no experience fighting
speaking my words
changing your mind
I throw black tar at you
hoping it sticks
until it does
vomiting old wounds
without my mask
there’s nothing left
but burning guts
destruction looks ugly
and so do I
you run from me
now a villainous fool
as I cover myself
folding up again
swallowing my poison
with a glass of wine
look away
as I blow madly
through your words
rustling assumptions
shifting pride
bending anger
I’m bigger than before
buffeted by light
swaying sideways
not a delicate breeze
I’m a woman
“As full of spirit as the month of May, and as gorgeous as the sun in Midsummer.”
—William Shakespeare
Today we celebrated May Day by watching a group of 8th grade students dance around in the pouring rain. It was a lovely morning and a wonderful reminder of beauty and connection. I hope you enjoy these photos and let me know if you have a favorite.
my clenched words released
burn holes in the good pillows
where my mascara ran
where I slept propped up
where you don’t see me
I can’t shapeshift anymore
my grandmother’s lava burns
where hands pressed down
where softness was cut out
where I hit the window
slow my words down
float upon the current
where light seeps in
where questions are pain
where the answer is love
“It is at the edge of the
petal that love waits.”
—William Carlos Williams
I’ve been having a lot of big feelings lately and so today I present to you a distraction in the form of flowers, cute animals, and one shot from the prom photos I took last Friday. Let me know if you have a favorite and I hope you have a great day.
Here are some of my favorite photos from my birthday trip to Dillion Beach. This trip was about connection and reflection. Cloud cover allowed for only one sunset and it was an odd one. The sun flattened to a bowl shape and was swallowed by the sea. I found it inspiring and somehow fitting for the place I am right now. Bring on weird!
Let me know if you have a favorite photo.
“I cannot make you understand. I cannot make anyone understand what is happening inside me. I cannot even explain it to myself.”—Franz Kafka
The power of the pink moon wakes me. Stumbling out of bed, I wander barefoot through half-lit rooms looking through distorted glass while my eyes attempt to adjust. What if I let them stay blurry? What if I simply see what’s there? Maybe beauty does exist in the imperfections. The flowers tell me so. I follow the sounds to the beach and surrender.
“Oh moon, I have begun
to envy you
your terrifying
powers”
—Henry Virgin
The fourth full moon of the year arrived on my birthday while on vacation at Dillion Beach. The moon proved elusive and all my photos turned out distorted. I had no choice but to embrace the imperfections and play with them.
Let me know if you have a favorite. These photos were taken with an Olympus OM-D and edited with ON1 Photo RAW.
I write because I want to understand. I write because I don’t understand. I write anyway. I write to think. I write to feel. I write because my body is mostly water.
I write to translate water. I write like I’m swimming. I write deeper and deeper to find my breath. I write to remember I never lost it. I write the silence of being underwater. I write rhythm. I write tides. I write endless grains of sand. I write to honor the twisting cypress trees and my grandmothers. I write because the moon doesn’t give up on me. I write because I don’t give up on me.
I write because I was a child with an imaginary friend. I write to remember her. I write to remember me. I write stories moving through my body. I write to hold them tighter. I write to let them go.
I write because you didn’t see me. I write because you did. I write to hold your hand in the dark. I write a thousand tiny hearts in the margin of my notebook.
I write to play. I write to dance. I write because a song made me cry.
I write because I’m afraid I’ll forget everything. I write because I’m afraid I’ll be forgotten. I write to leave my children pieces of me to hold onto when I’m gone.
I write because the world is filled with contradictions. I write because I’m filled with contradictions.
I write to understand how gravity and time change depending on who I stand beside. I write as one who has been hurt and who has hurt others. I write to understand forgiveness.
I write because my fingers and jaw need to unclench. I write because the wind told me to.
I write because of beautiful journals and smooth pens. I write because words cost nothing and I’m broke. I write lies. I write truths. I write as if you have been by my side the entire time.
I write because I hope you will like me. I write because it doesn’t matter if you do.
I write even though the words must be extracted with bloody fingertips and it hurts and I get angry. I write certain you will figure out I’m a fraud, but hoping you won’t care. I write because sometimes I touch something like spirit, like source, and it’s intoxicating. I write because we are all this vulnerable.
I write as one who learns and forgets over and over. I write as if I’m going to never stop. I write because someday I will.
I write because words, like me, are imperfect, and yet I still love them.
My good friend Neil challenged his readers to write a list of why they write. I turned 47 today and I decided to celebrate it by answering. I’d be honored if you took up his call and wrote your own list. Let me know if you do and thank you for reading.
yesterday sunlight told me
put away winter things
pay attention to thirst
grass wants to be green
yesterday body told me
old stories can die
swallow up light
trust what flowers say
today I listen
This is my final Washington photography post and it’s of the iconic Pike Place Market. If you’ve never been, it’s a daily market known for its produce and fish-throwing vendors. In my opinion, these are the best photos I’ve ever taken. I usually focus on macro shots, but I’m learning to step back and let the scene tell a story. I’m excited to see this growth in myself and look forward to continuing to learn new skills.
To those who have visited all six posts, thank you. This trip felt transformative to me in a way I’m not sure I understand yet. Next week is my birthday and I always get introspective this time of year. I’m not writing my novel, I’ve not published anything yet, but I’m still creating. Maybe that’s enough.
“…and then, I have nature and art and poetry, and if that is not enough, what is enough?” —Vincent van Gogh
Can you believe I didn’t get a single photo of the Space Needle? Neither can I. Next time…
Bridgette Tales 