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 Nov 2024 Pagan Paul
Sarah Kruger
I often wonder whether I am failing myself but then I remember the girl I once was the one who was always the third wheel who carefully planned out and calculated her words only to be talked over when she finally spoke the one who was bullied by her first grade teacher who hated her looks and despised her body
who stared blankly into space until her mind was elsewhere the one who was called useless after trying her best throwing kindness like confetti at people who couldn't care less what would be the look on her face if she found out that I am working at a summer camp as happy as could be holding out my hand rather than being walked over cracking jokes without fear choking me to death opening the lid to my box a little more each day if only I could have washed her tears away hugged her and told her it will be okay
 Nov 2024 Pagan Paul
Sarah Kruger
my dad used to say all of the songs were about being seventeen young and sweet, wind in your hair, excitement in your veins and I thought wow, that means seventeen could be my year will my fairy godmother spare a wish? can my rags of hopelessness finally sparkle? maybe seventeen is the excuse I need to be brave to take the shot in the dark if it means finding light to cross the unbeaten path even though tree roots are out to get me to express the love flowing in the canyons of my heart to stop closing doors as quickly as I open them my age is young, but my dreams are old with this next chapter comes stories untold
I've had 536,457,600 seconds of air and don't want to waste one more
 Nov 2024 Pagan Paul
Sarah Kruger
she casts her pencil like a wand as magic soaks into the page her flannel cascades around her work, shielding it from curious eyes she tilts her head to listen to the lecture, but her heart is elsewhere running through castles and stumbling through candle lit streets colors tangle to mirror the expanse of her dreams she shares her soul with every meticulous stroke each face blessed by her style but never the same when she designs she never aims for perfection for she knows perfect is just a fancy way of saying flawed she erases and redraws as if her art could never satisfy her desires it can always be better but it is never good enough if only she knew I meant it when I told her I loved her drawing her art speaks to me like Mona Lisa never could
Healing your mind and soul requires personal distance
from a world that does not provide the nutrient of peace
Sit quietly by the waterfall and entrench yourself in it
take the journey of self, allow your  thoughts to blossom
beneath God's parapet, lies the resurgence of still life

Healing your body is an aftermath of wholesome assembly
drink from the waters of obsolete and be that empty vessel
that holds space with everything and everyone, ...
Do not move nor speak, just breathe and be immortal  
inside this magic hour you will find,  the breath of life

Extinguish the embers of your burning fire, take time
to sift through your feelings,  allow them to take flight
Permit the dusk to settle and allow the dawn to rise
for they were both created for tomorrows afterglow
heal your mind, soul & body, remain in the flow..
Must be so simple to express
there is simply no reason to distress
More comes close to being less
Less becomes more as I say it
It comes out as with how I breathe
the gardens will bloom the same.

how is the reality inside your mind
are you surprised with what you find
sweeten the sourness if you get bitten inside
It is exactly where we live whole time
Why is it filled up with so much grime
Are we really exactly who we claim.

To pluck the courage, it is the right stage
no matter who comes, who encourage
anything happens, no reason to rage
It's natural that we leave the world
the rhythm keeps up even without a girl
Without ego, we are part of this chain.
the ocean dreams...
colours like burnt kisses,
the blue mist tangles the air.
the shore shook out its creases
like old linen, fell under
the tumbling wave.
i drank the silence,
walking where the moon,
carried along by the song
of a ripple, dipped
her feet in the foam,
dancing, dancing...
beneath her ivory tongue,
a glistening jewel,
her alabaster skin
night's whitest rose,
and where the stars
wrapped december in
ghosts and the
gleaming water was the
quietest echo of love,
i could no longer bear
to be alone, and my tears
were the wilderness
and how it grew inside me,
and everything i loved was there
the wave carrying the wind
and i felt alive, as joyful
as the silver shore, a dark-pooled
painting of you, a river-eyed song.
 Nov 2024 Pagan Paul
Jill
Your cruel words are cursory
Mean less than null to me

Don’t need a PhD
Learnt more in nursery

Sweet song of ‘helping me’
No more than sophistry

Pick out the forgery
Lies with no artistry

Flowing in, eyeless grin
Sugary medicine

Gaslighting, infighting
Snarl under strobe-lighting

Saccharine blathering
Indolent flattering

Backhanded compliments
Heard without inner sense

I reject totally
Self-slighting sorcery

Callous affrontery
Bankrupting bursary

I have observed more
Preserved more

Have learned more
Deserve more

Have value
Don't argue

Can trust me
I must be

Enough being
just, me

So hear me,
my dear me,
coz now we agree

I am worthy
©2024

BLT Webster’s Word of the Day challenge (cursory) date 3rd November 2024. Done or made quickly.
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