Tag Archives: healing and transformation


 My love, hear me, know this to be true:

My skin is the poetry of your touch
Our story is sung with every moan that spills from my lips
And when you come deep inside me
my name becomes a rite of passage on your soul

when women were birds…

when women were birds

Once upon a time,
When women were birds,
There was the simple understanding
That to sing at dawn
And to sing at dusk
Was to heal the world through joy.
The birds still remember what we have forgotten,
That the world is meant to be celebrated.

  — Terry Tempest Williams —

three times my life has opened…

Three times my life has opened.
Once, into darkness and rain.
Once, into what the body carries at all times within it and starts
to remember each time it enters the act of love.
Once, to the fire that holds all.
These three were not different.
You will recognize what I am saying or you will not.
But outside my window all day a maple has stepped from her leaves
like a woman in love with winter, dropping the colored silks.
Neither are we different in what we know.
There is a door. It opens. Then it is closed. But a slip of light
stays, like a scrap of unreadable paper left on the floor,
or the one red leaf the snow releases in March.

— Jane Hirshfield —

it’s the simple things…


that heal us and take our breath away.

shedding skin…


I regret opening up
to certain people;
they didn’t deserve
to know me like that.
The lessons continue to sear,
scabs fallen off long ago…

bump in the night…

http://idterab.tumblr.com/post/120819481830I am
from our fuck.

I am a chest-heaving,
slicked-up mess of wet
from your
plunging-pounding hard.

the anatomy of being…

I look at you and see all the ways a soul can bruise, and I wish I could sink my hands into your flesh and light lanterns along your spine so you know that there’s nothing but light when I see you.

— Shinji Moon —


the darning needle…

your love is downy soft
a gentle brush ‘gainst lashes closed
a fist wrapped tight ’round rosemary and mint
it beats like a drum in the basement
it’s echo a pillow plumped in sheet forts built long ago
each crinkle of your smile
a constant call that does not rest
that will not abide the loss of what can be won
sweet determination
sufferance of fools
and saviour to none
your love blossoms under full moons
in the spaces between words on pages
and gasps of air ‘tween laughter that rings true
this is your fullness
the light you shine on a world living for itself
you pause when you used to run
you doubt despite assurances you are right
you speak without apology
into a mic made of bone and air
dear one
hold the hand that reaches for you
but let it go, let it be
and float
and float
here among the clouds of your heart’s home
hear the beat calling your own name from within
the sky that holds all that love
that is you

— Lola Moi —


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