Mood of the day!

Delusional

Sweet lies, paradise

You showed me

A new disguise

Every time I held your hand

I thought you loved

I thought you cared

And then you left

Me in despair

The child in me

She trusted you

My dreams you broke

Lit up in smoke

I was Me with You

Bare, naked, alive

You shut the door

I can’t survive

This loneliness

That surrounds me now

Pulled back inside

To the hollow life

You’d found me in

I lived with you

I died with you

The Toughest Job in the World

I have the toughest job in the world, and I can't even crib about it. Its called being a mom. It is that stage in my life when I don't know if I ever existed as another human being. I feel like I am this feeding, loving, puke-cleaning, poop-coaxing, sleep deprived cyborg that was born to be forever available to my increasingly demanding, commanding two year old daughter. And if this wasn't enough, I am also the entertainer/ clown/ doctor/ caregiver/ dietitian/ cleaning lady/ driver with a perpetual frumpy, grumpy demeanor due to being pushed over the edge.




I want my MOMMY!!! :((

My thoughts, exactly....

Beginning of the End

I just love watching the leaves fall off of trees. Its so peaceful.

The tree, happily dancing to the wind's tunes is shedding away its past to make room for the future.

And the leaves, in silent acceptance of their fate, quietly fall to the ground to embrace the end of a fulfilled journey. Simply beautiful!

Limitless

The head and the heart

Oh why are they apart?

My heart wants, my mind taunts

My soul remains undone

My eyes are open

My heart is alive

So why does it feel

Like a dream, unreal?

I can see, what is unseen

I can hear the voice that beckons

I can feel, what is forbidden

I long to touch, what is verboten

A storm of emotions

Explodes in my being

Dancing with the whirlwind,

I'm letting go

I can fly with no wings

I can swim with no fins

Delve deep inside

Eager to find...

A whole new me

A Wilting Flower

Wow, two years! And this place is still alive - well, somewhat. I never thought I'd return to this space, but right now, it feels like the only place for refuge. A safe haven, away from all the chaos and conundrums of life. It has been a while since I stole a few quiet moments to myself. I am supposed to use this time to finish pending work, but somehow, work's far from my mind at this point.

Sometimes, I visit my blog and read and reread my earlier posts, and the comments on them. It seems like another life, really. My thoughts, my aspirations, even my outlook towards everything has changed tremendously. Its just not about me anymore. Its almost as if I'm so lost in the everyday chores, that nothing excites me anymore. If something new or different does come up, it irks me even more, because my 'schedule' gets disrupted. It's like I'm watching the days go by, doing the same thing every day. I don't even realize when the week came to end or how the weekend flew by. I always have a to-do list to cross off. I don't know when I wrote last...I used to love writing poems but if I look inside for inspiration now, all I see is a blank.

What happened to me? I was always the carefree one, always the one living in a dream. It's not like I hate my life, oh no, I have so much to be thankful for. But it feels like something's died inside. It feels empty. I'm living without a purpose, do you know how terrifying that sounds? I need to be inspired, to dream again...to find a new passion, to look forward to each day. I do hope getting back to the blog is a start somehow.

A poem by William Shakespeare is befitting:

The Life Without Passion

They that have power to hurt, and will do none,              

That do not do the thing they most do show,     

Who, moving others, are themselves as stone, 

Unmovèd, cold, and to temptation slow,         

 

They rightly do inherit heaven's graces,          

And husband nature's riches from expense;      

They are the lords and owners of their faces,    

Others, but stewards of their excellence.            

 

The summer's flower is to the summer sweet,  

Though to itself it only live and die;            

But if that flower with base infection meet,        

The basest weed outbraves his dignity:

 

For sweetest things turn sourest by their deeds;             

Lilies that fester smell far worse than weeds.