Welcome to my Inner Gold.
Inner gold written by Robert Johnson is one of my favorite books.
My inner gold is my souls writings, my life experiences and how I interpret the world. Sharing this with you both excites me and terrifies me. I’m holding space for you to enter my deepest thoughts that are often flooded with emotion. Hold it gently, dear reader. My hope is that you will find solace in knowing you are not alone.
Holding space for Trauma.
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The Whisper of My Body
I lie awake, longing for the dayWhen I rise again without delay.Without the price looming over my head that just won’t go away,Reminding me what I’m not, every single day. I’m not strong enough yet, I’m not ready yet—I will break.But what if I just try? What then?I ask this body, who has seen unblemished…
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Mom
Mom. The name that tastes like vinegar and feels like a strange wind escaping my lips. The name that should have held safety but was a giver of fear. For how can I expect you to hold, when you were never held. A mother is as a mother was unless she learns to listen to…
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Games
Games, oh the games you play. Trying to make my head spin, for me to look the other way. Away from the lies you tell: the pity me, look at me, help me. Trapped. Trapped inside a cage of words, can’t get free, I’m in too deep. You saw my softness and exploited it, you…
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My garden; my soul
I see a garden in front of me, what is this garden, what do I seek? Is it mine, yes, I feel familiarity. Why does it look unmanaged, unkept; not dying, just not really alive either. I walk the long rows where blooms should be, To find nothing but soil starting back at me. It’s…
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Panic
By dusks break and quiet sound, I hear my mind growing loud. The time for slumber will never come, not while it continues its odious hum. A hum so violent I shake with fear, wondering if my soul is equally as near. And if it is, why does it not start, waking me from this…
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A poem about trauma
You say I’m important, you say the words. Do you mean them? Or are they a facade? Who are you? and what am I to you? Is this a game, merely to earn your fame? when does it end, is there an end? Am I to make an end? How you truly feel, I’ll never…
Holding space for reflection.
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Take me back
Take me back to that Australian summer day when the heat prickled my arms and the sounds echoed that I was no longer in the winter of the US. I remember stepping outside of the airport and breathing an air I had not breathed before, so fresh, so unpolluted, so unpolished. I walked to the…
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ADHD
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The Bind of Wanderlust 