Authenticity

  • Sensible

    Shall I be sensible a moment? Oh, dying to live, dear dreary day. Let you find me twisted beautifully among the berry vines. Let you be the one to be sensible. Continue reading

  • Lonely

    But I am the wind. And my soul is alone as it blows through the jars of neat and tidy life. Oh, the aching. For, home floats free; I will never be bound. Can you not see? I will never… Continue reading

  • Far Too Long

    It’s been far too long since I’ve written like this. I’ve just been reading over old diaries, feeling my voice through them, knowing my heart. It made me think of how I used to do that, here. How I used… Continue reading

  • Layers of Illusion

    Woman. Professional woman. Single professional woman. Blonde single professional woman. Old blonde single professional woman. Sweet old blonde single professional woman. Joyful sweet old blonde single professional woman. Australian sweet old blonde single professional woman. Human. Man. Unemployed man. Married… Continue reading

  • Anyone

    I feel the truth only because of the false. A seeing beyond the faces of clowns. Play rolled in fear, don’t you see the squeaky carousel? They feel the brittle bones of life gone by and bleed again, but only… Continue reading

  • Kissed

    How beautiful to see your tears and know your soul has been kissed by music. Continue reading

  • The Soft Girl Again

    It’s hard to tell what brings me back to the Soft Girl. She’s certainly not always around, especially not these days of nappies and loudness and putting out the emotional spot fires of small children. But today she came back.… Continue reading

  • Free

    To know the soft skin of my own truth as it peers upon the fears of others. I catch their fear, I hold it. I catch their fear I love it well. And my truth whispers: of this ache, my… Continue reading

  • Culture

    Sometimes I wish I had been born of another culture, a culture of eyes wide open, a culture of hearts wide open. They say to resist ‘what is’ is to cause your own suffering. Am I suffering? No. But I… Continue reading

  • The Window

    On days where rain settles on the window, I look to the future with dusty eyes. How does one peer beyond the droplets there? How beautiful can the horizon appear when my eyes are glazed with the muck and haze… Continue reading