“…somehow the warmth of sun faded away, behind the white dust of snow. It’s December again. The month of farewells.”

~Caelum

THE CHECKLIST

To live the life you desire

For your body

Drink a glass of lemon water

Take your vitamins

Go for a morning walk

Eat a colorful plant based meal

Try a new form of movement

Stretch for 10 minutes

Take a cold shower

Immerse yourself in the sun

Stay hydrated throughout the day

Apply a face mask

Breathe deeply and with intention for 5 minutes

For your mind

Read a book

Clean out your closet

Have a phone free morning/night

Rearrange your room

Listen to a podcast

Write down what you are grateful for

Establish your morning and evening ritual

Plan your day

Try something for the first time

Watch a ted talk

For your soul

Meditate

Watch the sunrise or sunset

Spend time outside and in nature

Say no without explanation

Connect with someone you miss

Wash your bedding

Read or write poetry

Plant a garden or buy a plant

Greet a stranger

Do something that makes you laugh

“Some people are born to make great art and others are born to appreciate it. … It is a kind of talent in itself, to be an audience, whether you are the spectator in the gallery or you are listening to the voice of the world's greatest soprano. Not everyone can be an artist. There have to be those who witness the art, who love and appreciate what they have been privileged to see.” ― Ann Patchett, Bel Canto

An apology to my notebook: "I’m sorry I haven’t seen you in a while, it’s just that I’ve finally been happy. You know I only tend to visit you when I’m feeling down. I’ve found someone who cares for me and loves me. He’s all I’ve ever dreamed about. Maybe I’ll start writing about the good things, but you know that I like to keep those for myself. I hope you’re happy for me."

Excerpt from a book I’ll never write, 122 “An apology to my notebook”

content creator

what am i, to the search function? what is my bleeding heart, my calloused hands, the sob in the gap between my ribs and my lungs, to the ticking of the reblog count?

i post art. i refresh my activity page every five minutes for three days, aching for engagement. a wordless reblog. a like from a bot. are you going to publish your writing, asks my coworker when I tell her that I am a poet. 

I am, I say. I send my finished writing to my friends. #timezone reblog. look at me. look at my art.

look at my content. i post content to be nestled in between memes and asks. at the wrong time, perhaps. with the wrong tags, perhaps. i post content, I-

engage with me.

what is content, without an audience? what is an artist, if not content? what, to the algorithm, is poetry not reblogged within x hours?

recommended for you: an artist’s pleading cry. another’s lifetime.

after all, what is content unmanaged? what is an artist not posting on twitter, on tumblr, on instagram, carefully relatable, polished humanity? are you not a content creator? are you not that which chokes your own art before it ever leaves your palms so it might be worth a share?

- tick, tick, tick, goes the engagement counter. tick, tick, tick, goes the clock. come. consume me.

I truly hope that one day you’ll be able to forgive yourself. You were never hard to love - you just always felt so responsible for those around you that I don’t think you ever stopped to take care of yourself. I loved you so much - but I just couldn’t be the one to fix you.

— Landscape with Fate in the Wreckage, Tara Fae

[ID: image reads:

“Landscape with Fate in the Wreckage

landscape of the road changed forever.

only so much light one person can take.

the summer, and the burning. found god

in the highway mirage, then tasted asphalt.

this, too, has lines which, when crossed, signify

closure. gravel underneath skin.

grazes don’t fade in memory. memory that fades

awaits recognition, even when it turns to fiction.

at what point does memory become fiction? what line is there?

no lines, just grazes. highway mirage,

just a mirage. no god to be found in asphalt.

only so much light before it becomes burning.

fire has no colour, just heat.

still, fire is red. another fiction.

at the heart of the flame there is shadow.

at the heart of the fire there is burning. only so much

light one can take. landscape changed forever.

another fiction.

landscape changed until you blink.

landscape changed until you blink.

wreck on the road until someone takes it away.

this, too, has lines which, when crossed, stain.

sun in the sky until we turn slightly too far.

flames in the sky until there aren’t.

sky, fiction anyway.

corpse on the road until it isn’t.

this, too, has lines which, when crossed,

fade altogether.

sun in the sky until we turn away.

flowers by the highway mirage. a cross without faith.

asphalt in the mouth until there is no mouth.

god in the mirage until the fiction fades.

god on the ground until the fiction fades.

god in the wreckage until the fiction

fades.” END ID]

“december, spill warmth into parts of me that have turned cold. speak loud enough to silence my fears, but clearly enough to hear my intuition. may i move into new phases with grace, so i can create beautiful gardens from space vacated by what is no longer for me. be bountiful.”

— iambrillyant

I hope

That everyday

Is a little easier

For you than

The day

That came before

And that eventually

You will no longer

Feel the strain

Of the weight

On your shoulders

That you carried.

-J.Wool, Easier, Soul Whispers

Das tiefe Ineinandertauchen braucht Farben und Seele…

“It makes you wonder. All the brilliant things we might have done with our lives if only we suspected we knew how.” ― Ann Patchett, Bel Canto

reading something too relatable and getting goosebumps and out of blue saying "exactly!!". Like, how does everyone know everything about my life except me.

Some people turn into stories

That rest like fairytales

In our memories,

Long ago magic which is difficult

To believe in,

The time spent with them

Turns into mist that remains briefly

In early mornings,

As the sun shafts pierce our trance

The only place

Where we can find them in.

I yern to be

in your embrace.

Surround by arms

of love.

Planted in the soul

that mates to mine.

Captivated, reserved,

within seas of love.

Drowning in waves

of desire.

Distance to a halt

a gap between

what's meant to be.

Miles away

as a drifter

seeking a secure

position.

Put into effect

the access

to your heart.

Denied or accepted?

Deal the card of fate.

R.A.

394

"The world is still beautiful in the winter, it's just a little bare but that is what I do.. I bare my soul to you."

It's slim pickin's out there now, haha.. but I'm trying to show the world how it is and it's still beautiful - eUë