riding the descend of one moment and the dawn of another. i recognize this repeating pattern. of sweet mixed sadness creating a confused concoction. duplexity. a calm exterior hides my internal unrest. crisscrossing against the grain. those troublesome shadows revel in revealing emotions. hidden under anxious hair play. that sneak to the surface when least expected. and catch me off guard.
Holidays are about traditions, laughter, and memories. This year we adopted the Japanese tradition of KFC Christmas chicken. And it brought out our silly side. The little connections that bring us all together are what makes this time of year so magical. Whether you’re celebrating old traditions or making new memories, we hope you all have a wonderful end to a wild year!
a raw open nerve. pulsing. every thought of self-doubt amplified by the echo of negative affirmations. the never, no, not nonsense taking too much time. energy. depleting my core of can, will, and do. orchestrating a struggle for reminders of the high notes. one finds in imperfect life. some days it’s difficult to see beyond the mesh. the barrier. of insecurity.
fear. that fickle captor. bringing about constraint. blinders. convincing there is safety behind the ignorance. in the forgetful fog of contentment. but the doubtful chants begin to quietly echo. question existence. divide down my layers to a remainder of vulnerability. naked. exposed. in the raw openness is where change dawns. and one can finally dare to peek out of the darkness.
she flies from one role to the next. artist. lover. protector. with every encounter adding new skills to her utility belt. this multitasking super heroine thrives in exhaustion. puzzles the pieces of daily compromise. but finds time to hang her cape. momentarily. relax in comforting concoctions. and rejuvenate in stormy sunsets. knowing that tomorrow will call for her ample abilities again.
when the world keeps asking you to attend. function. yet sickness has settled. necessary measures are taken. wrap in fierce fleece. gather the tissue fodder. plot pills. all to combat the mucus onslaught. the foggy battle of microscopic gooey soldiers that keeps raging on. blotting out days. consuming. warping hours. where pillows become time machines. and health a sought after ration.
my polka dots drain. run. scatter. melting away from my essence. artifacts of creative avenues. once cultivated. giving rise to novel expressions. bubbles of boundless wonders. but now escape in purposeless puddles. helpless against the abyss of loss. the little light left. flooding dark rooms with opportunity. i reach for it. a disoriented damsel. in desperate search for new dotting techniques.
daily internal struggle of contrast. wonderful – dreadful. hideous – attractive. emotional – numb. binary lines of yes and noes. little conflicting mantras. slicing through my psyche. where i lose and find. love and hate. every shadow poised to pin me with negative notions. attempting to overbear the strands of glowing hope. and reign. but light must win. triumph. even when she seems outnumbered.
lights of bustling landscapes quietly flare. twinkling reminders of potential adventure avenues. that course outward into darkness. await. for the right connection to form. no-rush. no need to push against temporary walls. who crumble under the flows of time. and give way to unguarded spaces. exposing the hidden magic. when the mind let’s go. and the hush of night takes over.
drapes can veil the surrounding world. soften. encapsulate a space. a moment. where nothing outside can penetrate. these sheers. airy material never meant to buffer more than subtle breezes. now take on the duty of deluding her thinking that no one can see. her state of distracted glowing bliss. where light finds and energizes. no matter which sill she tiptoes on.