Feast of Love

“Do not feed your heart what the Lord has not shown you.”

But my heart is famished!
It is frail and feeble from fasting.
It grows covetous from craving.
Surely a slice, a morsel, a taste of what could be, would not be indulgent.

This wondering heart is made of fantasy and flight.
How long must it suffer denial?
Be tethered by yearning?
Begrudged even a bite?

This wandering heart of mine is woefully ravenous.
It will not be satiated with a simple taste. It will long for a spread – bitter or sweet. It will fall on love not given; ruminate on promises not made; dine on words not spoken.
And each treat, each savory crumb will only flame a hunger it can no longer satisfy.

“Do not feed your heart what the Lord has not shown you.”

For it will not delight, it will not gratify. It will not be a feast of love.

(Drafted in February) 

Listless

​For my vacation, 

I’m going to paint my living room

I’m going to hang up some artwork

I’m going to finally finish decorating my bedroom

I’m going to do my hair

I’m going to find my hammock and get lost in a good book

I’m going to discover all the quaint little shops that give character to my little town

I’m going to take my dog on long morning walks at dawn

I’m going to work out every day

I’m going to write that story and complete that blog

I’m going to organize all my lesson plans for the fall semester

I’m going to finalize all my training agendas

I’m going to get reacquainted with my couch

[Insert pensive moment] Hmmm. I like this couch

Easter Egg Hunt?

I have a lot of reasons why I love having my mom closer, and this beautiful gem certainly adds to the list.

image

The original skirt was red. However, she couldn’t find the right material in that color. But, when she found this gorgeous two-tone fabric, she modified the original design to create this absolutely lovely piece with an asymmetrical cut to reveal the peekaboo lining.

There’s no hiding how absolutely pretty I feel pretty wearing it.

Of the Color Blue and Grey

No matter how much I want to, there are some things I can never write about.

Some emotions are too raw. Too deep to be exposed. 

Some people are too sensitive. Too close to be confronted. 

Some issues are too divisive. Too tainted to be mixed. 

So, I remain silent. For fear of being misunderstood, of being categorized, of being labeled – the angry black woman, the lonely single girl at the dinner party, the bitter fat one with a chip on her shoulder. I find other ways to medicate. To placate. To escape. To pack, stuff, press, bottle, and retreat inward, safe-ward.  

Usually, this works. 

Usually, I can take a deep breath and float above the surface. 

Usually, I can ride the current without any noticeable damage. 

Usually. 

But, every once in a while there is something that threatens to suffocate me. Something that is so much greater than my will. Something that rises and swells and crushes me under its weight. Pulls me to its depth. Brings me to my end. And the only way to breathe, is to write. 

Yet. 

No matter how much I want to. 

No matter how much I need to. 

There are some things I can never write about. 

And I feel foolish. And I feel selfish. And I am upset that of all the THINGS that should elicit a reaction, of all the storms I’ve weathered, this insignificant wave should be the one to drown my heart. And I feel weak. And I feel petty. And I am undone by the color blue and grey.