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Alchemy of Creation

 

Alchemy. Taking blank material and transforming it into something else, is fairly spectacular. Sometimes the intention is not even apparent. This creative process is very interesting and inspiring.

There is such a unique beauty to go from blank canvas to an explosion of color or a creative vibrant script. I hope for the rest of my life to transform my truth into a reflective image.

xo

Original Work: “JSN” 12×14, acrylic on canvas, 2017

Check out more of my work at 19art81.com .

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Ghar ke Kaam

in between washing the dishes
Ammi yells at me
curses her life
all I did was accidentally leave the
glass by the tv
I roll my eyes and lock myself in the bathroom
until she’s done the cooking in the kitchen
I come back outside
and plug my brain into the tv
so she can’t throw more side comments my way
Her anger is for me not becoming the person she wished I be
My anger is for her never defending me
but we push it down
we swallow it, chug it down like a bottle of whiskey
let the damage be done inside
all we notice is the burning madness
showing in our swollen eyes
from crying all night
from betrayal

 

Photography Credit: Chip Johnston

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Empty or Filling You Up?

Looking inward to define boundaries.

Knowing your boundaries is a challenge for many of us. It takes time to identify what those boundaries are based on what we have experienced or seen or what is valuable to us and what can be let go.

I have been contemplating whether I am establishing boundaries and with whom or why with whom? More like, why was I not letting folks go?

It turns out I have been, or I thought I was; it started with my FB.

I have an average day to day X# of folks I keep in my Fb family. It took years to identify this group of people based on positivism, humanism, and inclusion. It was OK to let family members go from Fb because I did not want the negative energy. I needed to identify what negative energy meant to me, and what did that look like via a social media outlet? What does that feel like or sound like? Bottom line, it came back to learning to trust my instinct – a woman’s intuition- if you will and trust.

Literally, I am learning to trust myself to know what is good for me based on what my conscience and my spirit are telling me.

Fb was a good starting point to build that trust within myself because I had a tangible method of measuring what is engaging me and how I am engaging in dialog with others. I will admit. It felt HORRIBLE to press UNFRIEND with folks who were, well, horrible in their posts and in their comments; unfriending is an intentional decision. A deliberate act to sever a connection with another person who is more than a name on the screen. Sometimes the detachment went easy and quiet and simple..BAM the person is gone and I am no longer accessible to the energy she/he is sharing publicly. Other times it was not so simple and is followed by a personal IM or a text or worse-a call.

Some folks just do not want to go. Ok, I get that.

And this is where the next step came into practice. Talking-communicating and holding a dialog, my daughter calls these ‘difficult conversations’ my son calls this ‘being real’. Either way-for me, it was an exercise in courage to articulate the personal boundaries that I have which ones are being crossed.

Through time, my boundary setting is preceded by conversations regarding boundaries-nothing formal-rather a series of rapport building dialog’s where my boundaries are shared and clarified with folks I have identified as valuable to me for their thoughts and ideas and time and companionship.

Upon reflection, I see it was about liking myself and valuing myself to be treated fairly, justly, kindly and through the lens of humanity via social media. A act of love for myself that I do not believe I understood holistically. Where I held ethos and more; however, I did not have the courage to articulate those thoughts and ideas to others because social norms for me did not permit that level of engagement or authenticity with others. I just sat back. Patiently waiting to:

A. run away.

B. ignore

C. just go w/ the flow and let it all unfold in front of me despite how I am interpreting what is happening.

C. is the worst option. As you, no ‘I’, was sitting by as if ‘I’ were a passenger in my own life vs an active member or participant actively making decisions of what I am letting into my environment.

Shame on me right?

No, not shame on me. I had to experience this to know now I am not sitting by and watching this thing called life go on past me and I have control of what comes in-of what I permit to come in.

Dare I say I live life in a courageous manner now.

A manner where I am identifying value in myself and how my surroundings are influencing me.

Leaving me empty…or permitting to be filled up.

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GUILD : THE JURIST.

Sauntering down the wynd, wearing my aplomb and prestige, hearsay passed by,
My corpulence wasn’t just my chassis, but a riposte to their unwanted why.
Unceasing my footfalls, I carried myself with a muted smile and masked tears,
Sheathing my arms with my trembling hands, and my eyes bespoke fears.

Continue reading GUILD : THE JURIST.

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Love at Death’s Pace

 

Trauma had already
taken her life
many times
before,

but this love called,
& she finally
wanted to bury
herself,

laying the unworthiness
that rung in her
ears to
rest,

more life seemed
like a threat
to the plans that
death arranged
in her
brain.

Life froze,
while death learned
to pace around
her chest.

She always made room
for it,
at her worst &
at her best,

tucking it in at night
with a kiss,
giving it her
comforter to borrow,

hoping that she
would embrace it
while waking
tomorrow.

she wanted to stare
it in the eyes,
to break away from
her flesh.

clocks didn’t exist

because day and
nightfall were one
in the same,

the sun wasn’t
her friend because
light was flames,
trees were matches

and the birds?

witnesses.

There was no sky.

she learned to pray
for death because
he taught her to,

stopping to see it
up close right
around the block,

as he sped, racing,
not caring if he
killed them,

saying this
with madness in his
shoulders.

death ran through
his veins,

that’s why she died
with her eyes open,
in love,

regularly,
hopefully,
hopelessly.

he used his grip
to flirt with
her death,

flashing memories
of trauma before
her eyes.

Death had no
disguises,
just different
phases & forms,

he sketched one on
his arm with
a knife
while staring
her in the face,

saying he cared
only about
being lifeless.

he killed spirits
of the living
& the dead,

becoming the death
wish that her pain
sought,

learning to be
a reckless monster
that threw words
at everyone,

hoping to high-five
the devil, while
making fire of
hearts.

she was cold.

he taught her
how to worship
her death,

turning lifelessness
into her purpose,
something like
his own,

she was no longer
a person,

just misery and
bones with skin
that cowered at
the bat of any eye.

she wanted no one
to see how her
weariness

choked her,
spat her out,
& left her

crying in corners,
anywhere.

when she came back
to herself,

all she could do
was try to dig the
life out of her,

hoping that it
was still breathing.