overture.

this is your ocean in its silence an inner tempest she dares not to speak; how many words can form the sentences only one Author can complete? her sailor far from home yet still she waits, on faith and in affect by the choice that was made. Advertisements

aletophobia.

in its subtle form it years to speak through a medium, a message enclosed in doubt it desires to break free the chain holding back a weary tongue water flowing red, a braid coming undone

whirlwind

my mind is a whirlwind, scattering thoughts to places of doubt. where can I go to ease this restless storm? shall I look within, or to another mind beyond? my answer lies in both a heart and his song calling to me a melody of sonnet sweet and pure and young

oceans.

You were once before so conflicted, in a mound of depth beyond calculation. But now you’re a survivor who has surpassed his storm; You conquered this ocean and taken newfound shore Does the sand seem familiar, or even ring a bell- Perhaps sparking memory of the girl you once knew so well? x

blue-blood.

Here’s to the glass slipper you refused to wear, The flower you didn’t let them braid in your hair. They called you princess and gave you a crown, Fed you from silver, threaded silk for a gown. x Delicate, precious, frail as a daisy, “You mustn’t do that, you should sit like a lady,” Ordained … More blue-blood.

Unbroken.

You guarded your heart with wineglass and you wonder How you let this happen again. You nurse your brokenness with your shards of tears drowning in the pool of red and salt water, wishing your Romeo would come save you from this pit. You bandage your wounds with the photographs of his arms around you, … More Unbroken.