a new dawn

she woke with the taste of blood and bile in her mouth, the crescent moon standing silent watch on the far side of the stained window.
she had survived her eclipse – her taste buds proved that much.

running shaking fingers over her damp face, she sat up, slowly. the stench of vomit and cold cigarette smoke filled the air, making her gag yet again.

resurrected, only to stare at a world of shit.
perfect.

she could hear him snoring to her left.
the sound made her convulse, made the faint taste of blood flare up, sharp and demanding. her tongue snaked out of her mouth, carefully exploring the cut in her lower lip.

again.
he had done it again.

he had promised, eyes pleading.
it had lasted a day.

slowly, she stood, careful not to make any noise. the hard, wooden floor felt cool beneath her bare feet.
silently, she gathered her clothes, her shoes, her bag… her life – still in pieces.

and to the watcher’s soft, comforting light, she closed the door behind her; bare feet leading the way to newfound opportunities.

Born from Negativity

How do we expect to feel good, if we moan and bitch all day?
How do we expect to feel light as air, if we carry the Weight of the World on our shoulders?

Positive things don’t happen just because we want them to, because we feel like we ‘deserve’ them – we have to invest  to make them happen.
We have to believe.

Not everything we see or go through on this planet inspires us, makes us dance with joy. The News are filled to bursting with daily horrors, inviting us to burden our minds and lose faith.
The question is: Will we give in and surrender to the sadness; stop fighting and struggling, and just give up? Bow our heads and tell ourselves that everything will always be shitty?
Or will we muster up enough courage to keep looking for sunnier days?

I choose to believe in hope.
I choose to believe in change.
If I believe, I still have a chance to see beauty heading my way.
I refuse to drown in negativity – because nothing good can (and will) be born from its treacherous womb.

Why We Write… The Revolution of the Written Word

“A word is not the same with one writer as with another.  One tears it from his guts.
The other pulls it out of his overcoat pocket.”
~Charles Peguy

Why do we write?
This question has been on my mind ever since I picked up the virtual pen and started blogging.

Do we write to express the turmoil inside of us?
Is it because we want to be famous, to be known for creating something the world won’t forget?
Do we want to share our experiences and thus help others, who experience the same, to be more informed and prepared?
Is it to prove to ourselves (and to others), that we can construct something, a piece of art people will admire?
Do we write because it’s therapeutic?
Do we write to inspire?

For me, it’s probably a bit of everything – and I am sure we all fit into these categories… more or less.

letter writing skillsI started writing because I felt the urgent need to organize my thoughts, to sort through the chaos in my head and make it palpable – one outburst at a time. It felt so good to have found a way to express myself – and it still does.

Sometimes the spoken word fails.
We can’t say what we think in public, because it might be inappropriate, hurtful or otherwise improper. We can’t say what we think because it just hurts too much to hear it spoken out loud. We can’t say what we think because we fear that others might judge us – unjustly.

This is where the written words comes in.
When we write, there are no boundaries.

I have always been drawn to Poetry – and that’s exactly where I started. I admired poets for expressing themselves and their art through this ‘reduced’ form of writing, was fascinated how raw emotion and deep thought could be compressed in such a way and yet be so utterly powerful – and, to my surprise, I found that writing poetry worked for me as well. Slowly, I began to see that I, too, had a voice… and that it was worth hearing.

After writing a couple of poems and publishing them on WordPress, I discovered that people actually liked what I had to say. This led me from writing for purely therapeutic reasons to experimenting. I branched out, joined a Poetry Prompt Site, started writing in form – just to see what I could do.

I read.
Read… and wrote some more.

For a while, I was content with writing and reading poetry, but soon I got curious to find out what else was in me – what else I hadn’t uncovered. I started writing stories and essays, fictive and non-fictive pieces… and to this day, I am still developing, eager to conquer new frontiers.

ideaIt is truly astounding how people can spur you on… inspire you, encourage you to broaden your horizon; to step out of your safe hiding place – just by sharing their work. You see something… a word, a sentence, a paragraph – and an idea gets born. It takes hold of you, captures your every thought, until there is nothing left but to write it down; to see how it develops on paper.
You breathe life into sterile thoughts and let them unfold, disentangle.
You let them take over… and the process in itself is beautiful.

We live in a world full of restrictions and rules.
Freedom of Speech is still a delicate subject depending on where you give voice to your opinion – it shouldn’t be, but it still is.
I encourage you to enter a world free of bonds, where your imagination has no limits.
I encourage you to get to know yourself, and see what you can do.
Write – and maybe you’ll be lucky enough to ignite a spark in others.

I write because it helps me sort myself out.
I write because I love to see what I can do, what I can accomplish.
I write because I want to inspire others the same way I was inspired.
I write because I can get to know my own voice.

How about you?

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photo credits: british-legal-centre.com; aucegypt.edu

Resolution

It is truly miraculous how pieces fall into place.

I had been spinning for a couple of days – it felt like a maelstrom, slowly building; my thoughts swirling faster and faster, until I could not follow anymore. It wasn’t a bad feeling – just too much to handle; unfamiliar. I did not consciously summon it – I guess sometimes the subconscious mind goes strange ways to lead you to your destination.

Last night, someone yelled “Stop!” into the waters – and I heard him.
Shortly after, I discovered the origin of my wild journey – in a conversation with someone I had thought to be long gone.

It was time for me to see something – the problem was, I kept looking in the wrong direction. It was situated in the past, not the present, nor future. I kept branching out, searching for answers, not knowing the problem was to be found in the roots – they had been drinking poisoned water.

I eliminated the problem.
Set it right.

The swirling stopped.
I could see myself again… the mind, clear and focused.

It is truly miraculous how pieces fall into place.
I am free to go back to the roots now… back to familiar territory.

cluster (six word stories)

… trying something new today. Six Word Stories.
thanks to ManicDDaily for introducing them to me – loving this!

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Snow overnight. Snap! Hip replacement scheduled.

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Running in circles. Sleep covers tracks.

***

Happily married. Side plot revealed. Divorce.

***

Finally saying no. Life under construction.

purity

her eyes lost focus as she pressed her palms into the snow.
purity.
that, she longed for.

how she craved feeling… anything.
anything.
the emptiness inside her caused her to cringe in revulsion; the familiarity of the void… repulsive.

how long had it been?

bile rose in her throat, threatened to choke her, but she forced herself to take calm, steady breaths. she would not surrender to the looming shadows of the past.
the stinging pain in her hands was a welcome sensation; a wake-up call, shaking her out of the numbness, which had been a permanent resident in her body, in her being.
her fingertips, stark red on a canvas of white, started pulsing… throbbing.

alive.
she was alive.

cold wetness soaked through her dress.
snowflakes drifted from the sky, to settle on her already damp hair.
her breath steamed, leaving wispy, playful traces of her identity in the freezing air.

breathe.
in… out…
in…
out.

the first rays of dawn touched the horizon.
day had come.
she greeted the light, welcomed the passing of the looming shadows.

day had come.

her eyes filled with tears of gratitude.
on this cold winter morning, she had been reborn.

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photo credits: under-cloudy-sky.blogspot.com