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.)

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.)

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.)

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.)

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.)

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?

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  

Rebirth

Happy Thursday Afternoon, Moths. 

Thursdays are such an underrated day, aren't they? But think about it: tomorrow is Friday, which means the weekend is practically here! Thursdays are the tipping point of the week, after Hump Day Wednesday and right before Thank Goodness It's Friday (or is that just the restaurant?). Well I'm designating Thursdays as Thankful For Thursday, yeah?

Anyway, the topic of discussion for today's post: reincarnation. I know, I know. My last discussion was on the idea of God and eternal life with Him after we die, but like I said in that post, I am very open-minded about a variety of different concepts pertaining to the after-life, and this thought of mine peaked my own interest, and so I will share with all of you lovely people for a food-for-thought (not sure where that expression came from, but if you want to send me food for my thoughts I wouldn't say no...).

SO, reincarnation! In particular, the opportunity of being reincarnated as another life. Many religions, including Buddhism and Hinduism, as well as historical figures such as Plato and Socrates, believe in this idea of a cyclical life. Now I am not saying whether I necessarily believe in this or not, but there's something about being reborn with a new opportunity that I want to discuss.

*side note: the thing about discussing religion is that we will never really know what's right or wrong until we die and experience it ourselves! That's why I do not deny nor scoff any one religion over another, because as humans, we are far too small-minded to possibly fathom the scope of something as grand as a higher being. 

Now, what I am getting at is our chance to make a difference in the world and spread love/joy/kindness/happiness/etc. with every life. Say, for example, in one life a person spreads their message through music as a musician, and in another life they spread it through movies as an actor/actress, and in another they are an activist standing up for a worthy cause, and maybe in one of those lives they are an aspiring poet/writer that has a blog to spread their message about topics like heartache and independence and mental health.....okay maybe that last one was me. The point is that maybe if we choose to lead a life of love and kindness, that our souls will continue on to inspire in another body as another life. After all, our human bodies are only temporary. Maybe if we do that, if our souls stay pure and good-hearted, we will be chosen to be reborn into life on earth to continue to make a difference. To change the lives of others along the way.

Notice there are a lot of "maybe's" in there...

Whether we are reincarnated, or sent to eternal life with God, or simply left to rest for eternity, it's not about what happens after we die. It's about what we do with our lives now, here, in the present. There are a lot of "what if's" when it comes to the after-life, but the during-life is what we can be certain of. We're all alive, but are we living. Are we looking past the material things and the petty things, and focusing on family, friends, relationships, happiness....the things we can hold onto forever. The things that we carry in our hearts, not our wallets or handbags. Focus on those things. Focus on being true to your soul.

Live a worthy life, moths. xoxo

Priority

For once I want to be someone's first choice:

The first person they tell when they have good news.

The first person they call when they have the blues. 

The first person they yearn for when their mind wakes.

The first person they think of when their heart aches.

The first person they trust with all of their secrets.

The first person they text when hopelessly sleepless. 

The first person they say they love when asked.

The first person they truly feel could be the last.

The first.

-b.m.

Pity

I almost feel sorry for 

little boys that feel like 

they need alcohol to 

get the courage just to 

text me at 3am. 

Honey, you could be 

drunk off of our 

love at 3am.

And he chose the bottle... 

Pity.

-b.m.

Ignition

You set a fire in my heart,

yet

                you're

afraid

             to

    get

                                  burned.

       

-b.m.

Rhythm

      She doesn't need someone else's music to dance.

She 

            sways

to  

              the 

rhythm 

         of

  her

              own
damn

              heart.

-b.m.

twenty one years

twenty one years i have lived.

i have grown.

have felt.

twenty one years i have not found love.

i have not received love.

have not made love.

twenty one years my heart has waited.

my heart has ached.

has yearned.

twenty one years of being polite.

of being supportive.

being patient.

twenty one years of suppressed words.

of suppressed feelings.

suppressed desires.

twenty one years without your eyes on mine.

without your hands on mine.

your lips on mine.

.

.

what will the next twenty one bring?

-b.m.

Ghosted

you had become a ghost,

a distant memory, slightly faded,

the words written in my journal.

i remember the night i told you goodbye.

when i yelled and screamed,

and promised that was the end of it. 

the nights that followed were cold.

too empty in the darkness, too alone,

the silence echoed. the tears whispered.

i learned to hear your name without crying. 

learned to smile at other men again.

 no longer searching for your face in theirs.

then i ran into you on the street one day and 

everything came pouring back. i hid it quite well 

behind the smile i had practiced. 

your smile. that smile that shook the ground

i stood on. the smile that i fell in love with. 

the one i tried so hard to forget.

i'd never felt love like what i had with you.

 it was indescribable. my heart ached from 

how hard it beat for you every day. 

i was a forest and you were a god damn match. 

carved from the same tree but you burned like hell 

and i was flammable.

you were ignited by our love. i was struck by 

the beauty and danger and raw power of your flame. 

until one day it burned out. 

and all that was left were ashes. dust left over from a 

wildfire. beneath, the embers still glowed with 

an unwavering passion.

i almost lost it. i almost broke like that god awful day. 

all of the pieces i glued back together, 

threatening to fall apart. 

but i didn't. we talked. mindless chit chat about

 how we've been. formalities. and then we parted. 

yet another goodbye.

i was left standing there in the street. processing. 

was he as broken as i was before? 

was he glued together like me?

i like to think so. that's the thing about love. 

it's excruciating. when you have it and after it's gone.

 a blessing and a curse. 

but it stays with us until we die. 

a score made on our hearts like tattoos of the past. 

they fade but never truly go away. 

we might have gone our separate ways, 

but we'll always have that. the love we shared. 

the kind they write books after. 

so once again you're a ghost,

a distant memory, slightly faded,

the words written in this poem.

always there, forever. 

-b.m.

Blind Courage

Good Evening, Moths. 

It is 1:30 in the morning. A time when one would normally be sleeping, refueling their body with tender sleep to prepare for the coming day. I, unfortunately, am not one of those lucky people. My soul calls for writing, and so I am here.......writing..

You see I have the mind of a highway at rush hour. Bustling with the noise of honking horns, or in my case, thoughts. Thoughts with the intention of arriving at some destination, but getting jammed with countless others, left to sit, rather impatiently, and fester. A traffic jam of the mind.

The only way to clear a traffic jam is to allow the cars to flow. And so shall my thoughts.

Metaphors aside, I do have one such thought that has earned the subject of tonight's post. And that thought is romanticized......well, romance. Let me set the stage:

It is a time before Facebook and Twitter and even the mighty Google. A time before a couple of clicks told you everything you needed to know about a person before even speaking a word to them. Bookstores were alive and visited often. (Yes, they used to have actual stores filled with actual books you could hold in your hands, as opposed to the electronic versions available on your kindle using one-click shopping on amazon that can be bought without so much as leaving your bed. Imagine that.) In order to truly get to know someone else, you had to talk in person. Take walks in the park. Get coffee together.

In this long lost world, there are two people talking to each other via online chatting. Neither know the identity of the other, they simply speak to one another willingly. They feel as if they truly connect with each other, despite never having met in person. They speak about books that make them feel some kind of way, thoughts they have over the course of a day, and so on. The woman owns a neighborhood bookstore, one she had inherited after the passing of her beloved mother. The man, quite ironically, is helping to open a big-chain bookstore across the way that inevitably leads to the downfall of the woman's dearly cherished store. Neither of them know how pivotal a role the other plays in their lives, and they even cross paths and interact on multiple occasions (with little warmth for another, of course.) The man finds out first who she is, he comes to the realization that she is everything he wants in his life, and fights to earn her affection. In the end they finally meet, and she simply says "I was so hoping it was you," after which they have the long awaited first kiss.

Some of you may be thinking, this kind of thing only happens in the movies. Well, you're absolutely right. I'll give you two big hints: the woman is Meg Ryan and the man is Tom Hanks.......

You've. Got. Mail.

The quintessential recipe for a classic romantic comedy, or rom com. As if "Sleepless in Seattle" wasn't enough, they had to go and make another one. If there's anything you need to know about me, it is 1) I am a utterly hopeless romantic who is convinced was born in the wrong decade, and 2) I am an absolute sucker for the sappy, predictable yet heart-wrenching movie genre known as rom coms. Nobody likes to admit they're a sucker for this stuff, but deep down we all are, don't lie to yourself...

Anyway, what was my point in all of this? Yes, the basis of this movie is totally cliche and probably unrealistic, but the idea that falling in love with someone's words rather than their looks is something worth delving into. It is such a foreign concept in today's technology driven world. There are apps where we "swipe left" or "swipe right" based solely on a person's image. We first judge a person's appearance before deciding whether they are worthy enough to start a conversation with, never have knowing whether they have a wealth of knowledge to share or a story worthy of telling. How many people have we passed on throughout our lives that may have been able to say the words you wish you could speak with someone else or discuss something you too are desperately passionate about? We'll never know the answer to that, but I can guarantee there have been a few.

We go through life thinking we know what we want in a person. We have an image ingrained in our minds early on of what our perfect match would look like and how tall they would be and how the story of how you two met would play out. We're so set on finding these attributes that a person who may be everything you'd hoped for is overlooked because they're a few inches too short or they're not what your parents envision for you. How can such minuscule infractions cause us to pass on even the tiniest chance of being with someone that gets you? Someone that understands you and all that you believe in? Someone who may love you?

I know, I know. Someone's been watching one too many romances lately. I'll try to tone down the dramatics.....In essence, love may be presented to you in many different forms. We just need to gather the courage to set aside our expectations of what it's supposed to look like, and deeply cherish having even the slightest chance of tasting what it is to love and be loved.

Have the courage, moths. xoxo

One Art

The art of losing isn't hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.

Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant
to travel. None of these things will bring disaster.

I lost my mother's watch. And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three loved houses went.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster.

--Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan't have lied. It's evident,
the art of losing's not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.


-Elizabeth Bishop

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?
.
.
.
.
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
.
.
.
.
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.