Meadow's Mark

"Huddle time," a voice shouts.  Murmurs begin to whisper about.  It's that time again.  Same time every day.  It comes around so fast I forget it exist. Wasn't it just this time yesterday?  Where did 24 hours go? I wonder as i lean against the wall.  This very blah room could ruin anyone's day.  It simply was nothing but gray. The furniture and walls just meshed into one. Nothing existed in this room except numbers and machines. Everyone falls in line all humdrum and sad, except for me.  My position is perfect. This view is means for an escape.  I'm outside now.  Sitting under a perfect tree. With it's perfect green leaves and perfect brown bark. In the perfect shade. In the perfect grass. In the perfect sun. Putting sunflowers in my hair.  Watching ladybugs dance through the air, laughing and taunting the ants below.  "Oh silly ants, you don't know how to be free. All you do is labor on like the worker bees. No fun i

I came across this in a different post and I figured i could answer these questions better in a poem. 1. Who am I? 2. Who have I been? 3. Who do I want to be? What picture would be better to accompany this post than the most RAW I have. This is me now, at 30. Tired after traveling for 3 days to get to Malaysia ((long story)) yet the absolute happiest I've ever been. I'm a mother, author, and world traveler that FIRMLY believes in being as AUTHENTIC as possible, inside and out. Rawness is what makes us ALL who we are. This post is just to let you know a little bit more in a general sense. I mean,  we've all been "there" before. We're different yet We're all the same. _ Poem below 😊 _ Who am I they ask? Who have I been they ponder? What do I want to be? She's been through it all, how can she smile? It must be fake they surmise. All these whispers but not one asks me. Well I am me and that's all i can be i shout. Simple as that. I

If I told you that a flower bloomed in a dark room, would you trust it? It's only right that the person who finally, albeit unknowingly, helped me crossover into the blogging world is a poet. Blogging from  https://poeticlyblessed.blogspot.com/ ....oh the irony, considering the fact that I loathe poetry. Maybe, just maybe, deep down I want to be a poet. Not really sure if I'm deep enough. Or maybe I ramble too much. And I keep going and then I have a novel on my hands. I can't stop at a page. I can't stop at a paragraph. I can't stop myself...... As the rain beats against my window pane and this child's hand sits on my chest, I feel so alive. The energy flows through me. I'm up writing away at 5.38 am and I know I've found my PURPOSE....but I gotta get up. Gotta get back to the grind in less than an hour. It's just my passion is too much to ignore. This is me. This is who I am.....let me get ready to put on my mask.....another day of pretend.