It is not broken.
I am not broken.
I am purple, and green, and red.
I am black and blue.
I am still here,
in certain lights more present than others.
A walking bruise.
When you touch me,
I am warm.
My blood is flowing–
even though my center is off.
The hurt is there still;
only. if. you. press.
I can conceal it, this ache of mine
—my bruised being
Adorn it with ornaments and ointments.
Remembering that nothing is opaque
let me heal.
I believe that we are trapped in each day,
that a small fragment of our souls, relive it
like groundhog day, but not fully
only snippets will come to the foreground when we need them
like a foreshadowing of our own stories
our own ghosts of yesteryear peak from behind the curtain of the past
to remind us we learned this lesson once
we are transported backwards because we have already been there
because the past continues to play out to some degree
in some cycle, somewhere
and if so, then we all live with ghosts of our stories
The gray color outside of my window,
accompanied by the quiet spatters of raindrops,
lets the day stretch into quiet nourishment of ideas.
A pile of blankets spread out as a cat purrs,
with soft piano notes twinkling the air in the background,
as the ground and clouds meet outside.
Water washes away…
to help pave way to make
constantly encouraging rebirth…
Rainy days are my own personal excuse
to stay inside & contemplate,
transform water & grounds to a cup of coffee,
warming my ideas,
coloring my world with thoughts, words & fluidity.
potential, growth & contemplation
to help carve a way to action, love & betterment,
continually encouraging a wave of creation.
A storm happens every so often, outside my window
letting my thoughts match the weather
I have learned that a storm within myself is a sign
of the changes I wish to make.
In order to let my thoughts become my actions,
I must water them with splatters of acknowledgment–
letting them take root, in my new life.
We had had one of those humid days where we were reminded that it was summer still. Temps soared past the 80s, and the breeze barely moved the flag as the day elapsed before us. Being an EXTREMELY pale human being, it was a good thing that I was wearing a longer-sleeved dress, because otherwise my arms would have been very sunburnt.
I am wearing an animal-print dress from TopShop & DolceVita mules.
We had some of Ryan’s friends from the area stop by, along with Ryan’s family that lived in Vermont. It was a low pressure type of celebration & party, with a lot of overwhelming positivity. Ryan’s friends brought a selection of Vermont beers for us to add to our cooler.
We really did not want this to be about gifts or presents, but about time spent with loved ones. But naturally with all of that being said, we were showered with kindness & items to start a new chapter in our lives still. Pictured below was a present that summed up that sentiment very nicely, without me feeling like I was posting about who got me what.
At the end of the day, it doesn’t matter about our ceremony or reception or what we had for a wedding dinner…it matters how much I love Ryan & how excited I am to see how we grow together. We’re a team in life—and that was the true takeaway of this weekend.
Follow me as I continue on my writing, travel & love story!
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Written on 9/18, after a road-trip from St Albans, Vermont back to the Capitol Region of New York.
Musings in the Maples
by mk hubbard
I love that the whole state seems to bleed syrup
instead of blood
— roots dive deep into the Earth, & maples are very strong.
The people there view the golden liquid as the nectar of life,
replacing other golds, like honey & precious metal.
The trees are lined with taps, connecting forests together,
a web of dependence on the sugary substance that oozes from their cores.
The farmlands are large, and double yellow lined roads with their higher speed limits, still wind & curve forcing you to slow down,
to make you look around.
Like the maple liquid itself, the drips of sweetness come at their own time, as you travel further & further North…
The mountain top with its trees changing in drips to fall foliage as the sun sets over them, reminds you of the snow to come–
And the ghost of chairlifts swing in the summer heat, waiting to be filled with people, excited for another sugary substance, although this time a powder.
As the Moon rises over the trees, it illuminates the change in a sadder way than the sun does– reminding you that seasons changing have nothing to do with the whims of what we as humans want, but what the Earth demands.