When my heart tells me to…

Three o’clock on a Thursday morning, typing ferociously after only two and a half hours of sleep, when I should be focused on work. Recording and re-recording on my dictation app while driving in rush hour traffic, cursing everyone else on their cell phones and driving maniacally. maya1

With tears blurring the pencil marks because it’s raining and it reminded me of home. Retelling of a place I question whether it’s a memory or something I made up so vividly it could be real.

 

I am a writer who writes when the mood strikes me and I don’t put down my tool until everything has poured out of me. I write either every day or every four months depending on when the characters command me to tell their story. I am the type of writer who bleeds onto the page, weaves tales as intricate as my veins, and paints the image in the watercolor of my tears. I am the type of writer who writes when my heart has something to say.

Skeleton Key

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When I met you, something clicked.
Like a skeleton key in an old lock, slow but sure.
Only it opened a door
to a room not ready to be lived in.
Dust of the past lay heavy in nooks that lay forgotten.
Cobwebs clung to keepsakes
kept locked away far too long.
Still, I let the light in.
I dusted the areas I was allowed to reach
and left a few flowers in my wake.
I wear that key, close to my heart,
in the hope that one day I may call it home.
I stop by to dust when I’m asked,
but one day I fear,
this key will become a key to nowhere.

@ Daydreamer

This post can be found at Imaginary Garden With Real Toads for Fireblossom Friday: Love

Writers Write…

At least that’s what they tell me. At least that is what I remember. Eccentric seamstress knitting together times and places. A magician creating reality from daydreams. It has been a while since I have bled. Years since my heart poured into a keyboard and I deemed it worth the pain.

immortal     Pain… I used to joke that my poetry came from a dark place, that my best words were tears I thought no one would ever see. Now, I’m not so sure. I have happy moments. Have memories turned melodies and dried in ink, but do I deem them worth the smile, the laughter, the immortality of a paragraph?

Some may argue that happiness is fleeting. That it deserves remembrance. That it deserves to be savored and set in the stone of books that line shelves for future generations. But happiness has always been–at least for me–a battle. Beauty found in a dying Daffodil, love found in a headless Barbie, and a chorus line in a bad song. I must fight for every bit of happiness.

I guess it may be worth the pain after all. My best words come from dark places.

And here I am again, dark and bittersweet. Now, what will I write?

Fix-ed

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Source: Fatalwoman.tumblr.com

I thought of you today.  Normally, you sit just on the edge of memory, slightly out of reach.  Barely a shadow, yet tangible enough to teach.  You remind me of a lesson it took too long to learn or match left way too long to burn.  You take me back to that victim of before, scarred for your love and craving more.  You were the drug and I was your addict.  Well, you know what they say about old habits…

I thought about you today and I caught myself dreaming…

You are the drug that I am no longer fiending… 

A Daydreamer Deferred ~ A Re-Vision of Me

It’s time to change.  Something that does not evolve can only go stale.  There are no coincidences, only lessons to be learned.  So I’m following this new path head first!  To be all of me!  I deserve it!  #SameDreamDifferentDreamer #Daydreamer #Queen #DopeAssLesbian #90dayplan!

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Homesick

 

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Photo by Eric Malone

I am missing a place kissed by sunlight

where rays dance on stone walls of opportunity

birthing place of inspiration and dreams

maybe the thought is more appealing than reality

memories written in pencil rather than ink

drops of water in the ever changing waters of life

i am missing a place kissed by sunlight

where friends laugh and family gathers

somewhere there is a place called home

and i am sick

 

 

Crucifixes and Teddy Bears

My innocence lies between crucifixes and teddy bears.

Casualty of war between sexuality and faith.

Abandoned by a God I was raised to love.

Tormented by a love I was taught to hate.

It died holding my stuffed bear.

Amidst internal screams that tore me apart.

How could unconditional love have a sinner’s heart?

As if my own demons weren’t enough.

Teddy was the only one to show me love.

Never seemed to care.

What I was or wasn’t and held me tight,

Through countless cries that rang to the heavens

For a love we were taught would never leave us

Deceive us

Holding on to the only comfort little girls know 

In the darkness

“C’mere Teddy let me hug you.”

Still the battle rages

Cages

And enslaves us

Nightmares wake us to a new day

Branding our minds with labels that blame us

“Shameful”, “unclean”

But my teddy kept my  hope alive.

For countless martyrs nailed to the cross 

of someone else’s beliefs.

For little girls who imagine her Teddy to be a “she”.

I wear the labels that tear tender flesh.

Raped, dismissed, and left to be forgotten

But War cries still echo…
 Let us “Be!”

For every heartbeat…

For every pulse …

A reminder,

that innocence will rise from the ashes,

proud and unafraid.

Bearing our cross that screams

we have earned the love of the God who made us this way!

And one day, 

maybe I will come to love myself enough 

that I stop the “Hail Marys” 

Put my rosary away. 

Watch my daughter and her teddy bear play. 

And maybe then,

I will tell my beautiful wife about my stuffed teddy

and how it saved my life.

©Daydreamer

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