Behind the pink purse... Proverbs 19:1

Hello dear readers, and happy Mother's Day to all of the mommies out there! I'm not a mommy yet, except to my almost-ten year old fur ball of a Maltese.  She insists on being on my lap when I read, watch tv, or pour my heart out on this little blog.

Isn't she just the cutest little diva? Yeah, she thinks so too. 

I was cleaning up my computer (five years worth of stuff was mind boggling in itself) and I came across this poem I wrote a while back, and I hope you enjoy it.

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Hot, spicy, blinding light.  Breathe.  Just breathe.
Coughs, restlessness and whispers are all I hear, but the spotlight is all I see.

Opening my mouth, a microphone in my hand,
letting the words pour out, like grains of sand
in a bottle of glass, that is so old,
filled with a memory that is trying to be told
about trials and tributes that I have had to endure,
on my journey and in my journal, and sometimes I am not sure
why I am even standing here on this black stage.

Every time my feet touch it I feel like I’m in this cage

that I cannot escape, nor that I wouldn’t dare
to leave this stage I call home, because here, I don’t care
what people think about me, when the words come out
whether I’m whispering or if I choose to shout
the words like lightening, thunder rumbling in the ceiling
flowing like poetry, this is what I am feeling
poetry, my life, my song, what keeps me alive
so instead of being scared, I just take a breath and dive
right into the music, feeling each beat
making absolute sure, not one is still in their seat
so they can feel what, I am trying to sing
so they can have something more, that just a dictionary meaning
that’s my dream, so what are you waiting for
tell them your story, something they’ve never heard before.
"Microphone" by Kelsea from Paper Heart & Tiara

We all have a story to tell.  Some may be unspoken, some may be plastered across Page Six.  It all boils down to how we handle the mishaps, laughs, tears, joys, and lessons.  For me, it was poetry that helped me say the words I couldn't speak.

I wish I could tell him how much I really care, how much I really have become captivated by him.  I wish I could tell him that he is  my kryptonite, my weakness, the one thing that makes me go weak in the knees.  I wish I could tell him that I love the way he holds my hand or kisses my forehead, or even the way that he strokes my hair.  I wish I could tell him that my heart melts when he smiles or says my name.  I wish I could tell him all of these things, but for now, they are simply written on my paper heart.

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This is all of me, as everyone can see;
not one soul or mind has to believe,
but this is me stripped completely.
They chose not to care
while their face encompassed a blank, judgmental stare.
I chose to break the rules between hiding the truth and exploiting a dare.
Watch me shatter the typecast mirror made of glass,
I’m not the emblematic girl they fabricated of me in the past.
I just learned to grow up after letting my heart love away too fast.
At the top of my lungs, I screamed
with such a burning and desired extreme,
trying to fully explain the true meanings behind me.
I have never been this honest before,
and the past won’t define who I am anymore.
With my story, all is left is tell you more.

"Stripped" - by Kelsea from Paper Heart & Tiara