Five Minute Friday - Strong

I never asked to be strong, and there are many times throughout the day when I question how strong I really am. I have been told many times I am strong because it was a hard time. That is what people say to you “You will make it because you are strong.”

Maybe I never wanted to be strong but felt like I wasn’t given a chance. What do we even consider to be strong in our world?

I wonder…

Is the person who says they are struggling mentally strong or

 The person who refuses to have any type of emotion the strong one?

Is the friend who is always there for you even when their world is falling apart strong 

Or 

The friend who leaves without a word because they know they are too broken?

Can the one who breaks themselves to fit into society the 

Or 

The one who breaks all the rules society gives them stronger?

Is the mom who stays at home with the kids the stronger

Or 

The mom who continues on with a career?

Are we only as strong as our circumstances allow 

Or 

Are we as strong as the stories we tell ourselves?

In this blog I have taken 5 minutes with the prompt word and above is my free write.

Five Minute Friday - Middle

I'm in the middle of a mess in my mind. My thoughts are being diced into fine herbs lost in a saute of worry. While I grab for these thoughts, like an angry dog trying to stop the water coming out the hose. I look around, longing to see my friends' hope and understanding in these days ahead, but I fear they have lost their way back to me. I walk from room to room, pacing, waiting for my mind to heal to feel something else besides numbness. 

I settle in the middle of my bedroom floor while the sun rays warm me before the rain comes. I stare out the window to watch the trees dance in the wind of the approaching storm. I could never understand why these moments felt like seconds in comparison to the years of pain I endure. 

There must be something wrong with me. Somewhere in the middle of my life, I made a wrong turn. I chose the wrong path. My mind filled with every bad thing in my world. Some….something is wrong me with me. No matter how bright the sun shines on me, the coldness floods in. 

Chills begin to form, and my body shakes from head to toe. The middle of me is full of darkness, waiting to escape into the world. The black haze whispers things out of me to where the darkness lies. But the pain will not leave me because, at my core, I am darkness. I am the night. I am death.

In this blog I have taken 5 minutes with the prompt word and above is my free write.

Five Minute Friday - Design

There are so many purses I have designs for, but I have never made them because of the sewing needles aspect. It makes me wonder how I was designed are there pieces of me that needed to come with me, but I couldn’t fit. Even now, I still don’t know what I am designed to do. I could be an excellent clutch for someone. Maybe I am an overnight bag or a long-lasting piece of luggage. 

I sit feeling unmade, always feeling like there should be something more happening in my life. Yet, in the same breathe, I’m grateful for the simplicity of my life as a trusted black leather purse. I see myself as suitable for work and play no matter the time of day. I carry in me all the things that people want but sometimes forget they have. They go off to buy a new black bag thinking it would better than me. They always keep coming back to me, though, because I have the perfect strap length, and I’m not too big and not too small. 

There are times when I wish I could take the designing wheel to make myself have beads, feathers, or a fun underlay cut out because so many people feel the design of a black bag is blah. In fact, I only own one, and though it is perfect, I find myself grabbing anything else to bring color to my life instead of old black. 

My mind is complex and thrives on more knowledge as well as a balance of rest. I wish to be designed to do the ultra runs of life but keep finding resistance and that my mind will not allow me to go headstrong in one way. I’m forever bound to love everything.

In this blog I have taken 5 minutes with the prompt word design and above is my free write.

Poetry - Alone

I don’t even know where I am going 

As the car rocks me back and forth on

A highway I have driven in autopilot skitters by. 

Black asphalt ahead like film off of its projector and twirling against gray hues in the sky.

Brown plants along the edges of the road resisted these changes to their wilderness and died while trying to rebel.  

An emptiness encompasses me as tears begin to pool at the bottom of my chin before dripping in my lap.

Screams explode out of me into the silent car, and my throat instantly becomes sore. 

My mind longing to be changed and heart missing all connections. 

Finally, a car comes to change the scene as I wipe my eyes on my work shirt. 

My eyes are wiped when my head hits the roof of my car, and my chest punched hard.

I cannot open my eyes now; only darkness is there. 

Poetry - Triggers

Words like hail pour into my head, busting out every other thought coming into my mind. My protected gates now wide open what can I do to stop the floods of memories coming into my awareness. 

Then you are there holding me close to you. Your hand is caressing my face, and I know nothing has changed. 

I still love those lips and kisses so soft and tender yet...

I suddenly feel dizzy, weightless, and breathless. 

But your lips released evil meditations into my soul.

Each word hammering deeper, and until I did not have the strength hold you back anymore. 

Your words are crushing every shattered piece of happiness I had left until I couldn’t stand. 

I laid on the cold bathroom floor night after night.

Hot showers to make the words burn off me.

Surely the heat melted your words off of me because hell is where you came from. How could I love hell. Belief in somehow, there would be some change in me and you if I could rid myself of being unclean. If I scrubbed enough, the bruises would be gone. Like the blood that filled my mouth, and the wall I was thrown against would all suddenly drift away. Hot water tonight would purify, and steam would smother the shell of what was left of me once and for all. 

I sat up in bed with the sweat-drenched sheets gasping for breath. I shut the door and locked it tight on those memories once again. 

Poetry - After the Funeral

There are things in my pocket; I cannot forget.

       Golden rings are clamoring over the beats of my heart.

A broken memory no one knows but me,

       Can I even remember us as three?

Do I envision a happy family I never had

        Or will the fabrication kill me as I lie in bed?

The walls are crashing in on me

        Yet there is no love glue left wearisome I will be.

I fall on pictures as though the dead will catch me.

         Somehow bringing me back to life breathing.  

The blood advances over the shards of glass and memory

           It takes the life out of me.

Today I decided to share a piece I have been working on.