I Just Have a Soul Full of Ladybugs.

inspired by a prompt yesterday via Blissdom Wisdom Workshops

I just have... wildflowers in my heart

I just have... poetry pouring out of a hole in my head.

I just have... eyes that are puffy from tears I hold back. Or the tears I can't.

I just have....love etched on my arms.

I just have... a soul full of ladybugs, butterflies, and songbirds.



I just have....aching, papery skin that shrinks away from touch.

I just have...fireworks of longing going off inside me, hues of purple, pink, and orange.

I just have...spiderwebs in places that I've left closed off for years.

I just have...a stomach that stays knotted up like some old rope on a ship.

I just have...an empty womb where swan songs were once sung.

I just have...a heaviness that's too big to hold.

I just have...brown eyes that want to see inside you, see if you're real.

I just have...an angry tendency to compare.

I just have...so much love for others, yet so little for myself.

Poetry or Utter Crap? You Decide.

In a pile of fall leaves I gingerly sit
So much hidden under their crunchy blanket
The words I want don't come. Not a single sound.
Except inside my heart still pounds pounds pounds.

Why did you call me here?
My heart whispers a warning in my ear.
What do you want, you fool?
Because I am trying to be done with you.

Important words left unsaid
The pulsing and ringing in my head
A door slamming in my face--
But really, who's been disgraced?

Even in my dreams I cannot escape
The swift current of your wake
I'm angry. I want you to go.
Unless you can give me all you've got, put on a show.

I will not fall prey anymore--
Be your victim or wallow on the floor
I'm done with the charade.
I'm calling it----"A spade is a spade."

Really bad poetry and letting go

Things in a tall stack
That were neat and nicely wrapped
Soft ribbons that curled
Gradually her boxed emotions begin to unfurl

Bits and pieces of some time ago
That she thought she'd let go
Maybe swept under the rug among the dust bunnies
Hidden, but not forgotten.

The pieces are starting to fit together
Memories, experiences, conversations, situations---
Molded her, shaped her.
And were set aside in shiny, perfect packages.

She can't let go. She hoards them all.
And there she sits, surrounded by gifts she's afraid to open.
Not knowing which to open first, what will be inside...
But knowing that she has to act in order to survive.


Do you think we can ever truly let go of things? What does letting go even mean? Is letting go the same as "forgive & forget?" If we forgive, do we have to forget? CAN we forget?