It Isn’t All Glass Slippers Ladies
by TigressSky ©July 23, 2014
I can’t even begin to imagine
What it would have been like
To be worthy of a Cinderella story
Swept out of the poverty
And into the abundance
No need to work
No need to push
No need to try
All the time
In the world
To work on nothing
Besides that which makes me
by TigressSky ©July 23, 2014
It is at the core of being that the child lays. Put to bed, to find an endless sleep, by the constant drive to grow up, and grow up I did.
To truly enjoy life, to truly get the most out of it, you can never put the child to bed. You just can’t. She has got to get up with you every morning, look in the mirror at the old which you have become, and make you laugh at it.
She has got to ride to work with you, sit in your grey cube, and give you the courage to dream of what it will take to get out of there. She should laugh at the ridiculousness of it all - for, and with you. She should inspire you to try all the new things you can, because one of them may be the best thing you have ever done.
In the end, it is she that will be there holding your hand, while all that is in this life fades away … as it always does; in everything, in every way.
She’s putting herself fully into her own care.
It is a revolutionary step for her. Far too long, she’d been separated from her own body, heart and soul wisdom. She’d lived on borrowed intelligence, alienated from her original longing. Her many journeys underground has helped her separate her genuine voice from the counterfiet one. She’s not willing to live a soul sapping life anymore. She’s stepping out of the only life she’d known.
She’s putting her trust and vote in her deepest truth. She cannot yet pinpoint her longing. It’s still shaky for her. All she knows is the feeling of rightness in her bones.She’s not sure where she’s leading herself in her outside world. It does not make complete sense yet. She only knows that every decision is taking her closer to her centre. She’s walking through each of her fears of survival ~ her heart melting, her eyes limpid pools of vulnerability.
She can feel her spirit igniting, and she’s willingly sacrificing herself in the fire of her longing.
She’s going back to innocence.
by: Sukhvinder Sircar
The Wolves at My Door
by TigressSky (July 11, 2014)
So how do I move on?
How do I re-ignite that bright shining fiery confidence in who I am; how I am?
How do I walk comfortably in my own skin? A skin, that since my teens, has filled me with the despair of it’s ever numbering imperfections. Imperfections of my minds eye. Imperfections placed upon my vision by society, a drunken mother, magazine covers, and teenage boys who “oink” at me as I walk down the street.
Most importantly, how can I become comfortable wearing “alone” again?
When you fall off the pedestal of others hopes and dreams of you … you fall ever so much farther than the original starting point. Deeper, ever deeper. As the hand of despair grips tighter, pulls hard, placing you farther than Hades reach has ever been. Deeper, ever deeper. Until there is nothing left for your heart except …
Clawing my way out, I can see over the edge. I grip tightly to the precarious threshold, fingers bloodied. Eyes pensively peering into the light of the bright world around me. A world that keeps trying to deposit me here - under my desk, outside the hands of the most ancient of Gods. A world that screams out at me, don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop!
My nails now scratched short enough to play the music of my soul. My tear stained cheeks are covered in the mud of the past. My heart beats with the love I felt, with the love I feel, with the love I have yet to discover.
So it is I prepare to step out, to step forward, to step onto the plains and ride the white buffalo into the bright orange sunset. A sunset that will lead to the final years this life has to offer.
I can’t continue to grasp at straws that have weaved them-self into a basket of ideals I simply no longer fit into.
Besides, you should never put all of your eggs into one basket.
Especially when your eggs don’t produce.
A gift of freedom from the Gods? Or simply a cursed broken record formed in your youth? The one that can’t get past, can’t get past … can’t … get … past.
So it is I turn back into a child. I turn back into my heart. I turn back into a wild woman, Lady Godiva, holding tight the bison mane of adventure as the wind blows through my hair, across my face, and my past becomes my present - except now I hold the reigns.
I’m thirsty … I hunger. Yet what will fulfill my cravings?
That is what I have to discover. That is what I have to risk it all for.
Will be empty.
If I don’t.
That is where people die - crying. Inside a soulless shell of missed opportunities wrapped in a life of “what if’s?” Stuck, waiting, for death, for this moment in which no one is around to stop you. A moment in which you realize that all those times you did the right thing, said the right thing, where the right thing, never mattered. All those “right things” affected no one who desired them as much as it affected you who performed them …
In the end.
How many adventurous opportunities have I missed while maintaining some form of comfort in my life that would all slip away someday anyway?
How many problems have I placed upon my temple by giving into a hope that this time, THIS ONE DAMNED TIME, I would be seen, I would be loved, wholly, fully, completely, for who and what I am - always.
Yet the expectation of love seems to be that I will never change. That I will never grow. That I will never become more than this moment. That I will be okay as second choice - forever. That I will accept my place in the lot of them and never question the tire treads of their forgetfulness across my heart.
Believing that nothing will ever disrupt the comfort is …
Everything changes, or else it dies.
Search and destroy.
That is how you grow.
That is how you become.
Outside of emptiness.
Inside of self.
Stop Dreaming Cinderella
~TigressSky ©July 10, 2014~
And there he was
Like the storybooks had always foretold
It was instantaneous
It was dangerous
It was a momentary skip
In my heart’s beat
Before reality’s request
And there he wasn’t
Like life had always guaranteed
It was instantaneous
It was expected
It was a lifetime spent
Wondering what stability might offer
If only hope would let go
As age set in
image: Flaming Ship of Ocracoke
~TigressSky - June 27, 2014~
Across the flames a ship can sail
As long as the Captain can handle the burn
Of everything he has ever know
Becoming lost to the embers
He walks barefoot across the hot coals
Without exhaustion of challenge
To take just one cool drink
From the fountain of youth
So it is,
Time to breath,
In this moment …
Along the beating shoreline
Of your heart
There is no return
Only new beginnings
Of an aged heart
So it is this Captain
Shall cartwheel and spin
Shall stick his tongue out and grin
Shall dance and sing of many things
He would else wise
"Dear Internet" by Tina Fey
From PerezHilton.com/Posted by jerkstore on Wednesday, 1/21/2009, 11:21 P.M.
“In my opinion Tina Fey completely ruined SNL. The only reason she’s celebrated is because she’s a woman and an outspoken liberal. She has not a single funny bone in her body.”
Huzzah for the Truth Teller! Women in this country have been over-celebrated for too long. Just last night there was a story on my local news about a “missing girl,” and they must have dedicated seven or eight minutes to “where she was last seen” and “how she might have been abducted by a close family friend,” and I thought, “What is this, the News for Chicks?” Then there was some story about Hillary Clinton flying to some country because she’s secretary of state. Why do we keep talking about these dumdums? We are a society that constantly celebrates no one but women and it must stop! I want to hear what the men of the world have been up to. What fun new guns have they invented? What are they raping these days? What’s Michael Bay’s next film going to be?
When I first set out to ruin SNL, I didn’t think anyone would notice, but I persevered because—like you trying to do a nine-piece jigsaw puzzle—it was a labor of love.
I’m not one to toot my own horn, but I feel safe with you, jerkstore, so I’ll say it. Everything you ever hated on SNL was by me, and anything you ever liked was by someone else who did it against my will.
P.S. You know who does have a funny bone in her body? Your mom every night for a dollar.”
I spent this summer solstice held by friends, family, love, beauty, laughter, sun, music I love, a notebook and a pen.
For awhile, I lay quietly in the sun, intoxicated, music in my ears and then …
A smile and this song, "Take Shelter" - by the only man I have barely met, whom I know barely anything about, who seems to know everything there is to know about my heart, Mr Ben Nichols - inspired the following …
by TigressSky : ©June 23, 2014
He is beautiful
He is free
He is the face
Of the music that makes me
That takes me
His hands speak
Of the work it takes
And to not be
And he is not mine
And he is mine
And he is not here
And he is here
And then …
This song, by my Music Mistress - Ms Nicks, inspired the following piece …
by TigressSky : ©June 23, 2014
“… and he said, come down here for a minute …
Sweet Girl” :Sweet Girl by Stevie Nicks
The Queen of Hearts
Will always keep your cards
Next to her heart
Your secrets kept safe
In her arms
But the White Rabbit
Will take you
Kaleidoscopic rabbit hole inside your brain
To a tea party that has always been
Run by a Mad Hatter helping it to stay
Just like your heart
Towards the ever present Cheshiric grin
Of the girl who gets so easily lost
Inside of it all
Outside of your arms
She smiles and they smile
She laughs and they laugh
She cries and they
No longer know
What to do?
Just enough to burn yourself
Ever engraving her smile
Must pay attention
Play a loaded game
Against a crown of hearts
Holding an armful of secrets
Followed by a pack of cards
Offering a safe ride