My Sweet Heart

O’ Beauty touch me still.

Pressed up in innocence against me,

The touch of your softness and the mastery of your skills,

Sing sweet perfection.

It seduces me into a slumber

Where my body goes limb

And I can no longer find the words to speak.

I ache for the chance to

To meet you again,

Sweet soul.

I hold you,

My dearest

Heart,

In my hands,

And kiss you,

Waiting for your return.

Thou Art The Forbidden

It seems for reasons unknown,

She steals hearts singing sonnets and inviting crowds with her hips.

She curtsies and plagues rhythms of amusing beats,

To write strands of her story on the pavement.

In her hours of incessant playing,

She compiles the forbidden art of drumming,

Leaving behind memories of cold sake and sweet nothingness.

Crinkled Pages

Dear Self,
Water droplets dance,
Then scatter all over,
Smearing the text, words I’ve spent long hours writing.
Opening up, can be an challenge when I can’t seem to see straight.
My rouge is starting to fade. And the past colors my vision.
I feel nothing is left but to crinkle the pages,
But I decide to carefully pick up the delicate remnants and fold them.
These days
I just keep trying to figure it out.
Though I’m not really sure why,
For obsessing over thoughts in any way doesn’t seem to make much sense.
So I decide to let go.
And in doing so,
My vision becomes unclouded,
Letting me open,
To see,
The New begin.

Sacred Prayers

My Dearest,

I remember when I fine-tuned my words.

They became sacred prayers to me as they unfolded behind my eyes.  My eyes, wet, and my heart playing tunes of timeless classics pasted on me with peachy ribbon.

The wetness blinded me and I couldn’t see where I was walking so I stumbled over the cracked cement to my room.

The trip to the ground shook me awake, and I dropped my pencil.

I suppose that’s what love can do to you…

The Light and Embracing All That is Feminine.

Dearest Love,

I’ll simply go mad if I don’t write to you everyday.  I get all sick inside when we miss each other.  I just keep thinking of what kind of sweet words to write to you, and then those thoughts become lost amidst my day.  I know that if I commit myself to you, the words will surely come, so I should not fret.  There is always something to write to you about, as each night seems difficult to quiet my mind.  I know this is nothing new.
Every morning, my hair, drenched still, from perspiring all night, has left its mark on my sheets reminding me of the night’s tousling.  I peel them off me and notice they are stained peachy cream from my tea I fell asleep with.  And the scent on my skin perfumes the room like I’ve been somewhere exotic.  Most times I glance over, and I just see sketches and scribbling in my journal next to me, that don’t always make sense.
Except this time the words came fast and I felt them shock me out of my sleep.  The words were scattered, but I’m sure my scribbling translated the words correctly, La Luz, in Italian, The Light.  I see it, as a calling, speaking the language of my soul.  Because, shocking me awake, it made me sing and showed me notes I’d never played before.  The words became scrolls, imprinting themselves on my body.
Oh wow, now, this was something!
Oh, to have found something i’ve been keeping from myself, and hidden.  Another language.  What is this that has been keeping me from myself???  To let beauty win? To embrace something I never have? Now this is something new dear friend, help me to understand…I will speak with you tomorrow.
Dearest,
Of course, I am realizing the new task at hand from last night.  A mildly challenging task indeed, but actually quite amusing.   Like I’m running the race backwards.  I just never thought to embrace beauty as a thing to be adored, as we all don’t have much control of this in this life as I see it.  I’ve always decorated my hair and adorned my body for amusement, a display of personality, you know.  But this is something new and profound.  Oh, the many ways to use this knowledge, allowing the expression of something you thought you never had…

A Collection of Scriptures and Painting Portraits

Dear Self,

Scriptures lay waiting
As I contemplate.
I scramble for words and rhymes,
Where my voice can’t stop talking.
And where my spirit opens to write once again.
I pick up my quill,
With my fingertips drenched in elemi rose,
To make a quiet gesture.

Flipping pages,
Is like picking up the pieces of my heart,
As well as my soul.
And my heart mimics
The sound of records,
Crackling on old turntables.
Just like the pages flipping of my life.

I see now that my reflection has stained the walls,

In smoke-like stains.
Leaving me scrubbing remnants
Of my old self.

While unlatching my corset,

I smile to capture the snapshot

Of old news.

Where my tears paint a new portrait,

And my snow white blood red lips kiss the walls now decorated with sweet love.

My new face,
Of Snow-speckled cheeks,
Reveals the essence
Of my true self.

That,
Which is,
My Beloved Soul.

Dear Self,

I thought of you today when I picked up the pleats of my skirt and danced to the rhythm you made in my belly.
I laughed at first but it made me sniffle a little. You are reminding me I forgot to write to you today. How dare I forget you!
I’m sorry I didn’t bless you and thank you today for your love. You are always so kind with your sweet words.
O Love Divine, please know that I devote my love to you now, and promise to turn to you daily. I know I can find all my answers here and I can trust where you guide. You always help me remember who I am, so I love you most dearly.

Dearest,

I remember the day our lips met and I walked away melting.
the way you enveloped me with the scent of night and tuberose petals
and I escaped to a place that kept me safe
and I knew you would always be there for me.

The power that you showed me made me ice cold and my legs shivered
in the glow that it gave me to win.

Dear Love,

I ask you to awaken me.
Awaken the love
That resides within,
As I speak to you now.

Smiling,
You envelop me,
With your delicate kisses,
And perfume me with this liquid poetry.

Oh, how I love
The written word.
How it touches and romances me,
Like sweet song notes when I hear Billie H
As she kisses the moon
And it turns green.

Now,

While my lips,
Sip sweet silence,
I fall in love
With the tune of my heart.

Singing,
It reveals its true chords,
Playing poetic notes,
Of perfection to me,
That transform into
Masterpieces of spiritual art.

I call them,
Sacred marks,
On paper.

Tattoo-ing permanent beats,
On concrete walls and crumbled paper.
My cramped hands,
Decorated with red ink can’t keep up.
And I try to keep sketching.
Til I’ve found the words.

For this love affair with prose,
I must call the language of my soul.

I smile and step away from the green of the moon,
Wiping my wet cheeks smeared with black now,

And tighten up my corset,

To pray,

That I’m finally back.

Dearest Immortal Beloved,

I surrender.
To this romance.
To always remember you,
Take care of you,
Respect you,
Honor you,
Protect you,
Listen to you,
Like the divine temple,
That you are.

I adore you.
I give all that I am,

Surrendering to your love,
This romance,
A promise to my heart…
To speak with you daily.

When Love Called.

Dear,

Loving oneself and marking your soul with affections is alot harder than you might think.  Standing there, back then, I grasp and cling to shreds of what I have been given and straighten my corset.  Tight enough so that my heart sits revealing itself to everyone.

I’m shy and scared to feel, because “feeling” is something different.  Something I must retrain myself to do, as it’s never helped me before.  With layers exposed, I feel vulnerable to all.  But I do it, because my curiosity of what will happen next is something good.

Something good provoking many other layers to transform into a new birth.  Which I’m sure will most definitely be a a new heart.  A heart that feels loved, and feels its worth.  To feel love, it remembers itself, rebuilding its cracks.