The Door

Flat broke that is what she was. The greyish door stared at her. The door dared her to enter; a place no missionary daughter would be; not even in a nightmare.

Her money problems were a nightmare. A nightmare that never ended, with her deadbeat boyfriend, to boot. He was more interested in smoking pot than seeking employment.

The door eyed her with a sense of mystery. So, did the men who walked swiftly by her. She blushed with embarrassment.

Her breath was caught up in her throat. Smoke stuck in a chimney. She was panicked.

Her feet were burning to run as if she stepped on fire ants on her parent's property.

She grabbed the knob she imagined vines wrapping around her wrist. She could not turn back now. She was trapped at least mentally.

She nearly tiptoed inside for a peek at what her father would call Satan's Underground. Sweat curled around her fingernails for dear life.

Suddenly, the door of escape seemed four oceans away. However, as her thoughts swam, she saw eyes. A pair of sea green vixen eyes were full of brazen sultry adventure.

The foxy girl had a millionaires smile but her eyes were solid ice and glossed over due to having so many notorious drinks.

The money called her name like the apple that summoned Eve, like the door it was calling her in gentle soft tones.

Lap dancers were going on in the corner. The men were transfixed like little boys looking through a kalaidescope tube. They watched the colors fall and flesh arise in a methodical rhythm.

A purple G string was filled with a 20 dollar bill. The girl flashed a row of pearlescent teeth. However, the piper needed payment. The eyes of steel never smiled.

"Interested, in a job?" A man's voice asked staring at her as he sized her up to the nearly nude girls on either side of her.

The door mocked her, asking her what she was doing in this place if not for wanting a job.

She screamed curiosity. Without thinking she jolted through the door. Yes, she was broke but she silenced the door, her beauty was priceless.

Wandering with odd steps, I make my move.

My future but glass underneath my unsteady feet.

Vines of uncertainty clasp my hands tight forcing me to gulp air that is no where to be found.

The toll of fate must be paid, eyes from a pirate troll gypsy whisper mumblings of consequences and fate.

I give the female creature a bit of my soul to pass. What stupid thing have I done? I wonder as a piece of me is missing. An ache is in me I have never known before.

The glass under my feet is now in shards and I bleed. The snakes are drinking my blood in full glory. Like vampires in a frenzy, but I continue on.

Bleeding and wounded I meet a man, in a valley where my despair ever deepens.

His sly sinister smile drew me in. He danced with me my feet became hot my dress a flamed in ash and soot. Was there no end?

I cried in anguish I was exhausted from this tango of insanity.

I screamed for dear life.

I awoke in my bed I now l lay. My sheets soaked of my sweat and dismay.

My nightdress smelled like soot and ash, not like my lavender bath.

A reminder not everything in life is at it seems in the wanderings of Nod.

I would not sell myself for a future of glimmer and flight, for dancing with the devil is quite a fright.

Surrounded by your love makes my beauty shine I never want to go away from your presence of your grace when the troubles of life spins and twirls.

I want to be the ink on your canvass. You are the feather to my quill. My joy in the chalice of my heart, has overfilled the dark crevasses where poison of past mistakes have lurked about.

With your Thu'm of love you shouted them out. You are my magicka replacement that heals me when I walk.

You are my Lydia with whom I talk; let the guards scoff and mock.

Signatures of false pretence have killed me. A pirate drowning in a sea. Grace is amazing! Let me sing I am now free.

To love when the fault in my galaxy is an abyss of the unknown. Through gruesome trials I have grown. Inner peace so blatantly shown.

You are the joy that gives flight to my broken wing. Let our love always be like spring, this I pray.

For, I alone, am yours. Until, I meet Jesus on those shining shores.

Hallelujah and Amen. Men like you are rare and few. They exist, until now I never knew, until destiny brought me you.

I wonder what I am supposed to be? There are a million things I have done. I crave something real. Beyond, the confusion only one thing stands; everything is surreal but lasts and is the only thing in life, so go ahead face the pain of falling in love, it's missed because love is the only thing to die for, live it up in love.

I was broken; a shell smashed against the vicious rocks of life. Men, stole the precious pieces that lay in the sand thinking it would not matter.

I was abandoned and as the sea of shame washed over me time and time again, I became stuck muddied now and friends would avoid me because I was jagged along my edges.

One day, a shy but noble prince was walking upon this beach and he spotted my jagged half of shell sticking out of the mire. I was entangled with seaweed of doubt.

He carefully unwrapped the seaweed around the centre of me.

He then left, thinking for sure my past and brokenness were too much for him to take-in.

Months had come and gone and I longed for his shadow to overcome me, to watch his black hair dance in the sunlight.

Then one day he scooped me up, took me beyond the crags and carried me to the surf, he carefully, washed me and he took a little brush and removed all the sand. I was most happy for it was eating away at my polished, glossy coating.

Then he carefully placed me into a pouch. I became afraid, where am I going? I asked myself. I was being bounced and shook.

I heard a bang and some shuffling and before I knew it, his tender hand lifted me beyond the blackness of the pouch and then what seemed like sand being sifted, he turned me around and to my amazement I saw all my missing pieces!

The glue was hot and uncomfortable but he would talk to me as he carefully re-attached my pieces.

He would make new pieces if the part of me was too damaged and he carefully painted my design on the new pieces he would create.

After, many months and years the work was complete.

I was then put on a shelf. I loved it because I got to watch The Maker rescue other shells. We were the rarest and most beautiful.

We would have long talks and everyday He would tell me how much He loved me.

I was loved and adored. To Him I was his most precious procession. Then one day He took me off the shelf and placed me back into the pouch, I became very afraid, what if he was going to put me back in the ocean again?

My thoughts began to race, he whispered my name and suddenly I had peace.

It was a long time before I saw light I almost forgot what the sun looked like, but I was The Maker.

Finally, he stopped and were were in Heaven, He placed me in the hands of a little girl, and He told me that like me she would go through the very same thing. So, she held unto me, as a reminder that the Maker loved her.

I did not always like having the Maker change me into something beautiful, but when I see the way she looks at me, it was all worth it, and as for the girl, she met a man that let her see the Maker and she is a beautiful shell where love can freely live.

Desperation seized me. Drowning in a sea of domestic instability. Prayers to heaven; whispered intently. No escape. No cape to fly. No answers to the sighs of my heartbeat. No retreat from inner and outer pain. My loss was his gain.

I awoke with sanity written with a pen called Destiny. To my computer I flew. A profile I made. I would wade through hundreds of pictures. Discerning, ever listening to the still small voice. Knowing one day I would rejoice. My choices would once again be mine. Was I worthy of love? Would the dove of my soul really once again fly? I had to try. I saw his picture. His perfection made my soul look sicker. He could never love me. I'm unlovable don't you see. One cliff one jump. One hurdle, one stump to stumble over. My gruesome past he must know. Can I be real, surrender the mask and let him see the scars that have marred my once innocent spirit? I kept on revealing it all. The great and small caverns and caves of my heart. I let his light give me a new start.

He took compassion to a new height, this mountain of glory my eyes watered as he gave me the cloak of unconditional love. He nicknamed me his butterfly.

His love fits me like a perfect glove. In his presence I never have to twist or shove to belong. He forgave all my wrong. A new song I can sing, oh, so merrily.

The bad dreams have ceased. My pain eased. This never foreseen. Love has set me free, my life full of victory, blessed with positivity.

I do not have a cape that can rip and tear. I have wings of love what truly can compare?

He is mine and I am his. Awakened was I to true love's first kiss. I am loved simply as I am.

A ring of diamonds now sits; a reminder that even coal has beauty within. He saw the diamond in the rough. I am no longer tough. I hung up the gloves. I surrendered it all. He took down my fortress walls. Just by accepting my smile. For him I would walk an eternity's mile.

Anyone, including me, can be loved, yes, even beyond what the heart can hold. Let love be the voice you believe, in life's journey you like me, will forever have a song to sing. Let love unmask you. So, your grey skies can turn blue. Anyone, can love the real you.

I think writing opens your heart to places it has never been. Writing takes your soul higher and allows you to feel without having to say a single word.

There is an emotional cleansing to writing and makes you feel more alive than never before.

You actually get to know a glimpse of a higher power when writing fiction and there is an adrenaline rush to this power.

You change other people if you dare allow them to read the words you have written.

You become more attune to yourself and to those around you. You can spark up romance and have people gaze up at you in awe when you tell them you are a writer because we are a breed alone.

Write to discover. Write to explore. Write because you can. The most powerful freedom is freedom of the press.

Twirling, and Dancing

Working, and Slaving

Rejoicing with laughter ever sweetly

Hating the moments that sneer at me diabolically mixed with bitter rejection, that mocks my very existence.

Keenly aware that I am one with myself. Never, again putting my talent on a shelf.

I dare and conquer with bloody sinew of my past slaughtered with victory.

Making the naysayers ghosts of my torrid past history.

Today, with chalk in hand I handle with care the black slate of grace to begin my journey of writing once again.

The vigorous moment of realization of change with every participle I scratch someone can be changed. They can begin their span of their freedom march. With soaring banners of peace within themselves.

My cave my hovel of no majestic art or flakes of gold are found. Happy I am for the wells of life now spring forth.

A starving artist indeed I am. I am blessed evermore and never am I damned though many reprimand my choice of life and how they love to spread their strife.

Nevermore, my pen becomes a sword and with it there heads lay at my feet.

I am a writer, I never submit to the defeat answer the roll call. For now I stand tall with the wind at my back, and my face tilted in the rays of light. Everyday, is a moment a challenge but my pen is a sword my paper my breast plate this warrior of words she will be alright.

Fireworks bold and gorgeous; can set our world a glow. I wonder though the inner fireworks of our hearts and souls, are they just dangerous words that explode and send people whirling with invisible burns?

We each have a light in us to make the world more beautiful, and yes fireworks are dangerous. Is not the danger worth it for the beauty? Maybe we should challenge ourselves to be the wonder in the world we want to see. Sure, it is dangerous, but as we explode into the colours we were chosen to be we override danger to arrive in our destiny.

We explode into brilliance as we soar above our circumstances. This is truly our calling, and sure we will not soar every time we are lit, our package may be a bit faulty, but we can keep trying, this is the gift of being human. Every day, we get to be the firework we were created to be.

Do we dare to burst into the sky and remain among the stars, or are we going to sit in the sand and be washed away by our circumstances that wet us down, are we going to be too fearful for us to be lit to shine. Sure, it is scary to soar, but I would rather soar, than just know I have potential and never use it for the benefit of others.