Friday, April 4, 2014

The Little Girl


There is something magical about a little girl.

Her smile.
Her fear.
Her dreams.
Her stories.

I never want to let go of that little girl.

Sometimes she stares deep into my soul, my heart beating out of control as the sound of her silence overwhelms me.

Her stare becomes heavy, like rocks buried in your sweatshirt as you carry them home to brag on your new discoveries. With every year I gain, the fear of losing the little girl within me increases. My knuckles become white as snow as I stand weak in the knees, in fist-clenched denial.

Growing up is hard.
Scary.
Depressing.
Embarrasing.

I miss the simple life of the little girl, whose imagination is from an outside world with animals that talk and humans that fly.

No makeup.
No deadlines.
No meetings to attend except tea parties and fancy balls at the castle.

Relationships are easy for the little girl- no secret conditions or hidden agendas. Simply best friends who you can trust or enemies never worth a second glance.

I used to make my own jewelry and write my own songs.
I used to play pretend like it was required and never be ashamed of my dreams.

Growing up is boring, time-consuming.
Like a sneeze, it attacks you and you can never seem to stop it from coming. It consumes your body. It stops you in your footsteps, until all you can do is close your eyes and wait for it to pass.

Yet the little girl is a stranger to the concept of time. 
The sun and the moon are her clock, moving across the sky like a dance.






Ocean Blue

I attended a conference for work.
There was a poetry session.
I couldn't resist....


I am the sound of raindrops against the tin roof of an old, forgotten cabin along the outskirts of town. Sometimes my chatter is soothing, relaxing the mind of my listeners. Sometimes my passion and overactive brain gives way to my sound as each word, each raindrop of my vocal cords, introduces a storm approaching over the mountains of life.

I am the season of summer, barefoot and wandering along the trails with their deep chocolate brown soil that finds its hideaway underneath my nails, in between hair strands, along my cheeks.

I am the aroma of grass glittering in the sunlight. Bent over from human footsteps, wild and free.

I am a seagull soaring high in the clouds, floating with the wind, each drop, each lift, letting the sky carry me and choreograph my every move as I watch all movement below.

I am an ocean blue, the calm of my sanity.

I am the subject psychology simply because I ask a lot of questions. Questions are my preferred language, my avenue to humanity, the skin of the earth.