etched on my face. Everything that we shared... mind, love, and soul. As a smile stretches across my face and dances in my heart. I will remember you.

Glassless Window

Their eyes met over the line of books on the shelf, and the first thought that went through her head is that she wish her hair was the color of his eyes. A deep, rich brown, staring back at her, the gaze inquisitive as much as it was surprised at this unexpected intrusion into what must have been a private moment. Her fingers brushed the top of the book she had been reaching for, knowing she should continue her search for a new addition to her library, but unwilling to be the first to break the contact. In that moment, it seemed to her that doing so would cause something to crumble, to shatter before its due time.

His eyes narrowed slightly, now considering her as she did him, and she could see the emotions floating across his face as they must have moved through his mind. Such an expressive face in a world where revealing one's heart led only to heartache and sorrow. A smile, a giggle brushed her lips, mirrored on his face a second later. Though soft, the sound rang through the still shelves, and she found herself turning away, instinct controlling her body as a flash of embarrassment flooded her senses.

Even as she recognized the moment for what it was, she felt ice slip through her spine, settling firmly in her stomach. Her eyes turning back up towards the small window, he was already turning away, making his way down the aisle. The spine of the book felt rough to the touch, her hand dropping to her side as she considered the situation. A word, even a touch could restart the moment, save something from the crackling pieces of the moment. One step, two, three...

Her feet carried her to the end of the bookshelf, her eyes shooting to the left to see where he had gone.

"Daddy!"

The beautiful little girl ran up to him, his arm catching her up and holding her to him, the love evident between their faces. He glanced over his shoulder, their eyes meeting once more, the apology clear. But what did he have to apologize for? She gave him a final smile before he and his daughter walked away. After all, it wasn't every day that two souls had such a memorable encounter so suddenly in the fantasy section of the local book store.