HOW...to write about what you wish to say.

I don't express my feelings very easily. I will stutter over my words and I will get frustrated. I do know that the three easiest words for me lately have been "I love you." Never thought I would ever truly use those words and really mean them from the deepest part of my soul as I do now. My soul aches for this person when he isn't near and skin gets chills when he kisses my neck. He creates a stir in me that I'm gradually learning to accept as real love. AND I'M ENJOYING EVERY SINGLE MINUTE OF IT.
So, with that said here is the easiest way for me to write my true feelings....because sometimes the easiest three little words are just not enough.

What’s a love letter?

I guess it goes a little like this….

            Dear love,

            I am here for you,

            I breathe you,

            I laugh with you,

                        and smile because of you.

            I smile at the sound of your name

                        next to mine.

            I wish on stars

                        that cross the sky in bright maps.

            I write

                        because you create a flutter inside my

                                    soul like miniature butterflies.

            I dream of you

                        when the world goes black and silent.

            I dance with you,

 step by step.

            I am here for you,

            I breathe you,

            I love you.

                        Forever yours, eternally.

                       

When you write about unhappy memories....

Like I've said before, I write what I know. Yeah, it's not always pleasant-it doesn't make you all "warm and fuzzy inside." Sometimes your own voice needs to be heard. Well, sometimes you just need to write to heal-and that's what I do.
*I've experienced sexual abuse as a child, by family, and I will forever be changed.*

ABUSE PART 1

Clammy feet stick to the floor
one
     by
         one
he creeps through the night.

Eyelids flutter in her dream state and
she
     awakens
                 to
the sound of bare feet treading heavy.

Sweaty palms caress the door knob,
he
   licks
          his
lips in need of her-his forbidden temptation.

She sits up slowly in her bed,
folds
      her
           knees
to her chest in fear-her incessant nightmare.


ABUSE PART 2

I create lists-
black, brown, purple, yellow.
That's what bruises
look like-in stages.
He presses his fingers into
my skin,
as I beg him to stop,
through sobs and scratches.
His frantic fingers dig harder
and harder into me.
That's when I go numb
                                  and lose myself.

Write so people will listen....

There are so many things going on in our world today. Why not write what you know and write with purpose? I have an enormous respect for children and those that are less fortunate than I. I only hope this poem creates a stir in you and you take up arms to be that voice for someone other than yourself.

 Kaleidoscope

Frail, pixie-like

            and born to dream

                        and dance.

            Confined

to her mechanical bed

            at Saint Jude

                        still smiling sweetly.

The rope

            burns

                        as he makes

                                    a decision

                                                to end the taunting.

The sign

            hammered into

                        the soft earth

            after a soggy Kentucky rain.

                        Another family

                                    and their emptied

                                                American dream

                                    turns into

                        a cramped home

            made by Ford.

Handcuffs press into her

            swollen wrists

                        sitting, chin buried

                                    in her chest

                                                a second offense.

                                    Her baby

                        at home with

            daddy, who bruises.

                        She only needed an escape

            from the unemployment line

and the boy who said

            I Love You, but lied

                        and only left purple on her skin

                                    and made her baby cry.

Another night,

            alcohol brushing the back

                        of his throat

                                    drowning in the

                                                memory of her

                                                            and the way she

                                                                        smiled

                                                                        before

                                                                        her body

                                                                        sank  

                                                                        further

                                                                        into the

                                                                        ground         

                                                                                    and people

                                                                                                walked

                                                                                                            away, already forgetting.

Humanity still feels,

BUT

is afraid

            to stand up for children,

                        is judgmental

                                    of criminals society has created.

                                    Humanity still feels,

                                    BUT

                                                it’s time to give

                                                            each life a voice.                                        

HOW to write what you feel....and mean it.

The best part of writing is knowing your own heart. You don't have to know the hearts of others. You only need to be sure of your own. I've made mistakes like anyone else. (Especially in relationships.) All I know is, if you give up hope that there is someone out there perfect for you....I pity you. Never give up hope and NEVER EVER settle for less than you deserve. Here is my latest poem.

You Move

I feel my soul

move-

creating flames

by the touch of

your hands-

sighing with

every sweet word

you breathe-

every new moment

is cherished and stored

in my memory-

a library of books

with fresh pages

telling a new story-

the story about how

you moved my very existence.

An excerpt from my young adult novel...in progress!!!

Here is an excerpt from Janie's POV in my novel, Shadows of the Heart. This is a supernatural young adult novel that I have been working on while in Graduate school. Hope you enjoy this... :) 

My journal is still open to a blank page. I need to write something. A memory. My mother told me, “If there comes a time in your life when you feel there is a blank page, either glimpse into the future, or travel back to memories.”

October 2010

Memories. I have many of those. The first one that comes to mind is this –It was a day in the middle of winter. The snow had fallen and there was just enough to leave footprints. I was sixteen years old. The scent of fresh pine needles brushing against my sleeve and my wicker basket. I told father that I was picking holly leaves. I found them intriguing. I wanted to make a wreath for our mantle; a gift for the two of them. I came upon a Holly tree and lying beneath was a red ribbon in the snow. The ribbon was silk and was long enough to wear wrapped in someone’s hair. I looked around, but no one was there. I tied it to the basket and began picking holly leaves. The only part about picking those leaves is the sharp edges that sting. I wanted to make that wreath and I wanted it to be perfect. The basket was finally full and I decided to look for sturdy branches. When that was all done I began walking home. I realized I hadn’t come alone. There were paw prints in the snow. They were large and followed behind me until it stopped a few feet back from the holly tree. Beads of sweat gathered on my lip and forehead. I couldn’t make out what kind of animal this was or why it had followed without hurting me. Then a branch broke just behind me. I turned slowly to see a white wolf breathing steadily into the cold air. His eyes were hazel and he stared into mine as if he knew me. Looking back now, I cannot tell you why I didn’t run. I only reached out and placed my hand on his head. He leaned into me and breathed in and out deeply and slowly. I stood there a long time almost afraid to move; not because I was scared of him, but because I felt as if he was lonely. His nose pushed into my side nudging me away. It was almost as if he knew that I needed to go. As soon as I turned to leave he howled and I ran and didn’t look back.

-That’s all I remember from that day. It was frighteningly beautiful. The wolf was there with a purpose that day. He was protecting me from Nicholas. I didn’t know Nicholas then, he only knew of me.

Janie G.

            I closed the journal and then my eyes. The air had gotten colder and there was a fire burning close by. A nearby neighbor burning fall leaves. It’s such a shame to burn what has fallen from trees. I love to hear the sound of leaves crushed beneath my feet. The feeling of lying down on cool earth and twirling a leaf between your fingertips while the sky holds new sun is a perfect moment. A peaceful moment. Something I have wished for, for a very long time. When I open my eyes, I see Daniel sitting below on the picnic table. His heart is steady and his breathing is steady. His mood, dark. No doubt in my mind that I am the cause of this. I have shut him out because I love him. He deserves to know the truth, but he deserves life more than truth.

OK...I write what I know...MOSTLY!!!

I write what I know for the most part. What do I know the best, myself. This should be easy right? Well, not so much when you are as complicated as they come. If you get me in person and talk to me, I'm witty and pretty smart (...or as my mama says, "smart ass."). Now, if you want to get to know me on an intimate level...of any kind...that's where the difficulty comes in. I hold back to some degree because expressing myself comes better on the page. Take your time to get to know me. If you are willing and strong enough...you will survive. :)

When the Flames Burn

Steam rolls,

twists,

and curves

through my

fingertips

and into

                        the darkness.

Water falls

beneath

my toes

and soaks

into

                                    immersed, naked

skin.

The flames

burn around

me.

Small, flickerings

of light, no sound,

but memories.

                                    The water

                                     grows cold,

                                                   like the ice

you left

in my veins.

SO...When you write from the POV of a teenage girl who stutters.

I have many projects going at this time. My latest is a novel in verse from the POV of a teen girl that stutters. This may or may not cause a brief chuckle out of some, but I am being very serious. I didn't want to go for the cliched "chubby" girl, with "four eyes," and the so-called "metal mouth." Although, I just described what life was like for me for a while. I could've taken that approach. However, a beautiful, athletic girl who struggles every day of her life with the fact that her speech is impaired. What an idea, I thought. A teen girl who had it all, but not the words to express herself. The novel plays itself out in a humorous, yet sad kind of way.....worth the read...HOPEFULLY!!! :)
With all that said...Here is the opening poem. Enjoy!

Me in a Nutshell

I stutter.

Maybe not here, in this journal.

BUT,

I stutter.

A cute guy passes and talks to me

I just wave and giggle.

What kind of guy…

no wait, what cute guy

wants a girl who stutters?

Well, let me tell you, none.

They only laugh at me.

So, I stick with my friends.

I mean, I’m not a total outcast.

I’m the flyer on our cheerleading squad,

I’m on yearbook staff,

and I enjoy going to school dances.

Problem is,

no one will date a girl

who stutters.

I’ve never had a boyfriend.

Never been kissed.

Never

Been

Kissed.