Seasonal

The Cold rolls in beneath the folds of my bedsheets

Afflicting my lungs with a sudden ferocity

As It announces that It is indeed here.

I watch the Sun recede from my window

taking with it my memories of summer

and in my lucid paralysis I am replaced with an all too familiar fear.

I lie here with an overwhelming need for death,

so I can just stop

trying.

My blood is only warmed by my anger that the Lord has demanded

that I remain here

on this side of Life.

I have become unlovable. and will be unloved.

"Your poverty is greater than ours"

"The greatest disease in the West today is not TB or leprosy; it is being unwanted, unloved, and uncared for. We can cure physical diseases with medicine, but the only cure for loneliness, despair, and hopelessness is love. There are many in the world who are dying for a piece of bread but there are many more dying for a little love. The poverty in the West is a different kind of poverty -- it is not only for a poverty of loneliness but also of spirituality. There's a hunger for love, as there is a hunger for God."
-  Mother Teresa

Something that has been apparent to me for quite some time now is that despite living in a developed country, I don't have to venture further than a step ahead to find a deep poverty in this country. It lives in our homes, in our workplaces, in the hearts of our friends, our family, and strangers. It's not something a couple of loonies thrown in a cup can help remedy temporarily. I don't even feel a few kind words help either - though I try. Even a trip to somewhere far away and beautiful seems to help at first, but we take our hearts with us, and the crevices of its contents eventually reveal themselves to remind us that we were missing something all this while.

How can we live in these privileged worlds with our mouths easily filled, our bodies always sheltered, our lives bombarded with company, with future luxuries just another easy paycheque away - and still feel so lost and listless?

I've seen that one can fill their lives and their bodies with necessities easily - but a sense of purpose and hope?<-- that seems a harder purchase to find. That need is found somewhere deeper in the soul that I've been humbled to realize only God can find and fill there. If we let Him.

What scares me is that some of us don't know what we're missing. We don't know how truly poor we are. How can you ask to heal a wound you can't see?

"Je ne sais quoi"

Paris:
Maybe she had a chat over some macarons with the Mona Lisa at her stop in Paris - because since she's returned, she smiles with that elusive clear-eyed secret that perhaps she may know something we all don't.

Cleanse

Take me by the water
where I will lay my shame
by the Oceanside.
Let the waves lap away
the pain of this pride I hide beneath a false front of humility.
I will break open my chest
and expose beneath my breasts - a heart that's been begging
to be warmed by the Sun.
Let me dip it beneath the water
and watch the blackness run
and run and bleed all sin and grief into the vast relief of this blue Universe.
I'll know that it is done
when this stone in my hands has turned into a fresh flesh pink.
I will then cradle it by my ears to hear
the most dear sound of my own pulse beating -
and I will remember yet again what this heart is for.
So take me by the water
where I will reclaim my name
by the Oceanside.

An Excerpt on Boy-Crazy

I don't know what it was with the last full-moon, but it definitely had me going loopy - and a tad boy-crazy. Okay no, perhaps more than just a tad. Found a laughable reflection in my journal. Thought I'd share. Enjoy.

"Act Like a Lady Think Like a Man"

I think I've become boy-crazy.

Yes. I believe it must stem from being single for so long. I've got crushes all over the place. I entertain the thought of dating practically every other guy that I meet. I run them through a quick evaluation in my head: pick them up and examine them from every angle and pocket them away as "potentials" or discard as I see fit.

It's weird. And inappropriate. I know. And I can't seem to help it. It's like a single ladies' game up in my head while I practically lead the life of a spinster.

haunted

I am -
at a point where I hesitate to crack
my old journal entries Open - for Fear
that I will find within its pages
the dilapidated dusting of Dreams
I have Not fulfilled

or worse - 
to Not find the personal constellation of once-believed-Visions
because I'd once-or-twice forgotten
to write them down.

(I confess that I run around with a constant fear that I will lose my heart and hopes in this city.)

lame secrets we all share

sometimes i like to play songs and pretend they are meant just for me

NYE countdown

it was supposed to be a joke...
                                                     but then I  - 
                                                                         couldn't stop kissing you
                                                                                          
(geeheehee!)