Light Bulb Moments

As writers, we are all afraid of plagiarism. Being accused of taking someone else's work and calling it your own just horrifies the writer. We like to feel that our thoughts are our own.

Beneath this fear is the truth of what we are really afraid of, the fear that we have nothing original or unique to contribute. The reality is: Everyone does!

It's been said over and over again in billions of different ways but you still may have in you that one way of saying something that truly connects with another spirit. That is what it's all about.

That light bulb moment.

Pieces of a Puzzle

We are all just pieces of an extremely intricate puzzle. Each piece just as important as the next. Some pieces are big, strong, wordy. Other pieces are small and simple. No piece can be whole without the rest.

Angel Flight (Radio Tower Remix) - w/ Lyrics

We will remember you always..

Stationary

I had a thought that my words were not my own.
But, who’s are they? Who else is sitting here typing,
Wondering who’s writing down these thoughts.
And is it allowed to say them aloud?
Who’s in charge of who says what when to whom?
Not me, my words are not my own.
My words are not for me,
They are for you.
I give them to you, free and clear.
Enjoy them. Please. I don’t want them anymore once they come out.
Spilling across the page like wet, warm liquid,
Soaking up the paper and devouring it.
The paper is what I want,
Crisp, clean, unused, ready to be written,
Always, I have loved stationary,
For as long as I can remember,
Pen Pals,
hours spent looking at the stationary in the drug store,
All the different kinds,
Thicker, thinner,
Floral, Festive,
Fun.
Paper-clean, white ready to be used.
It’s going away,
Paper is..
Soon.

Think of me as a piece of paper,
Crisp, clear, ready to be written,
That is what I want to be,
Just a piece of paper,
Waiting for your masterpiece.

Forced Draft

I am not a fan, I am forced draft,
An uplift in a time when you might need it.
Wind lifting the sails in your raft.

Wings, Planes, Blades, deltas,
Vane, section, blower, fin.

Bare, naked, alive and raw
Living like I have never lived,
Living out loud and proud.
Inspired.

Not hiding behind the lies,
The masks,
Not hiding behind the lies,
And tasks.

Letting the coursing hot blood flush my face,
And living anyway, without disgrace.
You will not shame me into not being who I am,
Ever again.

You are a mean, cruel and heartless man,
Oh send me there ..again and again,
With your pictures that speak to me,
Of burning passion, of tingling and laughing,
And of a quiet wanting,
An endless need,
Send me there again, and again, and again..
You heartless man.

Please.

The River of Pain

I am not afraid of the river of pain,
the sinking feeling;
the drowning lost whirling,
It comes to me and I flow with it now,
and do not fight.

I relish the place that it takes me,
I wait for it,
To make me whole.

The cuts from the sharp river bottom,
that make me bleed,
Cringe at my base earthly parts of me,
Who I am under the mask,
So ugly and real,
so unabashedly raw and animal.

I feel very small,
Like a tiny speck of nothingness,
My head drops and I feel the rush of sadness,
sweeping over me;
taking my breath away,
realizing that is all there will ever be.

My disappointment in myself,
for my complete abandon,
My ability to fumble and disgrace myself,
My every move, my unbelievable aptitude at being stupid.

I am unashamed
and naked to it
rolling with it,
coursing through.

It reminds me of all I will never be,
To you.

Where I am kneaded the Most

When I am done here,
I want to go where I am kneaded the most.

Let my energy flow through the river and into the sea.

Let my energy flow into the wind and through the breeze.

Let my energy flow up to the sun to warm and delight.

Do not mourn me,
I will be where I am kneaded the most.