ORCHESTRATE KINDNESS

People work hard at orchestrating how other people feel. Their need to be loved and liked is powerful. I wasn’t very old the first time I realized not everyone liked me. I met a woman who was in her late 20’s before she realized not everyone liked her. She remembers the revelation as traumatic because…

MY METAL BRAIN

I sit most of my day Looking at you I’m dependent on you The only person That cares about you You hold so much info I’d be totally lost Completely confused Up a muddy creek If anything happened To the intelligence You possess You hold the lock And I literally Hold the key

BECOMING GROUND

Steps were heavy Growing heavier Taking more effort Making her slower A shaking began More of a tremor With each footfall Was a tidal wave Of fluid motion Her years kept her Clung to her bones And held her tight She was caught Underneath gravity Sink ing deeper Into the ground Becoming The ground

#BeReal – LINDSAY FISCHER

Please welcome Lindsay Fischer to #BeReal. On Reinvention, Releasing Reality and Whole-Hearted Living I’ve never felt more alive than the day I decided to take the screen off and be myself, releasing stuck pieces of reality from the filter used as my defense and watching the withheld, eager remnants descend in the very first pour.…

#BeReal – AMANDA EIFERT

Please welcome my #BeReal Relationships guest today, Amanda Eifert.   It was along time before I had my first ‘real’ relationship. I went on Plenty Of a Fish, a dating site, because my friend had met her husband there. My now ex-boyfriend, was not like the other men I talked to on the site. He…

#BeReal – CRAIG SPENCE

Please welcome my #BeReal Relationships guest today, Craig Spence.   Reality is changing. Folks, I have a confession to make: For the last little while, meaning since about this time last year, I’ve neglected to mention a tiny piece of information. Not so much an out-and-out lie, more one of omission, but a lie still…

ALIVE

ALIVE Written by Rachel E Bledsoe Blogger at: The Misfits of a Mountain Mama I can breathe. The early morning hours announce, “It is time.” Writers, the real ones I know, keep strange bedfellows with those fleeting hours before dawn. I am no different. The clock says 1:34 a.m. and I lay there trying to…