Sincerely, Thank you.

It’s too late to apologize for what you’ve done and how you’ve treated me. I can’t imagine that you would treat anyone else like that because I know that God did not put that into your soul. Your soul is beautiful, but not conservative; passionate but confused…lost, like a red and wet faced child wandering down a rural road looking for the dog they’ve grown up with. Your fascinated with pretty things that catch your attention and admire you for one reason or another. I can see why they would admire you but I can’t see why they’d stick around to see the butterfly you won’t turn into.

You gave me things I don’t want to let anyone else give me. My miscarriage was a terrible experience but I tell you…I’ve learned a thing or two from it. You’ve chased sweets while I was watching but I let you get your taste and turned a blind eye to your indulgences. I always hated it, and you knew it, but I trusted that you would change…how, my, how I wished you’d have changed.

My heart hasn’t stopped beating for the person that I knew, deep down, you’d never be. It isn’t because you don’t want to be that person – you just don’t have it in you. I am more than enough woman for you to handle; I’m too strong for your superficiality, too literal for your euphemisms, too colorful for your black & white…there is simply too much dreaming within me to accompany your general tones.

You won’t get the best of me. This is my life, my story. And I won’t take a step back for you.Thanks for all you’ve taught me. I’ve forgiven, but I’ll never forget.


Souls Do Smile

Signature --- Image by © Royalty-Free/Corbis

If I wrote you a letter you’d probably shed a tear of happiness but also possibly one of angst. You might consider me to be less understanding than you’d originally thought but the truth is I cannot understand all that encompasses the human condition and neither can you. I can write to you and tell you how beautiful you are, the way your mind works and the passion you have in your heart, the way your skin shimmers in the sunlight, your strength and how it is bigger than anything you could build in a gym. The calmness in your presence, that feeling that floods the veins of even the most delinquent of individuals with sweetness like that from honeysuckles. The speechless conversations we have with our eyes is the rawest I’ve ever heard your heart speak.

I’d tell you I don’t understand it all and I’d tell you I’m still learning. Write you and tell you I feel the wholehearted warmth of love in my soul but have the broad grip of a heartsore past encompassing it although I beg it desperately to let go. Tell you how I feel the arresting sensation of your electric touch and the submission of the brick and mortar protecting my core. I’d tell you I am broken but unexhausted, unwilling to allow concentrated anguish to make me believe there isn’t better. The suffering hasn’t defined me… It has strengthened me.

The investigation of something new is always unexpected, like trying to read with blind eyes. It satisfies the salty desires of our tongue as we leave the safe refuge of what we know is our truth. The inconvenience of an unknowing mind is overpowered by the desires of an authentic soul searching for sincerity. The abstract flatness of what was once perceived to be life is rejuvenated with the spice of something new, different, interesting… and hopefully long-lasting.

Love may be a paradox but without it our souls would never smile.

returning That Letter


Finding a letter to a lost love is like a gold mine that you wished you’d never stumbled upon. The message in a bottle that isn’t yours, the tears and heartbreaks that belong to someone else; but you still relate. The over-joyous moments, the beers shared, and even the ripping and tearing of the hearts that once sewed you together like patchwork dolls that only appear in mountain folklore. If I am still reading this letter, there is still a hopeful, yet lonesome, individual out there who is longing for its proper recipient. I have got to find this person in which it belongs to… I am determined to assist them in delivering this message I have found scribbled, yet written in heartfelt overwhelming passion and urgency. I realize I have lost this love they are determined to find once again and I cannot bear to allow another individual to undertake the pangs and pains of love had and love lost. #Writing101 #Assignments #Practice

Understanding…Or the lack there of

Free YourselfI have always loved this elephant. I give many thanks to whomever created it an allowed me to relish in the wondrous creativity and the utter truth that lies within this elephant.

Free Yourself. Simple words, right? How come so many of us cannot seem to do what we know is right for our beings? How come we stay trapped in the grips of others? Allowing ourselves to become so consumed, so diligent in following, and so righteous in what we know will not serve us well in the end…

I have always struggled with you.  There have been ups and there have been downs. I can remember, like it was yesterday, running around in one of the Easter dresses a family member fashioned up for me. Hearing you calling for me “Find the eggs! Your getting warm!” absolutely overcome with happiness that I was independent and ventured off from one of my best childhood friends. I was determined to find my own Easter eggs. She could have her own too; you’ve always said I was good at sharing for being an only child.

I have one picture of all of us together. One lone picture that proves that we were a family at one time. You know, the kind you get done at the mall or Wal-Mart with the ridiculous looking backdrop and the photographer who takes a million pictures and only has one good one that your satisfied with. I have carried this picture with me many places and have always liked it, because unlike the others. All three of us are in it. There is no malice, no discomfort shown, no beer cans or cigarettes. Just smiles, and what appears to be a middle class family doing all they can to love each other and grow together; chasing that American Dream I suppose.

Dreams seem to have a way of bursting into flames right before your eyes, turning to ash in the palm of your hand. Even though it burns, you don’t put it down, you hold it and search for your glue, too young to realize that glue can’t put this back together. The alcohol soaked seams won’t hold the stitches of honesty and understanding. It seems impossible to piece back together what we all once thought was possible to obtain. You cannot build a house with cocaine and weed, nor with alcohol and distress. You cannot glue glass back together once it has been broken into pieces; you’d be better off saving them for a mosaic later in life if it could survive that long.

Imagining myself as a little girl, carrying along her Easter basket, dressed in a frilly white dress with a matching hat and socks and those shiny white shoes. I have carried these pieces of my mosaic. Carried them far and carried them with pride, for I knew that one day I would understand what broke the glass that made up my life. One day, I would long to understand the meaning of all of those jagged edges, those ones that make you bleed love and understanding, the ones that make you bleed hate, bleed distrust and imagination. Imagination. Imagine. Image. The pictures of what my life was, what it is, and what one day it will work itself out to be.

One day….still working on that.