tenaciousbrie3

[tenaciousbrie3]

Sometimes it is easier to give away your body instead of your heart People think they know all of you, That they’ve had you, Just because they’ve divided your sea

But they know so little of the monsters that swim within Of the beautiful, unpredictable tides that yearn for solid ground Or of the depths that are home to billions of living reasons why and why not Numbing cold and paradise warm- Actual parts not discovered yet

But most don’t want a voyage They don’t want seasons They don’t want sunsets and storms or coasts of new land It is too much

What they want is to bathe To slip in and out of waters To wash away their cowardice And pretend that they’ve endured

[tenaciousbrie3]

Sometimes it is easier to give away your body instead of your heart People think they know all of you, That they’ve had you, Just because they’ve divided your sea

But they know so little of the monsters that swim within Of the beautiful, unpredictable tides that yearn for solid ground Or of the depths that are home to billions of living reasons why and why not Numbing cold and paradise warm- Actual parts not discovered yet

But most don’t want a voyage They don’t want seasons They don’t want sunsets and storms or coasts of new land It is too much

What they want is to bathe To slip in and out of waters To wash away their cowardice And pretend that they’ve endured

[tenaciousbrie3]

Hell & Heaven

Empty. Slow, exhausted Dull, distant, inward Dark, drips dropping, cool misty touch Velvet goo, earth crumbs pinch beneath me I have nothing to say to you.

Unfurl me. Love me. Challenge me. Show me.

Soft. Steady, melodic Alive, tingly, unknown Rich love, lip-biting happiness Illuminated beings and things just for me I hum and sing, hum and sing.

[tenaciousbrie3]

Train (a poem)

The silence can kill. It can bury you. It can mourn the moment, or worse, make you think.

A faint hum from a television seeps in through my window screen. The breeze has stopped. The house is bored.

Bodies are in beds, except for one at a table made of thick wood. Useless things litter the floor making any head hurt. Silence.

Nothing- not even moths’ wings desperate against the window, nor a stranger’s voice muddled against the night. Just the rattle of intermittent cars that pass by without care.

But then, a slow rumble starts to grow in the distance. I can hear the labor, I can feel a hero climbing up my window to rescue me and awake these walls.

It’s a slow build, like a cayenne pepper sweetly swirling around your tongue, then the pinch of exquisite, sweaty feeling. A slow, lasting build.

It rumbles more so now. The moving fossil, a prehistoric set of parts, charges on and announces itself. The whistle shouts to the mountains and echos back into me.

It drowns out all of the world, ever so briefly, but only makes me louder from within. A satisfaction grows, and I don’t feel alone. I feel the charging, the moving forward, the baritone cutting through me and the trees. I am awake.

[tenaciousbrie3]

Perhaps travel cannot prevent bigotry, but by demonstrating that all peoples cry, laugh, eat, worry, and die, it can introduce the idea that if we try and understand each other, we may even become friends.

Maya Angelou (via passport-life)

[tenaciousbrie3]

Questions to Ask Yourself before Writing on a Topic

A curated list of questions to help you sharpen your focus as you write. The list includes:

Questions for selecting your topic 

Questions for identifying your writing goal 

Questions for reviewing your target audience 

Questions for researching your topic 

A tip for focusing your topic 

The Griffin’s Inkpot