Creepy Smiles to Unchill Winter

not-quite Journaling, 79

When ice threatens to shatter her limbs,

she springs fangs (and smiles creepily).

1/21/2025: Few things are as powerful as a smile that is also a promise, which blooms (or rips) out of the giver’s heart and carves itself gently (or sharply) inside the receiver’s skull. So, I always say to me (and to you too if you like): smile at the whole world, mean it with your whole self, allow them to see you and what you stand for, let them choose how your heart will affect their skulls. 

 

Sunny

art blooms

in thrift shops-- 

I’ve seen it, have

you?

1/29/2025: The not-so-Little Princess gifted me two LEGO sunflowers. I’ve waited to build them on a day when I needed an extra bit of sunshine. The last few days have been… dark (and painful). The time for building bright has come. This tiny jug, a thrift shop find, feels like the perfect home for my sunflower(ing) gift. When I first glimpsed it, I thought sun-kissed thoughts… Bright and happy! I thought. And like Laurell K. Hamilton writes, in Cerulean Sins, “You have to fight to carve little pieces of happiness out of your life, or the everyday emergencies will eat up everything.” So, I’m carving this bit of brightness for me. 

 

on the bluest sky,

naked limbs weave a poem

to unchill winter

2/7/2025: Doing my hardest to enjoy the bits of magic Nature provides. It’s either that or screaming until my throat is raw. How are you soothing all the screaming? 

 

Don’t blame the times for your crumbling,
after you built your castles on sand.

2/14/2025: I was supposed to write about love today; and since truth is a kind of love, I guess I still am. I recently discovered that someone important to me voted for The Orange Infection. After they (and everyone with a brain and heart) realized what their decision meant for them and for people like me (neurodivergent, Afro-Caribbean, chronically ill…) the apologies began. Then the justifications, “Times are hard everywhere. It’s no one’s fault.” I find their refusal to take responsibility disgusting. Apologies are nice… but they don’t mean shit, when the world is on fire. 

– for Poets and Storytellers United (Friday Writings #164: Love Is Love)

A Flame in the Dark

The knowing dances into me (gritty and wild) through open eyes and waiting tongue. I taste the veracity shards you try hiding under a shroud of not-so-silken lies (something is rotten). For a spell, my eyes consider weeping for the worms you boiled before they could morph into moths. Then I remember: liquid mourning cleanses, but rarely fixes a thing. So my soul sucks in sadden salts, crafts them into living fuel, lets them burn for a better day. I don’t conceal what grows in me. I open my all, under the licks of moon and sun, and I let you watch.

a flame in the dark,
breeding everlasting bright,
rebirthing new hope

photo by Zoltan Tasi, on Unsplash

- this poem came to mind, after I overheard someone say, “I can’t watch the news without crying or wanting to hide. Are you alright?” Although the person wasn’t talking to me, I still thought, “Change ‘crying’ for ‘screaming’ and ‘hiding’ for ‘raging’, and you and I would feel exactly the same way about our society’s general state of crappiness.”

– for Poets and Storytellers United (Friday Writings #162:Joy in Chaos)

The Spoonie Life

not-quite Journaling, 78

through gray clouds,
my nature sings bright
bits of blues

12/29/2024: I said: “I’m exhausted and in no mood to party. The last few weeks have been rough. But don’t worry, my stubbornness and I still hope for better.” 

She said: “Hopefulness, in the face of this much crap, has to be a type of mental illness. Only crazy people endure the same thing over and over and keep ‘hoping’ for something good. Is that the madhouse I hear knocking on your door? Ha!”  

I said: “Your crass pessimism (badly camouflaged as dark humor) is tiresome, unhelpful, and as unimaginative as you are. Ha, ha!” 

Then I sent this picture, this haiku, and this Brandon Sanderson’s quote: “Hope is a virtue--but the definition of that word is crucial. […] A virtue is something that is valuable even if it gives you nothing. A virtue persists without payment or compensation. Positive thinking is great. Vital. Useful. But it has to remain so even if it gets you nothing. Belief, truth, honor… if these exist only to get you something, you’ve missed the storming point.” 

She’d said nothing else. See? My virtuous hopefulness is paying off! 😁

 

I am back: hurt, changed, growing…

1/8/2025: I start a new fitness regimen on Saturday (again *cough*). It’s too cold outside (I don’t love winter); my chunkaliciousness makes everything more difficult (even if it warms my bits 😅); my neuropathy is acting up (everybody hates neuropathy). Still, beginning to exercise hard again is freaking exciting! I’ll start with hiking, move to walking/jogging, and hope to run a few times a week by midspring. Best birthday present--I hope… 

 

If life sucks (again), I’ll write
my Self full.

1/15/2025: Remember how I was supposed to start my new fitness plan last Saturday? Well, my bloody gut chose to show me who’s boss and altered my plans (again). Yep, for the next few days, nothing but therapeutic writing sessions, gentle calisthenics, and quality time with my softest foam roller (is it just me, or does that sound slightly kinky?). Anyhoo, my innards’ temper tantrum seems to be subsiding, so the hiking-to-walking/jogging-to-running plan shall resume soon(ish). That’s the spoonie life--unpredictability on steroids. 

– for Poets and Storytellers United (Friday Writings #160: Low Battery)

Bits of De(light)

not-quite Journaling, 77

succulents--
green bits of delight
grown for joy

10/20/2024: Life is rather rough, at the moment. So, when Rosemary invited us to find inspiration in “things [we] delight in, which make [us] feel blessed and glad to be alive in spite of all the bad”, my soul and skull filled with vibrant images of tiny plants in tiny pots. I enjoy mini-gardening (especially when I’m sad or anxious or angry or hurting…). It’s green therapy! I love selecting the perfect tiny planters: a cracked finger bowl (see image above), a chipped teacup, a ½ ounce shot glass (that used to be a wee candle jar). There are more things (and people) that make me feel grateful to be alive, but today I’m choosing tiny plants and tiny pots. 

What about you? What “things you delight in, which make you feel blessed and glad to be alive in spite of all the bad”? 

 

 10/24/2024: Because some days (years?), one must get the energy to fight (and thrive) from unlikely sources (emotions?) available to one. Yes, by “one” I mean me (and you too, if you wish). 

 

a green treat
to warm my tastebuds
until spring

10/29/2024: Tonight is supposed to bring our first below freezing day of the season. So, I harvested the last of the tomatoes. A bit late for tomatoes, I know. But the unseasonably warm temperatures have been blooming and fruiting all sorts of things. Really, my sunflowers and gloriosa daisies are still blooming too. I wonder if they’ll be all frosty tomorrow… readying themselves for the Winter Solstice. 

What’s nature being up in your bit of the world?  

– for Poets and Storytellers United (Friday Writings #155: May Bite!)

Reclaiming

not-quite Journaling, 75

 reclaiming
the ways that made me
makes me more

10/20/2024: My Piano Man and I are back at New York Comic Con after five long years. The first two years of absence happened because of surgeries, chemotherapy, radiation… The next three years, I missed it because I got ill (eye infection, Crohn’s and neuropathy flare-ups) the day before the convention. This year, I nearly missed it again because of a new breast cancer scare. At the moment, we’re mostly sure that there is no cancer--more testing needed… In the meantime, I will enjoy loving and living; I will reclaim what I can; I will delight in all the moments the universe gives me. Tomorrow will bring what it will, but today is mine. 

 

10/24/2024: Every once in a while, we learn we’ve trusted someone who didn’t deserve it. Some might think of such discovery as a loss, but I see it as the best of wins. Getting rid of something rotten opens space for better things. Definitely a win. 

– for Poets and Storytellers United (Friday Writings #150: How high the moon?)

Screaming Doesn’t Help (much)

not-quite Journaling, 73

Screaming doesn’t seem to help much,
so I shall harvest myself a soothing.

9/22/2024: I’m not dead. I figured I should put that out there right away. I haven’t been feeling awesome--physically or emotionally--but I’m getting better. I lost several friends, to a preventable accident, in the last few weeks. The grief hasn’t been easy on my flesh or bones or spirit. I needed a break… I’ve spent a lot of time crying (all right, screaming rage-filled tears), reading old favorites, watching my plants grow, letting my Piano Man comfort me, smiling at messages from many of you (thank you!), and straight out roaring with laughter at increasingly outrageous memes from Rommy (humor--particularly dark humor--is one of my favorite medicines, and mi querida amiga knows that).

Today, I chose to celebrate the Autumnal Equinox by doing some harvesting and delighting in the gifts my wee garden has produced this season. I pulled the sweet potatoes out of the soil with my bare hands--the dirt felt warm and alive, and I bet the potatoes will taste just as life-giving. The tomatoes have been sweet, juicy, and plentiful. The passion fruit needs more time (we can relate, can’t we?).

I’ll spend the next few days catching up. I hope life is being good to you. I hope the world isn’t causing you much pain. I hope society’s current turmoil isn’t clobbering your nerves. I hope you are as well as is humanly possible. I hope… for us all.

 

on days marred with loss,
I’ll let autumn rain cleanse pain
of flesh and spirit

 – for Poets and Storytellers United (Friday Writings #146: Substitutions)