a silent cry of longing

as I walk into the house I dwell in
I visit other more secret lives
where nothing is hidden beyond
our surface.

the dark corners filled
with untold memories urging
me to continue searching
for my place on this thin
fragile thread we call life.

this life where we struggle
within the confinement
of our minds feeling the tug
of our judgment around
our ankles.

as I walk into the labyrinth of my life
wrapped in my vivid longing
I know what I must say

I say this only to your soul
so you can hear it even
in the utter darkness
of your aloneness.

let these words be the wallpaper
on the soft tissue
holding your heart together

this is where you belong.

surrender

when surrender was a little girl she talked to the stone people and she knew there were small ones taking care of her. she could spend hours hanging upside down on the monkey bars. surrenders favorite colours are the ones you can see at the end of the rainbow. she knows that when you give in to her you should not expect anything in return and there are more eruptions in life than you ever could imagine. you can see her swimming naked under the waterfall when the sun sets.
surrender will always hold your hand and sing a lullaby in your ear when you can not sleep. she loves to kiss butterflies as they travel by her house and you can smell their perfumes in her hair. some people are frightened of surrender and their gossip, born out of envy, could easily make you wary of her.
but if you trust her you will be gifted with faith, serenity and the key to your own intuition. last year control moved into the house next door to hers and he always tried to restrain her blossoming garden.
after some time their heated tete-a-tete grew into acceptance and i have even seen them having a fika in her garden. when you enter the mystical land of hers surrender will walk by your side and make sure you will feel her presence.surrenders best friend is the unknown.

creativity

creativity lives in a treehouse and whispers songs into the wind as it blows through the leaves.
she fingerpaints with ripe mangoes,
dances to her own rhythm,
sings off key and laughs at herself whenever she gets the chance. creativity rarely sleeps , but she is always well rested. she visits me in my dreams and leaves gifts that i don't always remember as i wake. she is an enigma.
when asked if she is gay or straight, vegan or carnivore, paper or plastic, she says yes! yes! yes! to each and every possibility. creativity never wears make-up.
her kind of beauty flowers from within and cannot be cosmetically enhanced. people think creativity is fearless, but she will cringe and shrivel up in the face of judgment and expectation.
those that keep her at a distance call her vain and self-centered.
but if you are willing to risk
exposing who you are creativity will ignite in you that fire that is self-love and self-expression. as a child creativity did not fare well in school.
her wings were clipped by structure and regulation so she could not fly. her imagination was put in a box, her spontaneity chained to a desk. now creativity volunteers as a midwife of lost hope and abandoned dreams.
man or woman, old and young, clever to clumsy, she will caress you while you labour to deliver your art, your heart, your truth.