Crash

Our faces are inches apart,
The air between us erotic.
Beating loudly is my heart,
Your steady breathing hypnotic.

The seconds feel like years,
Time is all but frozen.
Forgotten are my fears,
As I live in this moment.

What will your lips feel like,
Crashing against mine?
What will your tongue taste like,
When ours intertwine?

The outside world fades away,
And there's no one but you and me.
Desperate for that sweet foreplay,
I forgo myself completely.

(b.m.)

Wildflowers

There once was a young girl whose spirit

glowed with an unwavering passion and zest 

for life. As the years went by, there came

others who envied her exuberance and, unable

to accept their lack thereof, sought to dull her

luminance. One by one, they planted a seed

within her mind, each taking root between the

folds of her brain and germinating as destructive

thoughts. As time passed by, they leeched

away her liveliness and threatened to replace

anything worth living for. Until one day,

as if the clouds had parted for the first time in

years, she was reminded of how much power

lightness held. And in that moment, the seeds

that were once nothing more than malignant

weeds, suddenly transformed into wildflowers.

Hues of gold and violet and emerald blossomed

from within her mind. No longer was she trapped

within the confines of darkness. No longer would

she allow others to shade her brilliance because of

their insecurities.

And just like that,

she was free.

(b.m.)

Celestial

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

and neither do you, my dear.

Neither do you.

(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.)

Soul to Soul

Why hello there, Moths. 

Hello to another Monday. Mondays are that universally dreaded day, aren't they? They mark the end to the weekend, and the beginning to a long week until it's the weekend again! But maybe if we change our perception of this specific day of the week, we won't curse the moment our alarm clocks go off in the morning, making us get out of bed and taking care of that scary "r" word.....responsibilities *shudder* So how do we do that? We look at Mondays as a beginning. A fresh start. The week ahead can go however you will it to go. If you mold your mindset into a positive one, you can take control (that's right, control) of how things will turn out. You can be in control of how well that presentation goes, or how you do on your exam, or how well you stick to whatever goal you're striving towards. So instead of moaning and complaining that it's that dreaded Monday again, say to yourself, "it is a fresh start to the week, and I am going to make it a good one." Once you've nailed the week and your goals have been achieved, then you can put those party pants on and reward yourself with the pleasures of the weekend!

Or sweatpants and your favorite tub of Ben and Jerry's, like most of my weekends......

Now, onto the topic of the day. In my last post I talked about reincarnation and the idea of the soul continuing on into other lifetimes. I thought I would continue the discussion of souls and talk about soulmates. There are a lot of different religions that believe in the idea, including Hinduism, Buddhism, and Judaism. Each have their own beautiful interpretations.

Hindus believe there is a link between souls in a karmic way. Lehnu, in the Gujarati language, is the term they use for souls that we constantly cross paths with, who guide us towards a life that serves a higher purpose. They are destined to be connected to your life in some way or another.

Buddhists call the idea pratitya-samutpada, meaning all beings are "interrelated." Very similar to what I talked about in my last post, they believe that the soul can live many lifetimes, being reborn an infinite number of times, and along with that are our relationships. If a connection with another soul is powerful enough, then both of your souls will reconnect in the new lifetime. This is what causes the feeling of meeting someone for the first time and feeling as if you've known them forever.

Judaism has the Yiddish word bashert, meaning "bestowed." Your bashert is a person bestowed upon you as your destined partner. They also have the word hevruta, or "learning partner" similar to hinduism in that it is someone that guides you toward a purpose. Hevruta is someone that challenges you to be your best self, rather than someone that is a perfect match or "completes" you.

Many religions have many interpretations, but the common takeaway from all three of these is that they believe that we have soulmates. So, I know you're all dying to hear what I think about the subject. I absolutely do believe in the idea, but I want to note that the term soulmate, in my opinion, does not just mean a romantic partner. I think soulmates can take on many forms, including lifelong friendships. I think we can have more than one soulmate, such as a best friend that understands you in ways you don't even understand yourself, a friend that always knows what to say without saying anything, and a friend that you just instantly click with. And then there could be the romantic partner, someone you feel completely safe with, someone that constantly challenges you to be better, and someone that you knew you loved the first time you spoke (love at first sight is an ENTIRELY different subject for a different day). It's about connection. How your soul connects to my soul or his soul or hers. If you feel you have one of these soulmates, that destiny has brought you together with that person in some crazy way, do yourself a favor:

Never let go, moths. xo  

Know Your Worth

He compares your beauty to the stars because he sees you as
one among millions.

You aren't a single star in space my dear,

You are the 

whole 

damn 

galaxy

And he hasn't even been to the moon.

-b.m.

Sparrow Song of Laughter

The sparrow sings his happy song, 

As clouds slowly roll along,

The summer night of mercy,

On the golden shores of Jersey.

His chirps of laughter bathe my 'tentive ear,

A sound familiar, and one I love to hear,

His joy abounds, to sing his cheery tune, 

In the midst of a dewy morn' in June.

His celebration lasts the whole day,

His life fulfilled, as if to say,

What joy must be to sing his song of laughter,

Without a fear of sorrow after. 

-father of the moth
(d.m.)

National Poem Day: Favorite

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
And miles to go before I sleep.

-Robert Frost 

Constrained

Emilio Villalba

Bitter

at some point in your life,

somebody will come and

promise you such 

pretty things 

and whisper sweet words

in your ear,

so sweet you'll salivate at 

the sound of it.

you'll crave it. 

your hunger will drive you

towards it, and you'll be 

mesmerized beyond reason.

little do you know,

the aftertaste is

bitter. 

he was bitter. 

he promised me a love he never

had to give.

a future he never intended on

having

with me.

spoke empty words with selfish

intentions.

he wanted my body and not my

heart,

i was blinded by his compliments

and attention.

i soaked it in like sunlight to a flower

after a long, cold winter.

one day, though, i woke up from my

filtered reality.

i saw how he only texted me after

midnight.

how he never asked me how 

my day was.

how he called me sexy, but not

beautiful. 

the realization that he would never 

leave his girlfriend

for me.

how silly of me.

i was made the side piece.

the project he would revisit

time and again.

the toy he could play with 

without fear of 

causing damage.

how had i let it come to this.

how had i let this boy,

not a man,

play me like one of his 

video games.

take advantage of my eagerness

for love

or the softness of 

my heart.

i am a work of art. a masterpiece.

not something to be handled 

by someone with greasy fingers

and inexperience.

i am a fucking jewel,

among the rarest of stones

encased in dirt but my god

do i shine on the inside.

i am not a puzzle that can be

solved in a day.

i am full of clues that first need 

to be uncovered and then

pieced together 

in order to see the 

complete picture.

and he only cared for the surface.

-b.m.

Imperfectly Perfect

Happy First Day of March, Moths!

Wow I have really been slacking in the writing department lately! The thing with me writing poems and blog posts and such is that it isn't something that can be forced. Sometimes inspiration just comes to me and I can't stop typing, and other times I don't even know where to start. Rest assured, my creative juices are flowing today and thus: my new blog post!

Today I want to talk about imperfections...

*screams*

They're not as scary as they sound, I promise. I very briefly mentioned the idea of imperfections in my Sorry Not Sorry post a few weeks back, but I didn't go into much detail about them. Firstly, what do I mean by imperfections?
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im·per·fec·tion
/ˌimpərˈfekSH(ə)n/

noun

1. a fault, blemish, or undesirable feature
   ex. scar, birthmark, freckles, wrinkles, cellulite, stretch marks, pimples, etc. 

definition courtesy of google
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Now that we have that squared away, where am I getting at?

*What I am about to say may be shocking to some, reader discretion advised*

Ready? Imperfections are......beautiful! Yeah, I said it. And boy do I believe it to my core. I'll tell you why: there is no such thing as "perfect." Seriously, it's true. All of those Instagram models and celebrities that you see through filters and makeup are all made up of imperfections. They're humans too, they get pimples and pass gas like all of us. These imperfections make us human. They tell a story that only collects with age. How cool are birthmarks?? Not everyone has one but for those that do, they are completely unique to that person and no one else. It's almost like being a knight donned with a special medal they have to wear for the rest of their lives (that's right, if you have a birthmark you're now officially a knight). How about wrinkles? I know they've come up with everything but the kitchen sink as far as remedies for "anti-aging" against wrinkles, but what makes them so cool is that they're remnants of every movement you have ever made since being born. Those lines on each side of your lips? You got those from every time you have ever smiled. They're the mark of happiness in your life. The wrinkles on your forehead? They were made every time you were ever surprised by something and it made you raise your eyebrows. And scars? They're probably the coolest of them all. Each one undoubtedly has some interesting story to go along with it, like that one time in middle school when you climbed a tree and fell out of it, so you got this sick little scar on your back (a.k.a my mom) or that time you wrestled a crocodile in the amazon and lived to tell the tale...(okay, that one is a little farfetched, but you get the point). For all of the mothers reading, think about those stretch marks on your stomach that you absolutely dread. Do you remember how you got them? You carried a human being inside of you for nine months, that's how. You did the hardest thing anybody can do on this planet. Those stretch marks are proof of that feat, and you should be wearing them with pride for what you have accomplished. Don't even get me started on tattoos. These are chosen imperfections, or pieces of art as I see them. Some are words, some are giant tigers, but regardless they're now a part of you and your story.

Personally, I have every single "imperfection" that I have included in this post. Some I may dislike more than others, but as I said before, they are a part of me. They make me who I am. I have a "beauty mark" freckle on my left cheek that has been there since I was little, and I've come to love it because it makes me unique. I have four tattoos (to my father's dismay), a birthmark on my left wrist, a butt chin that I get from my mom, and countless others that I've acquired over my twenty years of life. I wouldn't change a single thing.

So, I challenge you to make a list of all of the "imperfections" you see. Write down how you got them or how it makes you unique or who in your family you may have gotten it from. Do this without judgement of yourself. Look at these quirks like an outsider looking in, and you have to explain it to them. What inspired you to get that tattoo? Is it sentimental or was it your 21st birthday and you had one too many drinks? No matter what it is, embrace it and be kind to yourself.

Love your imperfections, moths. xoxo

Star-Crossed Lovers

A tale of love as old as time,

Of the moonlight and sunshine.

Every morning, as she wakes,

Dawn approaches the land.

Through the sky her light breaks;

A beautiful array, so grand.

But where is the moon,

To witness her splendor?

Gone much too soon;

His grace he cannot render.

A sacrifice he must bestow,

Each and every day.

So she can shine her radiant glow;

How he longs to stay.

They meet again as daylight ends,

Such little time they are given.

What a sight as their colors blend;

Toward each other they are driven. 

But together they cannot stay,

As she finally must set.

A given order they must obey;

An end to their duet. 

His love illuminates the night sky,

As his stars come out to shine.

Surely for her, you cannot deny;

A tale of love as old as time. 

-b.m.

Intimate

the second his skin came
in contact with mine,
every particle of my being
danced with excitement,
as if awoken from a deep slumber.

the way his strong hands molded to
the curvatures of my face,
their warmth seeping through my skin
to the deepest parts of me.

his lips crashed against mine like waves
to the shore, and i could taste a hint
of desperation on his tongue, like a bear
discovering honey for the first time.

his long fingers delicately removed my
clothes. he had a gracefulness to the way
he pulled down every zipper, undid every
button. my insecurities peeled away with
every layer.

his eyes roamed every inch of my naked
body, like a blind man seeing everything
clearly for the first time. i had never felt so
vulnerable, yet unashamed in my life.

his soft, delicious lips explored me from
head to toe, as a scientist to a new world.
his tongue traced the outlines of my body
like the contours of a mountain or the
bending of a river.

our bodies entwined with one another,
unclear of where one started, and the
other ended. there was no him and i.
there was only us. 

i felt it all then. all of his emotions, and
dreams, and fears. as if they were a
reflection of my own. he had given himself
completely to me,

and i did the same.

-the moment i fell in love


b.m.

Nostalgic

Happy Monday, moths!

What a crazy Super Bowl ending huh? I hope you were all as stuffed with good food as I was last night. I think I'm still in a food coma from it all...there's always the gym, of course. Whether I actually go to it or not....well, that's another story.

Anyway, I had a thought pop up earlier along the lines of, "there's most likely nobody that actually reads these posts, so what's the point of continuing with what is probably just me talking to myself.." What's my motivation for staying with this blog thing? But then I remembered the whole reason I began this was to stray away from the social constructs of today's social media, where everything you post is a battle for the most likes or the most retweets (I haven't actually used twitter in about four years, mind you). It's so tiring checking my phone every five minutes after I post a picture on Instagram to see if anyone new has liked it. This blog wasn't made to be popular, where everyone talks about it and shares my posts. It is an outlet for my creativity, and thoughts, and passions--an online journal, of sorts. And if someone happens to come across my blog, read some of my posts, and take an interest in them, then that's wonderful! I hope that what I talk about (as crazy as it sometimes seems) reaches someone that feels the same way, or helps someone to think about something from another perspective. I love my blog and the content of it, and I hope others do too, but whether they do or not will not change my feelings for it. That's what makes this unique compared to other social media outlets.

So, I quickly threw that thought away and here I am, writing a new post: onto my discussion of the day!

If you visit my blog, you may notice that you are greeted with music playing. The songs I have on this little playlist are a couple of my favorites, so if you want to know more about me just have a listen to a couple of them. I know I know, none of these songs are from this decade, but I am thoroughly convinced that I was born in the wrong year. 1996? I missed all of the good stuff by then! I listen to 70s and 80s music more than anything from today's hits. They just don't make honest-to-God music like they used to because today's world doesn't have the patience or the ears to sit down for a few minutes and actually listen to what the song is saying. "Stairway to Heaven," by Led Zeppelin is eight minutes long, and at least a third of it is just instrumental. Hell, I'm pretty sure there are some Bee Gees songs that don't have any words in them at all! The point is, people got together to listen to this music because of the power it had to make them feel. There are some songs today that I am convinced are made up of imaginary words. Literally, some of them are just mumbling with some added beats created in a computer app. I didn't want to have to do this, but listen to this if you don't believe me, and comment on this post if you honestly can understand A SINGLE WORD IN THAT ENTIRE SONG. You've been warned.

I am a twenty year old Grandma--that is what I am often told when I say these kinds of crazy thoughts. 

I am not ashamed.

Where am I going with this again...oh, I remember! The songs on my playlist are some amazing pieces of work. But they all had to be inspired by something--or someone. Listen to the first song, "She's Always a Woman to Me" by Billy Joel, and really listen to the words. I'll give you a minute.
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Beautiful, isn't it? The point is that there had to be a woman of "She's Always a Woman to Me" that inspired Billy Joel to write a song after (or in Elton John's case, a man). Music back then was often inspired by real people, and to think they inspired songs that twenty year old grandmas, like me, are still stricken by forty years after it was released astonishes me. The same thing goes for poetry, or art, which is why I love it so much. Some poems/works of art are from hundreds of years ago and they are still discussed in college classes and romanticized in movies or high school plays--they stand the test of time. The idea that famous poems today were written centuries ago by someone who was so madly in love with someone else, moved to write down these beautiful, heart-aching words just to attempt to describe the hopeless passion they feel for them is beyond romantic (some may say I am a hopeless romantic, or something like that). It also pains my heart to think that these things only exist in the past, and that chivalry is truly dead. In a world full of hate and empty words and famous-hungry social media posts, it's hard to imagine that there are still people with pure souls, capable of living without the societal pressure of upholding popularity or the need to be liked by thousands of strangers behind computer screens they probably will never meet. I may have high expectations, but I'm firm in what I want, whether I find it or not. Maybe it's a stretch to try finding someone that writes poetry for me or wants to live out in the mountains with little phone reception, but I won't settle.

Wait, how did this become about my love life..?

*Sidetracked*

Anyway, I'm ending this with the notion that ordinary people have inspired famous poems/artwork/music for centuries, and you never know if you'll be the next source of inspiration for a song that fifty years from now is still being sung by a twenty year old grandma (again, like me)! We all have stories waiting to be told, the question is, are you going to keep waiting for someone to pick up a pen and write it for you, or will you tell it yourself?

Go on and inspire, moths. xoxo