Intrusive thoughts are like a broken prayer.
Crawling past the landmines of crazy,
Whispering pleas to keep moving,
Hoping someone is listening.
Intrusive thoughts look like a broken prayer.
Navigating gruesome pictures,
Circumventing disastrous outcomes,
Praying I heed my body’s warning.
Being crazy sucks.
i look up and see the sun.
it caresses the lace and i know i am one
of the luckiest girls alive.
i look up and see the detail.
it curves in meticulous perfection and i fail
to see anything more beautiful.
i look up and see your face.
it exists in my memory and i trace
it until it floats away.
spread those wings baby,
you were always meant to fly.
you have the kind of smile that paints the sky
golden, who knew that was even possible?
go on and take the leap baby,
stop looking at the ground.
your brain plays tricks and I have found
the best solution is to trick it right back.
don’t worry about the trip baby,
i’ll never let you fall.
when times get tough, just call
on me, your parachute,
we’ll make it through it all.
“They called me a crybaby, mama,” the young girl wiped her eyes with a sniffle, a forlorn expression adorning her face.
“Oh baby,” said the woman, crouching down beside her darling daughter, “weak boys see tears and think they’ve won. Can I tell you a story?”
The daughter nodded and crawled into her mother’s lap.
Arms wrapped around her baby, the woman pressed a kiss to her fine hair. “Once upon a time there was a man who said horrible things to his partner. He said these horrible things and left her crying alone on the boardwalk by their house. The woman’s tears fell freely but she did not try to stop them. Instead she had a beautiful thought.”
“What was that, mama?” asked the young girl, her tears forgotten.
“She thought to herself, my tears are like this ocean I walk past every day. Salt water that can mean beauty and also pain. Soft enough to nurture and powerful enough to destroy. I am like this ocean I walk past every day. The woman realized how beautiful it is, to hold a balance of softness and power, and realized you cannot have one without the other. Do you know what that means about the man?” When her daughter shook her head, she continued, “this man believes he has power but shows no softness. He was a lost soul who hadn’t yet found balance. He thought she was just a–”
“Crybaby,” the daughter whispered, a slow smile on her face. “But she wasn’t just that mama, was she?”
Mama shook her head with a smile, “She learned to love her tears because they showed her softness. And in that moment she realized she held power, too. Just like you, baby. You are soft and you are powerful. You are like the ocean we go to every summer. And those boys have no idea the force that they reckoned with today.”
Do not fear little wolf.
I see your power, cunning, and wit.
The world backs away cautiously
Anticipating your sharp bite and ferocity.
And I respect this is possible from you.
Do not fear little wolf
I know you are more than this.
Living a life more complex
Than anyone gives you credit for.
Softness hidden out of necessity.
And isn’t it funny,
The expression “wolf in sheep’s clothing”
Inherently suggesting we are all
One or the other.
Do not fear little wolf
I know that you hold power and softness
In a delicate balance.
You are more than what the world thinks of you.
I know I don’t look like much.
Almost like one gentle touch
would break a bone.
And I know you’re worried I might break.
As if one blow is all it’d take
to make me fall to pieces.
I see that everyone is doubting me.
Living with an ideology
that small things are not powerful.
You know what they say about assumptions.
Watch me conquer your presumptions
and then laugh at you.
You big asshole.