Thursday, June 12, 2014


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

Tuesday, May 27, 2014

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!!! :((

Thursday, March 20, 2014

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!

Thursday, March 06, 2014


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

Tuesday, February 11, 2014

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 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.