She and Her Subject

“A picture is a secret about a secret, the more it tells you the less you know.” ― Diane Arbus

She looks through the viewfinder at her subject.

What’s in her mind we’ll never know.

She sees beauty where we see monstrosity.

She sees happiness where we see torment.

She looks through her viewfinder at her subject.

What’s in her heart we’ll never know.

She sees life where we see mortality.

She sees freedom where we see shackles.

She looks through the viewfinder at her subject.

What’s in her soul we will never know.

This is her art.

Her passion.

Her life.

With a press of a button.

And click of a shutter.

The secret is captured.

The photograph is a sight to behold.

For when we gaze upon it, she has made sure that we are transformed.

Forever.

Sparks of Madness

Madness.
Proud of it.
Thrive on it.
Live and love it.
Want more.
Need it.
To realize my passion.
To be me.
It’s my spark.
My genius.
My freedom.
I’m free in my Madness.
So free.
My words help me harness it.
Reign it in.
Revel in it.
I love my Madness.
Others see me as crazy.
I find comfort in that fact.
Let them think it.
For I know the truth.
It’s my Madness that gives me my spark; my passion.
I will continue to grow while they spoil.

Angel Reborn

Photo credit: unknown

“This was something she would keep hidden within herself, maybe in place of the knot of pain and anger she had been carrying under her breastbone…a security blanket, an ace up her sleeve. She might never use it, but she would always feel its presence like a swelling secret stone, and that way when she let go of the rage, she would not feel nearly as empty.” ― Jodi Picoult, Mercy

Anger

Blood

Bruises

Cuts

Scrapes

Tears

Raven Haired Beauty

Broken Heart

Broken Wings

Shoes on Point

Broken Smile

She stands on her own

She extends her arms

And her beautiful legs

She smiles

Feels the music in her soul

No need to hear it

She doesn’t need anyone to help her dance

She stands on point

Fingers brush through her raven hair

She holds her delicate arms above her head

And does a perfect Chaînés

In that first turn, she lets go

And knows that she does not need him to hold her up anymore

She is free

To dance, to feel, to live

There’s no need for wings for her to fly

My True Garden by Lily Miller

As I was sorting through my FB news feed yesterday, I came across this beautiful poem by Lily Miller. She is the bright young child of my friend Trista. I commented that her daughter is a writer. Even at the tender age of ten years old. I asked the proud momma if I could post this on my blog. As you can see, she obliged. I have read the verse repeatedly. I find such feeling in the simplicity of the words. How blessed Trista must feel having a child feel this way about her. Then be able to convey those feelings. I am in awe. I know that the proud momma is too. Lily has built a great memory for her mother. I hope that the lovely young writer keeps writing. She most definitely has the talent for it.

Now to finish my coffee and write another story. Happy Saturday my dear friends.

I’m STILL Looking for that Other Damn Street!!!!

Photo courtesy of Merrith Kujawa (Figured it was appropriate, because I’m usually so sparkly. Not feelin’ it lately though. So I leave you with this today.  Dealing with sadness, jealousy, PTSD, and a host of other issues. And yes, after 44 years I keep falling in that damn hole. I’m learning how to crawl out of it though. By God’s good grace, I am.)

Autobiography in Five Short Chapters

 Chapter 1

I walk down the street.

There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.

I fall in.

I am lost . . . I am helpless.

It isn’t my fault.

It takes forever to find a way out

Chapter 2

I walk down the same street.

There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.

I pretend I don’t see it.

I fall in again.

I can’t believe I am in the same place.

But it isn’t my fault.

It still takes a long time to get out.

Chapter 3

I walk down the same street.

There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.

I see it is there.

I still fall in … it’s a habit.

My eyes are open.

I know where I am.

It is my fault.

I get out immediately.

Chapter 4

I walk down the same street.

There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.

I walk around it.

Chapter 5

I walk down another street.

~ Portia Nelson ~

(There’s a Hole in My Sidewalk)