There are some elements of lie in every truth, if ever truths are spoken. How do you tell a truth from a lie, actions speak louder but then there is Hollywood. Oh well

Here is a truth. I cant lie when asked a question.

Its like the intonation of the sentence is a trigger to my brain to totally do away with the “they arent supposed to know that ” filter. The end result is i have true pieces of me left stuck in someone’s memory as a not so seriously ment tirade to a not so seriously asked question, then the same person has the gall to say i hold so much of me inside.

If the universe ever decides to map my life my joys my pains my labored struggles in this mass of heaving earth , i hope it places a star on ever smile i caused, a sun on every love i bore, a leaf, for every pain i caused and wind on every truth i told. I hope, though i bare my soul to so many un deserving nitwits with the desperate need to meet, connect to something real, because surely surely there has to be someone deserving of this awesomeness, that i shall not pass on to my next life with al these truths in solitary confinement.

Daily prompt solitary


You liked my song you said,  the way the notes would curl out of my throat,   whisper through you and beg the goosebumps to rise on your skin send whispers down your spine,  making you whimper with suppressed need for me,  for my touch on your soul and the burn of my love in your heart

You hurt me

So much and that was suprising because the hurt was the first tell tale sign that i had fallen,  where i thought my pride was holding  my spine up nose up am too cold hearted to feel the warmth you seem to radiate when we are together.  I seem addicted to your touch and now that we are   are not touching anymore the only symphony i hear in my head is the cracking of my cold heart. 

Daily prompt:symphony 


Tiny fawns poems makes me soo happy

Tiny Fawns

if our life stories
were instruments
and someone pressed their
fingertips or lips to them,
what music would
rise from the ground into
the air? or would it
sit quietly in the corner,
here and there a
barely audible hum
as it longingly stared
out the window, lost
in a melody but
forgetting how it goes?
or would it be
an instrument of which
no one knows how
to play, which is why
at times, in beautiful
moments, we can never
find the words to say?
sound cannot reach our
minds, because it got
caught between the rungs –
climbing from our lungs
to our hearts – or what
if the piece is incomplete
and we are still
trying to find our part?

View original post


I seek to avenge all these tiny cuts in my soul that bleed out my hopes and dreams in short spurts of foaming memory every time i have to think of all i havent achieved or all ‘they’  have achieved  and the possibility of living my life drifting from work day to work day making another rich or happy or better or being  nothing more than i am a body behind a desk infront of a computer 

I want to walk on a silver shore and feel the warm  sand between my toes or chase beautiful sunsets with my yatch or seek treasures long lost at sea i mean maybe i could be a pirate and never set foot on land again where all my expectations and everyone else’s is left buried  in  a shallow grave as my last heritage to my sea born daughters a reason to find their way back home 

Daily post:- bury

Queenin’ on my scars

See here,  

Recently i started this journey that scared the heck out of me. 

I am living alone.  In my own house. Paying my own rent. 

And i looove it😀😀😀

Am i still scared yes. Out of my mind.  

But our GOOD GOD just calmed my fear,  there i was standing  at the edge of the cliff my eyes closed,  my knees trembling, palms sweaty,  and He being as hilarious as He is,   just pushed me.  He made it so that it was impossible for me to stand there,  and keep thinking about how far the fall is how sharp the rocks  look at my feet,  how comfortable i was at the edge,  just standing there,  contemplating,  never really planning on jumping. 

I realize now,  how silly i was being,  claiming to love the Father yet scared of being His child,  truly,  in all senses of the word, thinking HE is like human beings who you  cant trust with keeping your cat company for a day,  let alone with your life. 

But am learning everyday. It is like i discover all these good and wonderful things about me that i didnt even know i am or i had .  I am learning patience,  and trust. And best of all Love for me,  my mistakes and my scars. 

Am queenin’ on my scars😊

Kalamatuz v- oh huntress oh predator

She stalks through the foliage,  her feet gliding through the damp earth,  her breath coming in short silent spurts, her ears cocked to all sounds from the sleeping forest attentive,  waiting,  impatient. 

Her heart beats a crazy rythmn in her chest,  an owl hoots a few Paces infront of her,  causing her blood to run fast and cold  in her veins but she maintains her outward demeanor.  No sweat covers  her brow,  her hand doesnt shake where it holds the spear.  

They stalk behind  her,  their dark fur blending with the leaves and trees,  their hateful breaths sending cold shivers down her spine.  They are five,  she could count  them by how their anticipatory sighs swept  on her fur,  making her shiver. 

Almost there,  almost there.. 

She chants

Blue monkey steps through the boundary that separates  their lands and Aragans lair,  all warmth seeps from her body and she turns in one fluid  motion sending her spear through one of the minions who is right behind her stupid enough to think she coukd hear,  couldnt feel his hatred at the back of her neck. He lets out a cry as dark blue bood flows out of the hole in his chest and he collapses gurgling,  the blood soaking the land,   her spear is  already out aimed at the next one who leaps at her from the shadows,  a war cry on his toungue,  she holds the spear with both hands and pushes it through his stomach,  lifting him up and throwing him behind her shoulder. She stabs another behind her with the back of her spear, pushing him back a few steps but still they hit harder from all sides, some with clubs most with fists,  more with gruesome hand made weapons as is the way of the Araga. 

The blows bring her to her knees,  she sees blood,  she tastes blood,  her vision blurs as one drives his fist through the side of her neck.  

She laughs. 

Drawing all pain into her,  all rage,  shr pictures her brother silver monkey lying there,  his body turned to dust,  the earth weeping for him,  her world dieing for him.  The blows keep coming,  and still she laughs a painful keening sound… 

Then she explodes. 

Paper cuts

I have these little numb sores on my soul that only hurt when i remember,  or fixate so much on the hurt that once was,  or try to peel back the layers and see underneath the pain trying to find some sort of carthasis on penning my thoughts here or mostly when am scrolling down my timeline and a happy photo of you makes me sad because really?  How can you  be so ok with not having me there. 

I swear to myself that i have forgotten,  in all honesty i have forgotten thoughts of you dont haunt my day,  shadows of your laugh dont stalk my nights i am totally  ok with us not talking,  or you not calling or whatever, i am fine really,  and not in that way that i say fine yet mean i want to murder every single pain and humiliation you  ever caused me,  am still stuck here in wondering why i let you warm my heart which beats in frozen paces how could i walk right into what was obviously  going nowhere . 

How did you leave paper cuts on me and i didnt even see me bleeding

Daily post paper

make me

make me more patient Lord, let me take it a day at a time,

make me stronger, let not the wicked ways of men sway me,

let your arms surround me and your peace engulf me.
let not my anger consume or pride lead me,
make me a woman after your own heart

make me grateful lord, let me not desire anothers portion,

anothers health, or wealth or life,

teach me to be the best version of me, the  best person you want me to be

word prints for daily prompt portion

kalmatuz iv- the beginning

the village is right in the middle of the  valley, a quaint place dotted with several smoking huts made of bamboo branches, mud and wild flowers the hut are so much a part of the forest birds nest on top of them creating a symphony of color and sound as the monkeys go about their lives.

blue monkey and father walk behind queen. she,glides through the air, her feet not touching the ground, her fur a blinding white, but every monkey villager stands up taller when she passes. her radiance spreading trough all of them, infusing them with strength and peace. blue monkey is awed by her mother,

” i will be that someday” she whisper, the prospect thrills and scares her at the same time. father stands tall beside her, his black goat skin draging behind him as if a cape. queen turns around and smiles at them,

” where is my errant son, he knows we have to..”

silver monkey jumps from a tree, smiling,

“am here mother..”

‘that’s queen to you boy..” father says sternly

“come on father..

the  explosion is loud and sudden, throwing the monkeys a few feet off the ground before sucking them back in an un relentlessness gravitational pull. the whole village screams in pain as their fur ins burnt and limbs are broken. a series of more blasts  erupt around the village in coordinated rhythm forcing the monkeys to retreat screaming into the mountains, the fire is hot and fierce a blood thirsty master, pulling all into his unquenchable thirst.

“oh mother helps us, help us!”

the queen rises up from the smoke and dirt and fire, an avenging angel of light, she spreads her arms wide and the fire comes to her, all of it flowing to her chest, the villagers all glance up at her, at their queen, their mother their savior. all knowing what comes next and no one able to stop her.

she takes all the fire inside her, all the pain, and suffering, restoring broken bones, turning back time  as if nothing happened. finally she fades as the smoke would have.

“mooootthheerr…” screams blue monkey


fifteen miles south  in Aragans lair

he leans weakly on his walking stick, his war council all looking at him expectantly. he feels the breath fill him making him stringer as soon the the queen breaths her last. he stands up straighter

“we attack in the morrow”