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
Wednesday, March 22, 2017
Sunday, March 5, 2017
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
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
Thursday, March 2, 2017
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.
Wednesday, March 1, 2017
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
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
Wednesday, February 22, 2017
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.
Tuesday, February 14, 2017
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.
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.
Saturday, February 11, 2017
Adventure Is Out There
Hello, moths!
This is a different post from the ones I have created so far, but I have spent the better half of my Saturday watching youtube videos, and this one absolutely astounded me--I had to share! The combination of unbelievable images and hair-raising music quite literally brought me to tears from the spectacularity of it all. Life is just so amazing. The things we can capture today with video cameras absolutely astounds me. We are able to see into the most wild places on earth without interfering in any kind of way. Video footage like this inspires me to take my own camera and capture things no one else has thought to capture. To see things in a way no one else has though to see them. And my God am I determined to do that, because I can do anything I want to do with my life. I am in control. I will see the world in all its glory, and I cannot wait to do so! The Planet Earth series, among many, is what has inspired me to become a wildlife conservationist so that wildlife, as seen in this video, will continue to exist in all their raw beauty for generations to come. This is my passion. This is what I was put on this planet to do. My raison d'être.
Here's to a life of adventures, to a life of passion, moths. xoxo
Wednesday, February 8, 2017
Masterpiece
She watched life from
A distance,
Never getting too close.
She was met with
Indifference--
Outside the wind blows.
But within her shines a
Bright light,
Merely kept at bay.
Like stars decorating a
Dark night--
Invisible during the day.
She wonders if anyone
Truly knows,
The sparkle that she hides.
Or the hypnotic way her
Blood flows--
Like the moon to ocean tides.
Until then she has made
A vow,
A promise to her heart.
To lose herself she won't
Allow--
An eternal work of art.
-b.m.
A distance,
Never getting too close.
She was met with
Indifference--
Outside the wind blows.
But within her shines a
Bright light,
Merely kept at bay.
Like stars decorating a
Dark night--
Invisible during the day.
She wonders if anyone
Truly knows,
The sparkle that she hides.
Or the hypnotic way her
Blood flows--
Like the moon to ocean tides.
Until then she has made
A vow,
A promise to her heart.
To lose herself she won't
Allow--
An eternal work of art.
-b.m.
Monday, February 6, 2017
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.
.
.
.
.
.
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
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.
.
.
.
.
.
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
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