Can’t shut my eyes
Can’t miss a sound
Even if it’s lies
I want to hear it—I found

I catch titles, labels
Can’t stand that
My head is wired with cables
But I feel like an acrobat

Balancing between
Either being unheard
Or unseen
"Politics" is just a word

But it makes me grasp for air
Whenever I hear it voiced
Perceive it as if I am not there
Yearning to belong and be rejoiced

Nevertheless, I pay attention
To all the names and surnames
I feel a tension
My brain’s on fire, I can’t calm the flames

The butter melts onto the hot iron pan, sizzling and popping like a firework.
Each motion is a release, a kind of 'lacher prise,' as the French would say.
My heart warms with the love infused into every spice.
Just one carefully measured dash and the dish is just right.
In a kind of enchantment, I practice the art of cooking, laying my heart bare onto the heated metal.
I move swiftly and gently, letting the days worries settle.
I twirl and sway in the act of creation; little compares to the moment of elation.
My spirit hums softly, keeping me in good spirits and laughter as the light gradually dims in my kitchen and the day quietly slips away.
Here in my element, nothing seems to stand in my way.
Thoughts begin to pour forth effortlessly as each dish is polished and stored with care.
Here in the quiet and peaceful moment, I can hope, I can dare.
A touch of kitchen magic has gently enveloped my mind in bliss.
Embracing the elements to set my mind free, grounding me while releasing the tension, allowing me to simply--be.

-Rhia Clay

I have invested too much effort in rebuilding my sanctuary to let fools throw stones at it or to allow them to break its windows.
I am unafraid to walk my path alone.
What I fear is letting the wrong individuals into my garden.
The mere presence and toxic energy of some people can uproot what has taken years to cultivate.
I will tend to my garden and watch my soul thrive.
I will take back my voice.
After all, this is my life.

-Rhia Clay

I should be sleeping now.
I should be quiet, yet my mind is noisy with your words,
scattered, my longing goes unheard.
I should not be wide awake,
aching for your touch.
As many times as our lips meet,
it could never be enough.
What have you left me with?
A thirst for your hands,
entwined with mine.
At times, I feel that not being with you is simply a waste of time.
Hold me like tomorrow may never come.
Lay with me, dear, as our indiscretions are none.

-Rhia Clay