A little self love experiment from class tonight.

Damn girl, Look what you’ve done. Pregnant at nineteen, single mom at twenty, now you’re a wannabe fairy living your dream life in the forest, just missing her wings. Yet, you haven’t let go of the guilt and you gotta do it. That shit is getting heavy and it’s time to put it down. No one is mad at you. He’s not mad at you. You did everything you needed to do for him. Some of it was right and some of it was wrong, but that’s life, you know? Nobody’s perfect but look at him! He’s told the world himself he wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for his Mum. Allow yourself that one.

For real, girl, look at what you’ve done. You dipped your toe in the emergency services world at twenty-one, almost your dream job. The closest you thought you could reach it with the single mom thing you took on first. Through phonelines you delivered babies, you instructed breaths, you helped people, you directed officers, you cared. Maybe you could have cared for yourself a little more? Maybe you could have helped yourself a little bit more. But you did it until you couldn’t, and when you had to pivot, girl did you pivot.

Wooee, it was a twisty pivot. Twenty-five and laid off with a five-year-old, sure, you’ll work for a Stevedore. As soon as someone tells you what a Stevedore is. You figured it out and it didn’t take you long at all, though after you got a hold of it they didnt want you to succeed. Specifically, HE didn’t want you to succeed, but for thirteen years, you did. You fought your way through it all every week, work impeccable but personality flawed. He thought you could have laughed at his jokes a little more. He thought you could bow down a little more. He thought you could have been a little more timid, but that’s never been you.

Insecure, yes. Self-doubting? Of course. But, timid? No. A girl who bows down? Not a chance. You’re 5’2″, how much lower to the ground did they expect you to go? You left when you were ready and he even ruined that, taking away the goodbyes you deserved to give, but it was time. Not because you hated it, but because you hated having to defend YOU on the daily, and good for you for that. Fucking good for you.

You might cuss a bit too much. It’s not ladylike, you know? I know, I know, you’re not a lady, but you’re afraid of water, so a sailor’s mouth you shouldn’t have. But you know words, I’ll give you that. You know their power, you know their purpose, and you know how to use them. But you probably don’t need to swear so fucking much. Maybe you get a pass on this one. We can see that when you fucking decide to use the fucking swear words you make sure they go in the right fucking order. And you’re at least proper enough to cut back around small children and the elderly. Well, some small children and some elderly, but still, fucking good enough.

So, what do you do next, girl? Start believing in you. Start believing them when they tell you you can write. You wrote the book, you landed the agent, so trust her. Trust her and move on to the next one. You’re 40% there already and you know where you’re going because they’re telling you where to go, the ones in you’re head in their world you created. People love to hear about those pretend people you put on the page, so finish it already and remember who the fuck you are.

I started taking some writing courses recently. It was a bit intimidating at first. I haven’t taken a writing class since high school but these classes with Laura Lentz have helped me hold on to my vulnerable side while writing about the emotional things I’m trying to hammer into a novel. Durring the class we do one-minute writes and 13-minute writes, and some of the one-minute bursts have been some of my favorites. I’m going to share a few here to hold on to them. The final poem, Glass Warrior, was a 13 minute write.

Time…

We are all pinned against time. It moves through us, around us, and eventually without us, continually ticking after our own hearts stop. How reckless can one afford to be with so little time to hold onto?

Our Voices…

We bless each other with our voices, speaking, singing, shouting, words of praise, of power, of protection. We bless each other with our words of truth. Don’t whisper, though. Raise your voice. Let it ride on the echoes of the ones who came before and be the guide to the ones who will come after. We were warriors once, women of the world, stopped by a cold storm that left us silent. Do not let silence be the sound of the future. Rile it up with the warrior’s scream.

My Heart…

My heart, my heart, my heart

Can you help me find my heart? I was pretty sure it was here yesterday.

Or maybe that was last Tuesday?

Still, I was pretty sure it was all here

Still whole

Still mine

Today it seems to be missing

The beat silently ungiving

So, can you help me find it?

My heart, my heart, my heart

What is My Heart

My heart is glass, fractured but not shattered. My heart is the warrior’s shield, knicked and battered. My heart is the dragonfly wing, iridescent and glowing. My heart is the part of me that believes it is all knowing.

Glass Warrior

She lives in a sacred cavern

Protected by its depth

Hidden by its secrecy

The rhythm of her, her only betrayer

Sounding out to those close by

Ba-boom. Ba-boom. Ba-boom

To be hidden is crucial

It’s a must if she wants to survive

Glass things shatter if hit hard enough

Her fractures are deep

Her structure barely holding

She welded her shield in front of her

She lashed her sword to her side

She is a fearsome Warrior

Even if her mighty spirit she must hide

To give in to self-destruction, is not of her mind

You see,

Glass things shatter if hit hard enough

(And she’s come oh so very close to hard enough)

This Glass Warrior now must hide