Signed in as:
filler@godaddy.com
First Posted On New Site
Paper cuts and Band-aids
One little paper cut, oh no, two little paper cuts, here we go. Three little paper cuts, the pain starts to flow. Four, five, six, little paper cuts, but no one knows.
Words that sliced flew around the place and soon she began to lower her face. Away from words that cut up her heart, she wasn't even sure what she did to make it start.
Band-Aid here, Band-Aid there, soon there were Band-Aids everywhere. “Your paper cuts are so small and little, maybe they seem large to you because your so brittle".
"What’s wrong now and why do you cry, words like this are always exchanged between a girl and a guy". Love swirled hot and then it was cold, she prayed for freedom before she became too old.
She stood still for a moment so she could catch her breathe, her heart and soul had been paper cut to death. Against all odds her courage began to grow and God sent friends to help light the way to go.
In her heart she will always believe, God saw her tears and told her to leave. He saw her as a precious gift, one the receiver blindly left in the mist.
The receiver was now filled with great sorrow and regret, but God in his wisdom had better for her yet. No promises could be trusted, her heart had grown cold but she hoped one day, once healed, to be treated like gold.
Freedom's Melody
The horse who ran free for so many years, was slowly broken by saddles, ropes and tears. Its wild heart grew weary until it was numb, and hopes to be cherished disappeared like the sun.
The wind brought a Melody from a place faraway and numbness, like ice, began to melt away. Its notes became flowers to brighten each day and fences that held the horse began to sway.
The wild mare now older began to hope again, asking God to help her gallop anew with the wind. The Mountains once climbed held her gaze and the fear she would never return slowly faded away.
Can We change the time?
Why, oh why, does it have to be, the same old, same old, beginning at three. Is it possible to use seven, eight or nine, to wake me up and create these silly rhymes. Afraid not to get up and write, because sometimes my words disappear before daylight.
Where do the words come from and why sometimes do they go, always come fast, never, ever slow. As always I am amazing at what is written by my pen, followed by a fear something might take the words all away again.
I don't think anyone else will care, if the words of my soul were never laid bare. I suppose they are meant to help heal my heart, so one day I can give life and someone a freshly mended heart.
I guess my Dad left me his need to write, but unlike him, I will probably keep mine hidden out of sight. For now it is important to keep this all tucked away, for how long my soul doesn't want to say.
Fighting For Those Who Can't
Oh Lord, today I am so beat up, my little warriors heart struggles to look up. But unto you I lift my eyes and know the Holy Spirit hears my cries.
I feel the beat of gentle angel wings as they circle me and I begin to sing to Jesus, my Lord and King. My armor broken by the swords of tongues, is gently removed, and skillfully hung.
"Brave little warrior", I heard Him call, "those that tried to harm you have been reduced to nothing at all. Rest for a moment on angel's wings and allow My words to heal you as they sing.
Today is not your day to fight, for the lonely and wounded who have lost their light. Rest while I faithfully mend, your armor the darkness tried to rend.
Rest well beloved daughter chosen by me, a war is coming, one you can't flee. Back to the battle you will go again, and regardless of what you see, with My strength we will win.
Be strong little warrior for I am with you. The enemy will rage and find there is nothing he can do. He will strike your armor made of priceless ore, only to find defeat, just like he did before."
Cracker Jack Prize
You can read books and watch videos on many delicious looking things, but until you see, touch and taste it for yourself, you don't know if it will mean anything. Just like a Cracker Jack Box with a prize, you have to try it to know if you like it and it's surprise.
Some prizes you will keep for a day, some for a week before you give it away. If your lucky you get something to keep for a while, but blessed is the one who find a prize that will never go out of style.
A hundred or more boxes people may buy, some hoping a gold ring is never what's inside. Others after time well spent, welcome the ring and use it to make something permanent.
You never know which way things like this go, and only by meeting in the middle and spending time will you know. You can only hope they chose to respect the process and try to do no harm, to be themselves, be honest and not use deceptive charms.
What is the point to do it any other way, the truth will eventually hit you like a foul ball, uncaught, that went astray. ; ) If they meant anything to you at all, you will do your best to make sure there is no harm and no foul.
Temporary Magic
As I walk through the lights and all of these rides, sentimental feelings begin rising up inside. Memories of laughter nestled between squeals of fear, while remembering the ones who used to hold me so near.
Some days are like the tilt-a-whirl spinning out of control, other days are like the zipper with so many ups and downs you wonder if you will ever be made whole. The funny house with all the mirrors reflecting different faces, sort of like the ones we now pick from depending on what the place is.
Just like real life, some games are fair and others are not, dependent upon heart of the one running it as to whether or not you have a shot. Balloons for popping with fish swimming around, are effective tools to help the last five dollars in your pocket be found.
Neon lights reflected in little one's eyes, while staring at stacks of stuffed animals appearing to go as high as the night sky.
"Can we go on that one?" followed by "Will you hold my hand", gives us older folks the chance to feel the magic again.
I always hate leaving this temporary magical state, with its dirt aisles and "Fair Game" signs all over the place. One week it's here and then its gone, but for me and the ink in my pen the memories will live on.
Monkey In A Tree
I am too exhausted to pray, which means I cannot really hear what God wants to say. My mind is in a whirl, so many decisions and people pulling at this girl.
Go left, no, go right, best for mom, best for me, I want to hide in the mountains like a monkey in a tree. What about that, what about the this, can you be here, can you be there, some days..... well, at least on Sunday, just smile.
Everyday work to fight for those that can't, helps me escape for a moment from all my circumstances. Do I return to that which once held joy or is this travel just another decoy?
Wait, I hear the rain tonight, I sense God's presence and know, in time, this will all be alright. My mind's anxious winds begin to slow, and my heart sings all the praise songs I know.
How amazing is this that God came to me, I bet he would find me even if, like a monkey, I was hiding in a tree. My tired eyes are closing so I cannot see, but I can feel the breeze from the Angel's wings.
1:00am Prayers For Friends
God woke me up at 1:00am tonight, He said to my heart somethings not right. The socials the web had stored, showed me songs and words I had never seen before.
I went to my knees in battle for my friend, not really understanding so in faith my prayers I send. Please don't be sad precious soul, call on God and He will send help to make you feel whole.
I am pretty sure you don't know me, well that's what I still think, but maybe someday I will see you again through some link. If I ever do please know I plan to say hello, hoping my sincere friendship through my eyes will show.
Friends like you should know you can always call, never allow yourself to listen to the lies and fall. But for tonight in prayer for you I will stand, trusting a loving God they will be felt all the way across this land.
Warm Wiggles
I stay in a quiet, warm basement with a beautiful view in my eyes. Warm wiggles from a couple of cute puppies, and no trees to block my view of the skies.
Here I find rest for my body and a place for my words to grow. How long will I stay safely tucked away, I do not know. Fascinated by what appears from the ink in my pen, anxious to write lest I never think of it again.
At the end of the day if people never saw my words, and the playlist was never heard, did I lose? What if I was the only one enjoying my word's frames or would I be sad or excited about all the rhymes I gained.
I guess a little of both to be honest. Oh no, there isn't a word, I like, that rhymes with honest. LOL
Honestly.... ;)
It doesn't matter, when the words returned, they lead me to freedom and longing for love that didn't need to be earned. Hidden from view my words will remain, until direction is finally gained.
It would mean my rhymes had never been shared, they were hidden from the world so I didn't need to be scared. It also meant no one had seen them yet, easing my fears of and oversharing regret.
People and Places
Hotel Music
Hotel Music
Hotel Music
Why is hotel music is all the same, with businessmen trying to play the one night game? They must be so bored with life, or maybe it's their lonely wife.
I hate their sideways glances, with cards left on my table to increase their chances. My heart goes out to the women who play this game. I bet in the morning they don't feel the same.
Eating alone never bothered me, but I guess some assume I sit here lonely. Following you to the elevator, with sideways glances and a "hope to see you later".
For me I want to sleep alone, or catch up with loved ones on the phone. Maybe I will watch a movie or read a book, both are 100% better than any of those sideways looks. (yuck)
Hometown
Hotel Music
Hotel Music
Everybody needs a hometown, a place you once belonged. A place to become grounded when life on the road gets long. Where the past and friends greet you, as if you’ve never been gone. A place to hold your soul’s memories, just like an old favorite song.
Old friends, first kisses and high school first loves, these memories slip on like an old favorite pair of gloves. Summer days, summer nights, we raced against time, with fast cars and freedom, and love on our minds.
Everybody needs memories of loved ones long gone. Years of life together before you moved on. Summer nights with lovers and Fall seasons in the stands, quickly recalled by a song from your favorite band. Christmas lights past and old promises of Spring, are one song away from the memories it brings.
Everybody needs old friends who stayed for your show, while some friends like seasons, they come, and they go. Driving through my hometown I often move slow, so memories can catch me from times long ago. The hugs and the laughter with friends who stayed, are the reason time and distance will never keep me away.
Hunting for lines
Hunting for lines
Hunting for lines
I have never been hunted down by a dog, whose goal was to sell my life's story to some stupid blog. How exhausting and uneasy it must be, unable to walk around like any other human being.
I keep my friendship circle small and tight, one I guard with all my might. Friends who don't know me, deeply, are all around, time taught me loose lips with this group is easily found.
Pressure is mounting now that the word is out, this group who barely know me want information they can spout. Small town life is best to be sure, but you must keep your trusted circle small to be secure.
In the mountains away from everyone I know, this time by myself is the best way to go. Shadowed trails with easy markings under blue skies, hopefully a black bear or two will brighten my eyes.
Age has changed the color markings of my trails, who cares if my pace can be easily matched by a snail. TBC....
Small Town Gossip
Hunting for lines
Hunting for lines
Gossip once spread in a small town is impossible to stop even when truth is finally found. Maybe not as big as the worlds stage, but the pain it causes is almost the same.
"You know she must have done this", and "I double bet down she did that". "Have you looked at her face, she getting older and fat". "I heard she had a few bruises but I am not sure, she probably drew them on with make up remover as the cure".
"You know she has lots of money, I wonder how she got it, don't you think that is sort of, well "funny". "Well, I heard she was totally broke and her marriage was nothing but an arranged joke".
Days out front speaking about things that matter, didn't stop the questions about why my life had splattered. My head held high through questions causing hidden tears, I knew they never saw all the band-aids I used throughout the years.
Today was too much for me, I found myself crying this afternoon by three. Too many questions about my new ring, replacing the ones that used to mean everything.
I need a little peace and quiet so I can write, while hiding away from this new spotlight. Maybe for now I will slip quietly away to rest, putting away socials so my writing can be at its best.