Tagged peace


rough draft, written at 3am, hmmm   EB-125   I think I’m seeing white birds white birds scattering away from my window, out there in the cold January, their wings sound, from here, like sheets— my grandmother’s white sheets— on the line in June.   The light coming in is white. Color?  Or space? Like the space we can never fill. Like the start of a narrative. Like the blank walls, like the hospital rooms in their yellow smoggy halo.

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What It Takes: a personal essay on PTSD

What It Takes Be as a bird perched on a frail branch that she feels bending beneath her, still she sings away, all the same, knowing she has wings. -Victor Hugo I used to think that my story was a tragedy. That’s bullshit. My story is about love and our centers and what it takes…

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Lesson #1 Since Recovery: Journal: Story: Shutting Self off so I Can Reach It

Photo at Etsy Listen While You Read: One and Only, Adele: or Otis Redding Cigarettes and Coffee: or Black Coffee (Peggy Lee): I see I’ll be sitting under a menagerie of oaks, the canopy of green over the park. Emma will be older, playing, resilient, maybe even better. Because maybe I will be. But something will be missing. SOmthing I can finally put a finger on and label and recongize the associated emotion and feel it. It’s overwhelming, the emotions. I will be at my peak of my game yes, healthy, living, working, and God, laughing again. Picking flowers and…

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