Celestial

A star doesn't need validation from others in order to shine,

and neither do you, my dear.

Neither do you.

(b.m.)

Closed Windows

I'm 10.

It's a warm summer's day. So much brightness. 

I'm riding in the back seat of the car as mom and dad

happily hum to whatever's playing on the radio, 

with my brother next to me excitedly yelling at his 

Nintendo DS, dramatically waving his fists to the sky

in frustration. The windows are all rolled down,

filling the car with the smell of freshly cut grass.

My eyes are closed, head leaned to the side, letting

the warmth of the sun kiss my face while the

gentle breeze caresses it. I let my arm hang out of

the window, my hand floating in the air like a surfer 

on calm waters.

Peaceful. 

I'm 22.

It's an overcast summer's day. So much humidity.

I'm riding in the passenger seat of the car as my mom

drives in silence, apart from the humming of the air

conditioning. She has a headache. My brother is in the

back seat, body hunched over, face buried in his phone.

Mindlessly scrolling. The windows are all up, and all I

can smell is the stench of a road-killed skunk seeping

through the vents. My tired eyes fight to stay open as my

head slumps back onto the headrest. Dark shaded

glasses conceal my face. Hands restlessly fidgeting

in my lap.

Anxious.

And I was so quick to grow up.

(b.m.)

Fly Flying

I was watching a fly flying,

Listening to its buzzing buzz.

How quaint I thought this little fly,

How loudly I heard it buzzing by.

Wishing this fly would fly away.

Wishing this day would die away.

Suddenly the fly stopped flying,

And the buzz stopped buzzing.

I looked up and down,

I looked all around.

Until I noticed a peculiar plant,

Planted on the table’s top.

In this plant the fly was trying,

Trying, but failing at flying. 

Lured, it was, by a sticky fuzz,

And never again will it loudly buzz.

How silly I thought this little fly,

How sad I felt to say goodbye.

I wished that this fly would fly away,

And that this day would die away.

But now the fly is dying away, 

 And the day's no sooner flying away.

Now, like the fly, my thoughts too decay.

Now I’m wishing a fly would fly my way.

(b.m.)

Shadowed Identity

How did I get here, 

in this place so void of hope and joy? 

What once was light is now dark 

and all I can see is pain as stark as the stars 

in the night's sky. 

The fatigue plaguing my bones is what this illness does, 

making everything feel like this hazy fuzz and

I'm nothing but a shadow of what I once

was.

The magic blue pills that my doctor prescribed 

are supposed to help with this pain I've described

but it's hard to fix what's buried so very deep 

inside.

So please, try to understand that when you tell me

"it's all in your head" as if that's the answer to 

all of this dread, that I want nothing more

than to be dead because I would be rich if I got a

penny for every time I have ever heard that said.

(b.m.)

Riptide

It's something o'clock in the morning on

someday of the week. The softest light is 

peeking through the window, having just started to

stretch its rays and touch the earth.

The birds haven't quite woken from their slumbers just yet,

apart from a few lazily singing out their morning tune,

sounding as if they're saying "just five more minutes."

The only other sound is the rhythmic breathing of

someone in a deliciously peaceful sleep lying next to me,

buried in a sea of my soft white comforter.

The light has now started to stretch its fingers across the bed,

tenderly caressing her face and illuminating a

treasure trove of beauty. No sunrise in the world could

convince me of a more breathtaking view than 

the one here in my bed. 

Laying on my side so we're face-to-face,

I reach my hand out to gently touch her cheek,

enamored by the soft rosy hue and 

carefully arranged freckles.

Then, with a deep, life-giving breath in through her nose,

the most heavenly smile appeared beneath my fingers.

First one, then two, sleepy eyelids slowly lifted

to reveal oceans of blue whose rip currents

pulled me in with the promise of never longing for land

again.

And I surrendered to it. Completely.

(b.m.)

Unbreakable

You surveyed my body like you were
window shopping, deciding if what you saw
was appealing enough to come inside.
Thinking you could provide what I needed
supplied just by looking on the outside?

No.

Your mistake was confusing my glass exterior
with me being inferior and thinking you
could ever be superior.

There have been others that thought they
could break me too. Thought they could
shatter me with a brick and rob me of
everything I have.

How cute.

I've withstood the strongest of storms and
have yet to crack, because I 
am fucking bulletproof, and you are about
as dangerous as a water gun.

So let me be transparently clear:

You. Don't. Have. A. Chance.
So do us all a favor, and keep your
dick in your pants.

(b.m.)

Nature's Bounty

Does a river stop rushing in fear of
being too loud?
Does a tree hide its leaves in fear of
taking up too much space?
Does the sun dim its brightness in fear of
being too noticeable?
Does the ocean hold back its waves in fear of
disturbing the shore?

Do they?

Should you?

(b.m.)

Series: Ticking Clock

#1

tick
tick

Mind racing.
Feet pacing.

    tick
    tick

Hands shaking.
Heart aching.

tick
tick

Sleep delaying.
Thoughts decaying.

    tick
    tick

Mouth pleading.
Skin bleeding.

tick


tick




tick.

(b.m.)


#2

I got a splinter in my hand yesterday,
Still, the clock ticked.
Things didn't go as planned yesterday,
Still, the clock ticked.

I forgot to take my meds today,
Still, the clock ticks.
The loneliness spreads today,
Still, the clock ticks.

I'll breathe my last breath someday,
Still, the clock will tick.
We'll all meet with death someday,
Still, the clock will tick.

and tick. and tick.

(b.m.)


#3

The clock ticks 86,400 times per day.
It's been two years since you left without saying
goodbye,
and not one tick has brought me closer to feeling
whole again.

(b.m.)

Entitlement

Hello beautiful moths.

I want to focus today's topic on animals, given that I am spending my life dedicated to them as a career. Due to that fact, it may make me a little biased when it comes to human-animal conflicts, but there is a certain aspect of humans' (well, most humans') attitude towards animals that both saddens and irks me to no end. Because of the privilege humans have through the evolutionary arms race, I feel that we have an obligation to ensure the preservation and protection of all things living on this planet, although those that hold the highest power don't necessarily agree or treat that statement as a pressing matter at the moment.

Humans have a twisted sense of entitlement to this planet. Humans set the rules, make the decisions for how Earth is to be treated, and how it is to be depleted. When did this theoretical hierarchy come to light? Where in the scope of time did humans lose their connection with nature. Humans see themselves as a higher being rather than a part of a living system, part of a cycle that, due to our ignorance, has been disrupted. We don’t respect the source of our food, but rather have become desensitized to the fact that we are decimating another species’ population to a point of excess. That’s the problem, isn’t it? Excess. We take more than we need. A pride of lions does not kill for sport, nor do they kill more than is necessary. They work together to capture one wildebeest or one water buffalo, in order to stave off starvation and survive another day. See, we have lost touch with the fact that we are a predator in the food chain. We are accustomed to going to the supermarket and buying meat that has been killed and processed for us. Because of that privilege, we are detached. We aren’t able to appreciate the work that goes into raising an animal, caring for it, and in turn sacrificing its life so that we may have nourishment. 

I went to the farm across the street from me today to visit with the animals, whose fate is grim. The pigs gallop around in their concrete pens, seemingly excited at my presence as they immediately approach me. I watched as some touched snouts with another pig in the adjacent pen, as if securing their bond with one another. Like two people standing with their foreheads touching, synchronizing their breaths. The biggest pig approached as I came near, perhaps seeking companionship as she was alone in her pen. I scratched behind her wide ears and along the curves of her snout as she grunted in satisfaction, even closing her eyes, as if comforted. It almost made me cry thinking of how sweet her disposition was, and knowing what her fate was destined to be as an animal of production. I saw in her eyes a being capable of affection, understanding, and fear. It hurt to leave her to such a life. 

After, I paid a visit to the cows, who had much to say in their melodic moos once they had seen me approaching them. It’s hard to deny that a creature so much bigger than us has a higher capacity for emotions. They all stick their large heads out of the metal barriers as I walk by, curious of my scents and possible motives. As soon as I put my hand to their strong necks, I am stricken by how powerful, yet seemingly harmless, these gentle giants are. The fur is comfortingly soft, and cow “282” (according to the tags attached to its ears) extended out its head as I supplied some, much appreciated, scratches. I offered them some hay that lay out of reach to them, which they kindly accepted. I found that being too close to them meant my shirt being licked, which I found quite hysterical the way their big tongues flailed in the air. Up close, they are just the most beautiful creatures, and when I looked into their eyes, I could see not just an empty stare, but a soul looking back at me. Not some mindless beast to be coldly taken advantage of. But rather to be respected. Leaving them with a handful of hay, I said my goodbyes. Until tomorrow.

Before I end this rant, I want to emphasize that I don't have anything against hunting or famers that raise cows to eat, as long as it's done in a humane way and every part of the animal is being utilized. What I do have a problem with are mass production farms or hunting just for the sake of killing an animal. It's all about respect and plain decency. 

Appreciate and respect all living beings, moths. xo

The Climb

I've dug myself a monstrous hole,

Out of which I cannot climb.

The deeper I go, the darker my soul,

I fear I haven't much time. 

The light is moving further away,

As I reach my hands in vain.

I kick and scream for some delay,

But I'm met with only pain.

Void of hope, I fall to my knees,

And touch my hands to pray.

Desperate to put my mind at ease,

To whom, I know not, I say:

I've lived my life as best I could, kind to those I've crossed.

Saving animals as Irwin would, no matter the risk (or cost).

I hope when people think of me, they remember only the best.

If only but a smiling Bri, as bright as lemon zest.

My love for you will never fade, wherever this journey ends.

There's nothing I would ever trade, in place of family and friends.

The light above is all but gone, I've used up all my time.

Someday soon will come the dawn, and out of this hole I'll climb.

Out of this hole I'll climb.

(b.m.)

Purpose

Hi all you lovely Moths,

It's been a whirlwind over the past few months to say the least. The number of posts I make is a direct reflection of that! So I say with the utmost uncertainty: I am back (for now). The seasonal change that has undergone within the previous weeks has altered the nature of my thoughts and have bred some pieces of work with an obvious dark undertone. Thus, this post will continue the pattern as we move into the winter months, but fear not, the colder days will cease come springtime, and so shall my lighter thoughts.

Onto the anticipated topic of the day: the meaning of life. 

*internal shudder*

Side note: No, I'm not referencing the Monty Python farce (although if you haven't seen it, stop reading right now and go watch, it is truly an outrageously ridiculous masterpiece not meant for the feign of heart).

Now that we've settled that...

One of the most existential questions ever asked since the beginning of time is why are we here? I certainly find myself wondering this very question on various occasions. Of course it's not something we as humans could ever possibly answer, but we can definitely give our best educated (or more so opinionated) guesses to give us some ounce of purpose, otherwise what would keep us going every day? The biggest and baddest in the philosophical world have taken a gander at their thoughts on this heavy topic. Arguably one of the most well known philosopher, Socrates, said, "the unexamined life in not worth living." To him, the most important thing in life is to continuously seek out new knowledge. He used the term "eudaimonia" which meant something along the lines of an ultimate happiness or healthy spiritual state.

Another popular thought is that the meaning of life is to serve, or care for, others around you. The Dalai Lama is one of the prime supporters of this notion, saying "our prime purpose in this life is to help others, and if you can't help them, at least don't hurt them." Just take a minute to imagine if every single person on this planet had this state of mind. Imagine how much peace there would be if we simply loved our neighbors and put all prejudices aside. Of course, that's just a fantasy because of the existence of something called human emotions, such as jealousy or greed. But hey, a girl can dream.

I know you're all dying to know what my stance is on this fun little subject. I can say that the previously mentioned opinions play a part, and I do agree that it is important to seek knowledge and care for those around you, but that's not the whole picture for me. What these fail to acknowledge is the idea that the meaning of life has something to do with our after lives. As I mentioned before, there is absolutely no way we can ever truly know until we die (at which time I am expecting to be thoroughly enlightened) so take this with a grain of salt. The introverted "old soul" that I am thinks way too deeply into topics such as this, and I am sorely convinced that there was a mistake made somewhere in the cosmic universe in relation to the era in which I was born (I would have preferred somewhere a little closer to the pre-modern age consisting of the most renowned poets and philosophers alike, but beggars can't be choosers I suppose).

Anyway...my popular opinion is this: the purpose to life is somewhere along the line of a test of the purity, or nature, of your soul. I want to believe that everyone is essentially pure at heart, meaning their souls are inherently good and they've just simply been corrupted on the outside by their environment, but the pessimist in me just doesn't accept that. Everyone is entitled to their own opinions about what happens when you die or where you go, and personally I do--or at least reeeeally want to--believe that there is a higher power that we'll answer to. Think of it this way: life after death is an eternity, and actual life is only ~roughly~ somewhere in the span of 90 or so years, which is a BLINK in respect to eternity, so there must be some immense importance to those short years.

Take education as an example. The four short years spent in high school act not only as a beacon for learning, but also as a baseline for your level of knowledge going into your college years. High school goes by with the snap of your fingers, yet it has a heavy weight of importance on how you will spend the next few years of your life. Furthermore, how well you do in your college years sets you up for ~literally~ the rest of your life moving forward. It seems crazy that your biggest decisions are asked of you during your adolescence when you don't know much else...............but it is what it is.

To sum all that jargon, the few short years of your educational experience act as a test, and depending on how well you do during those years, your life moving forward will be as difficult or smooth as you make it. In respects to the meaning of life, your life to what happens after you die is what your educational years are to your post-schooling life. If you live your life as best you can, being kind to others, helping those in need, appreciating the beauty in everything, then eternity will be just as kind to you. Life may seem impossibly hard and deteriorating at times, as though it's sucking the very marrow out of your spirit, but it'll all be but a distant memory when you find yourself in an eternal state of peace. It's then that everything you've gone through and survived will be worth it, and you'll appreciate every single struggle.

That, my moths, is MY meaning of life, what's yours? xo

Found

It's when I stopped searching that I found exactly what it was I had been looking for.

Let it come to you, moths.

(b.m.)

Revenge

In the shadows there lurks a soul, 

Whose loneliness has taken its toll.

All she knows are cries and moans,

An empty shell of skin and bones.

She's stranded to the dark of night,

 Left with creatures of ghoul and fright.

Her heart's been sent through the guillotine,

And she's seeking revenge this Halloween.

(b.m.)

My God, I Pray

As the days grow shorter, and the nights colder;

there is something coming near.

As if my soul knows, an anxiousness grows;

'waken is a chilling fear.

The leaves begin to fall, and birds cease to call;

a darkness consumes the land.

Tired are my eyes, as loneliness arrives;

the silence I cannot stand.

Passed are the days, of warmth and rays;

in charge is now the moon.

But when she's gone, the monsters are drawn;

left empty are bodies strewn.

My mind is being lost, its price too high a cost;

heavy do thoughts of you weigh.

Betrayed was my heart, though it knew from the start;

never do loved ones stay.

Buried are words unsaid, fated as those now dead;

regret is the devil's delight.

 Before I die I hope to confess, the feelings I so cruelly suppress;

my God I pray to survive the night.

My God, I pray.

(b.m.)

Puzzle Pieces

It's three in the morning. The moonlight dances through the bathroom window, illuminating a tear-stained face through the darkness. Between the sobs sings a chorus of crickets and the bone-chilling "creeeek" of trees bellowing in the wind. I rest on my knees, and the chilled, ivory-colored tile kisses my skin, sending chills throughout my body. My destructive thoughts guided me here from the comfort of my bed like an insect beckoned to a light, and I am reduced to a hunched over figure on a cold bathroom floor.

I wrack my brain, blindly searching for answers among the sea of negativity being spewed from my consciousness. It turns a cold shoulder, and to no avail I am left hopelessly seeking guidance. A calming of the storm inside my head. And so I try my luck with a higher power. I plead to God, whispering my woes into the night. I say, with utter desperation, "God, please, help me to understand my purpose for this life. I feel that I have strayed from the path I once was on, and fear I have lost sight of where it is I should be heading. I feel as though I am now wandering, weakened and alone, through a maze with which there is no exit. One in which I've reached yet another dead end. Help me to understand..."

Moments later, an autumn breeze creeps through the slightly cracked window, and with it, carries in a soothing voice that caresses my ears. It says, softly, "My child, you wish to reach the finish line when you've barely just begun the race. Put simply, life is like a puzzle: as you learn, grow, and experience new aspects of life, you will collect pieces of yourself along the way. By themselves, these pieces are insignificant, failing to shed light on what it is you're looking to find. Slowly, but surely, they start to come together, piece-by-piece. By the end of your life, you will have a moment where you'll have the final piece, the one that fits just right, filling the last empty space. It's then that you will see it. You will see that every single moment of your life has created just that: a life. Every decision you make will guide you to where you wish to go, and so you are never truly lost...only on your way to discovering the next puzzle piece. You simply need the courage, and the patience, to finish it."

Just as it had traveled in, the voice faded away with the breeze, surely off to console some other sad soul praying for an answer to their own questions. A sudden stillness washed over me as I left the numbing tile and climbed back into the warmth of my bed. For the first time in as far back as I can remember, I am lulled into a peaceful sleep, comforted with the belief of surviving the day to come, and every one to follow.

Someday I will complete the puzzle...

Someday.

(b.m.)

Twenty Two Years

Twenty two years I have lived.

I have grown. 

Have felt. 

Twenty two years I have not found love, 

I have not received love,

Have not made love.

Twenty two years my heart has waited.

My heart has ached.

Has yearned.

Twenty two years of being polite.

Of being supportive.

Being patient.

Twenty two years of suppressed words.

Of suppressed feelings.

Suppressed desires.

Twenty two years without your eyes on mine.

Without your hands on mine.

Your lips on mine.

What will the next twenty two bring?

(b.m.)

Within

When we were little, 

we feared the monsters
hiding beneath our beds, 

keeping our feet tucked in
so they couldn't drag us under.

Now, 

it's not the monsters
under the bed we fear 

when staring into the
darkness...

It's the ones inside of us.

.

.

.

How do we protect ourselves
from them?

(b.m.)

Which?

Which is worse?

Never to have loved,

or

Never to have b

                              e

                                   e

                                                     n loved?

Which is worse?

A hollow heart,

or

A f

       o

         r

             s 

               a

                  k

                     e

                                      n heart?

(b.m.)

Poem for Mom

How can I put into words,

How much you mean to me?

What is flight to soaring birds,

Or pollen to a bee?

Like the golden rays of the sun,

Your radiant spirit glows.

Compared to you, there is none;

With every smile it shows.

You always give with all your heart,

And take care of those around you.

Not to mention you're incredibly smart;

Such a powerful woman to look up to.

Like a mirror after a hot shower,

It's sometimes hard to see.

Much like a bee feels for a flower;

You mean so much to me.

(b.m.)

Invasion

A killer is on the loose,
Within the world today.
It lurks along the streets,
Crippling those it meets...
Traveling by gateway.

Descending upon the innocent,
It seizes all control.
Weakened is their might,
Taken is their sight...
Victim to a blackhole.

To some there is no escape,
For darkness is relentless.
Imprisoned, they are caught,
Too weakened to have fought...
The users are defenseless.

It takes on many identities,
Along this quest to conquer.
Whether powder, liquid, or pill,
It assumes the facade of a thrill...
Beneath hides a true monster.

Devoid of any prejudice,
It preys on everyone.
Mothers, daughters,
Brothers, fathers...
A plague you can't outrun.

There must be some hope,
For this slaughter to cease.
A path towards the light,
Salvation within sight...
One day there'll be peace.

One day.

(b.m.)

Elements of Him

i'll never forget

the    c    r     e      of his lips,
              u    v    s
prominent on his face
    like mountains
risen from the earth.

or
the    w    v     s      of his hair,
               a     e
cascading over his head
    like waterfalls
powerless to gravity.

or
the    r    m     l      of his voice,
              u     b    e
carried through the air
    like gusts of wind
moaning as it blows.

or
the    t   r    l        of his touch,
             h   i    l
heating up my body
    like wildfires
scorching the earth.

i'll never forget.

(b.m.)

But,

A galaxy full of stars,
    each shining an
eternal light.
    But,
how lonely is Mars,
    surrounded by
eternal night.

A planet full of souls,
    each thriving on
the highs of life.
    But,
how gaping are holes,
    created by
the lows of life.

A body full of cells,
    each unique to
my very self.
    But,
how sadness dwells,
    a burden on
my very health.

(b.m.)

Reflected

I stumbled upon this empty shell,

as I walked along the river.

Maybe it was the decaying smell,

that made my body shiver.

Something about it drew me near,

as I ventured beyond the trail.

Maybe it was the feeling of drear,

that made my skin go pale. 

Most beguiling was this ivory stone,

as my eyes became transfixed.

Maybe it was the stark white bone,

that made me so affixed.

I soon realized the connection,

as my chest welled up inside.

Maybe it's my own reflection,

that this empty shell implied.

-b.m.

Delicacy

I'm not the leftovers

from dinner,

or the crumbs at the 

bottom of the bag. 

I'm a god damn delicacy,

meant to be savored by

someone with an

experienced palette.

Not someone who lives

off of freezer meals

 and calls it
       

        "fine dining."

-b.m.

Apart

I like to think of the moon

as a friend of mine,

when I'm lonely at night.

Even he's gone too soon

'cause of sunshine,

and her blinding light.

-b.m.

Tongue Tied

All of the words I wanted to say

but didn't

dripped off my tongue 

like vodka 

with no chaser.

A bitter aftertaste.

A gateway to regret.

-b.m.

Mended

There are levels to brokenness. 

There are things that can be mended. 

A broken nail. 

A broken toy. 

A broken bone. 

There are things that can be replaced. 

A broken dish. 

A broken phone. 

A broken window.

And then there are the permanent ones. 

A broken trust. 

A broken relationship. 

A broken heart. 

Those are the ones that stay with us. The ones that, even when put behind us, always seem to be etched into our brains. They can't be mended or replaced. You may trust that person again, or get back together with your ex. Your heart may return to a steady rhythm. But there will always be that uneasy feeling in the back of your mind. That doubt. 

Will they betray my trust again? 

Does he love me the way he did before? 

Is my heart ready for this? 

The answer may never be clear.

Life is sometimes unforgiving. It's a fucking mess. Parts of it are easily broken, but there's strength in experiencing pain, hardship, and shitty times. Why do we use the phrase "break a leg" to tell someone good luck? Why do we love to tell that story about how we broke our arm in middle school falling out of a tree? Why do we empathize so much with movies whose main character had their heart broken and then lived to be a success story? 

There's power to it.

So go ahead. Break a nail. Smash a glass plate. Have your heart broken. Don't regret a single thing.

There are levels to brokenness. 

How broken are you?

.

.

.

Better yet,

How strong are you?