• Poems & Musings,  Writing

    Lost Mirrors, New Seasons

    And maybe you want to believe that every person who comes into your life is your soulmate or missing piece or the one who might finally save you. But maybe, they came into your life for something wonderfully human and brief and fragile: to introduce you to an author who writes into your soul or a song that says what you never could. Maybe they will never caress your skin in the dark, because they were sent instead so you could finally tell the secret you’d been keeping inside for years; the one you thought couldn’t be said out loud. Maybe you hold on because your ego has lied to…

  • Poems & Musings,  Writing

    Sequoias

    I think, if I could live as long as they do, Maybe life wouldn’t be so mysterious Or maybe I would simply accept the mystery And not question it. Maybe I would be braver With my head in the clouds, If I knew my roots were deep as heartbeats. Maybe I would find myself beautiful With my russet bark, the color of autumn, And my proud, regal bearing. Instead, I walk below them, Fragile against them, my bones and skin glass. The wisdom beneath my fingers, Of things known and unknown, All the nameless years, Stretched up and away from me into the sky. Sara Myriad

  • Poems & Musings,  Writing

    Reflections

    If you are a lake, (or any deep body of water, really)…. Please be wary of mirrors. You may see the smooth, glassy surfaces of these people and assume that they are like you, underneath. However, in time, you will realize what you thought were unplumbed depths, waiting to be explored lovingly, are nothing but your own emotions being reflected back to you by others who cannot truly understand, only mimic.

  • Poems & Musings,  Writing

    The Embers Still Burn

    When was it that you lifted your shoulders in a shrug, and let the world have its way with you? When was it that you let the fire within you die, because passion is painful, and routine is safe and comfortable and easy? You were my furnace when my entire world was winter. But now you’re cold, and I’m sitting here in the silence, counting points on each snowflake.

  • Poems & Musings,  Writing

    Gentle

    When you tell me that there are aspects of my personality You find really unattractive I want you to know Every single flaw you perceive in me I have seen and examined in myself A thousand times more closely A thousand times more harshly And found terrible a thousand times greater Than you ever could.  I have spent years disliking Or hating what I saw in the mirror I still have far to travel as I heal So I would gently request You not remind me how ugly I’ve been I am painfully aware