Callous, Cold Woman.

We separate by force. Distance keeps us at arms bay.
But I know I’ll crave your embrace in these coming days.
I wonder if your peace still lies with me.
Can you even sleep?

Or is your heart at rest knowing the best part is over?
And all that remains is effort given in vain.

Most people give up too quickly.
Doubt consumes courage.
Love grows sour.
And interest steadily declines.

I continue to hope for you.
Pray you’re at your best.
Even if at the end of things,
I don’t express much clearly.

I refused to be consistent because
I never wanted you to depend on me.

I mirrored your habits.
Became someone less…

But I digress.

I just want your heart
to be at rest.



When Home is Not Home. (350 words)

Parents are the first homes for their children. We exist to welcome and nurture them–as the protectors of their souls. This is not a perfect job, nor one where you can take off when you are exhausted. We were chosen. Given an opportunity to pour purpose and breathe life onto their innocent, blank slates.

Slates that are always, always influenced by their surroundings.

Parents/mentors/extended family have an important responsibility to guide children away from hardship–but to stand firmly by their side when pain is inevitable. We are NOT meant to wound these innocent spirits with self-righteous ideas of who we THINK they should be. Especially, when their idea of who they are conflicts with what we were taught to believe.

If home is not SAFE, children will learn to outsource their needs. They will run–into the arms of others who may give them false information and take advantage of their hearts. They will lie and tell you what you want to hear when they think you cannot handle their truths. They will form guards against any connections to you.

I am reminded of children who “come out” to conservative parents. And parents who then attack the very thing they were meant to protect. There are parents who refuse to listen when their child is screaming for their attention. And parents who later blame themselves for the consequences.

I am reminded of myself. When I was younger I did everything I could to get away from home. I felt invalidated and broken. So much so, I delayed my potential for nearly a decade before I discovered that I was worth so much more.

Now I know that I am my home.

Sometimes, parents fail and we are left to keep our home safe. This is okay. Things like this happen to people everyday. We fall off our paths and run in a million different directions. We chase after things we do not need and leave our homes open without any security. We make mistakes then drag ourselves back in the game.

But with or without them you will find your way.

home, worry, hope, blog

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– Jen Cosby

This is Not a Test. (300 words)

eyes, brows, prose, reflection, thoughts, emotions

You have always been quite unreasonable. Setting rules of entitlement long before I understood the meaning of war. Elder members in our family naturally sit higher up. They expect every new recruit to listen and believe with child-like passiveness and misguided awe. Something I am not liable to do without just cause. I am evidence you cannot choose your history because I always found my way back into your presence no matter how far I tried to run. It angers me to admit the ease I felt when all was well.

Saddens me to concede that it never lasted for long.

I spent wasteful time reflecting on the trials of the past and what I could have done differently. Children are not the authors of their fate and have no choice but to follow their leaders blindingly. My earliest memories of fights between the people closest to me ultimately led to the division of our home. Depression ran deep while dissension cycled turbulently through our blood. And this was not enough. There were nights I struggled to come to terms with the new structures laid out for me. I may have wanted things outside of your capacity to give, but this does not mean what I asked for was wrong.

You were a dark and unyielding eclipse in the middle of my sunny day. The tears that have fallen offered more comfort than you have ever shown this face. Did you ever think it possible to see me for who I was? Or was your allegiance mine only as long as you did not have to pay the cost?

I survey the wounds I used to keep inside that now the world can see.

Wondering what part of this was all your fault and how much of it was me.


I woke up in a panicked sweat
searching desperately for something
I knew was not in my bedroom.
Shadows creep–as the darkness plays
against my subconscious’ attempts
at understanding.

I am not mourning or acknowledging
any further distress. I accepted
the keys to my own happiness.
Driving away from this detour
on my way back towards
a more beneficial path.

Doubters laugh–
mocking my progress.
Waiting for the day I fall
Hoping I ask them for help
just so they can applaud their own
pointless existence.

But they were never any
friends of mine.

I am the definition of
tough love and perseverance.
The one who never gives up–unless
I am forced to retreat.

But this isn’t really about me.

It’s about being shaken to the core
by a dream and reaching out
in vain–knowing no one will ever
fully see what you are going through.

It’s about putting on a
brave face and welcoming
the certainty of the unknown.
Being a responsible adult–
even when you find it hard to believe.

Admitting you messed up
and making amends
so long as it does not distract
from your peace.

And if I can just get to this final place
of forgiveness and self-love…

art, drawing, girl, dreams, sara herranz

I know these nightmares will eventually stop.


Madly. Deeply. Completely.


The less I drink, the less I think about things that never belonged to me.
I bide my time in this recovery process, running for cover at the first signs of distraction.

The world keeps turning. Regardless of what you lost.
New life yearns to breathe on its own, bearing a deeply personal cross.
I am determined. So much so,
that sometimes I forget to miss people who used to mean so much to me, before.

Before I became this conscience free woman,
I was an innocent girl once.
This is not a competition. I will not open up.
Every opportunity to build trust was broken.
Every love I thought was mine, is gone.
I am not sorry.
Not quietly desperate.
Or looking for restitution.

I would rather be alone.

stars, crossroads, art, love, loss

They look for me in the strangest of places.
History–fixing their hooks in my heart.
Egos driven by the need for confirmation.
Clawing deeper, until they draw a spark.

Parts of me used to be attracted to the fire.
Fixated upon a course of unlimited passion and reward.
I was a dreamer, madly in love.
Chasing after the high, deeply unsatisfied.
Craving more until I was completely consumed.
Broken down in ways I never thought possible.


Reminders flash across my computer screen.
Promises burn in my memory, unwilling to go down with this ship that is sinking.
I chose not to listen, every warning sign went dangerously unnoticed.
I knew from the beginning our connection was penetrable.

We behaved like children whose parents intervene before they drift off course.
But our rescuers were silent witnesses, who let us float along.
Maybe they too, believed the lies we told in naivety.
Leaving us to our own terrible devices.

Maybe we were always meant to be sacrificed.
And the love meant to last forever, was never ours.

Autumn Equinox.

quotes, albert camus, poetry, autumn….Every summer ends by closing what was left unsaid.

I can feel the mist of indifference
carrying you away
taking control of your smile
mutating your point of view.
I watch silently as you drift
into the distance.
Locking my existence in your past.
I will not expose you or
force you to fight back.
Free you instead of my expectations.

I am R-E-L-E-A-S-I-N-G you.

Perhaps I am in error.
& if so, let me mourn in peace.
Cause we both know
you weren’t
meant to travel
with me.


Whenever it begins, it always hits me dead center in my chest. This tangible gnawing feeling of regret and incomparable pain. Only, nowadays I do not run away. I take a moment–no matter where I am and let it creep all over. Starting from my heart it spreads outwards, numbing my limbs. Forcing me acknowledge it.

I remember everything. Every lie, every promise made when I was happy and easily led astray. I know what I lost in my idleness. I try to push back. Tell myself I can handle the repercussions. Find solace in the time alone. At night my dreams betray me. I realize I am still holding on to the smallest embers burning in my heart.

The latest shock in this year of professionally breaking my own heart is the dreaded feeling it is not over yet. With three more months to endure in this errant and deceptive 2016, I have no idea what to expect. I run my course, keep my well earned scars to myself–careful not to accidentally charm anyone else.

darkness, art, prose, trees, strengthThe moment I feel it is time to forget, the hurt pulsates violently in protest. The damage, for all its entitlement demands to be heard. It will not allow me to shrug it off. I let it weigh down on me, just long enough to get the point across.

Sometimes you cannot recover what you lost.

I make a point now to enjoy every moment whether I am flying or crawling on the ground. Promise to give myself all the time I need to finally get it right once and for all. I will not spend the rest of my life in apathy–pushing away new connections or leaving a trail of tears in my wake.

What is gone was never meant to stay.

Punishing myself for the mistakes I made will not change anything. In spite of my flaws, I will never willingly give up. To the point where my determination keeps me blindly chasing after idealistic fantasies that are never based on cooperation and love. I make peace with the ones I chose–who left me hanging before the real work had even begun.

My heart may be stubborn, but my mind knows the story is done.