The art of language is a powerful mechanism allowing us to reach inside another's soul through the common threads of experience and the power of imagination to leave a momentary imprint on the soft fabric heart of other's lives.
-gws
I am not the author of your story
As much as that saddens me to admit
You are the wordsmith of your tale
You write yourself as the hero of your own journey
Despite being so often the villain of mine
But understanding how you see your world
Understanding that you can be none other
Than the hero of your pages
Helps me gain perspective into why
You write me as the arch-villain of your narrative
There is no mirror in your story
You cannot see yourself
And as if bespelled
You see only monsters and
Enemies in every shadow
My pages would describe the cause
As a self-afflicted curse
Yours would imply the question
Are villains born or made?
For you would say you are
The result of what others made you
Be you hero or villain
You are forever alone
Shadowboxing every perceived threat
And drawing blood from everyone
Who gets too close for too long
Blinded by pain and unable to
See that the one causing
The most pain for you is you
Like a manifested destiny
It becomes so
As our books sit side by side on the shelf
Yours a story of never ending rage, war, and loss
Mine becomes a story of surrender, retreat, and release
For I am removing myself from your story
It is time to make myself the hero of my own
And write the closing of this chapter
For I can feel the peace and love I deserve
Waiting for me in the next chapters of my life
I am ready to transform my story
Into the self-love story I have long deserved
I hope you find your happy ending
I write a magic wish for that
Into my final paragraph
Of our chapter in my book
Then turn the page to my tabula rasa
Full of potential and possibilities
And the freedom to write my future
As rich and joyful as I can imagine it
-gws
I arrived in this world
A shooting star
Trailing dreams
And magic in my wake
-gws
Autumn prepares to make its bow
As December takes the stage
With evergreen and holly crown
And bonfires ablaze
The cloak of winter deep and white
With whispered grace arrives
While all good folks abide long nights
As snow falls on the pines
Let not the darkness weight your brow
Do light your lamps ablaze
For soon the Solstice will arrive
To return the longer days
-gws
Gold, yellow, red
A carpet of leaves
It crunched beneath their feet
As they played in the light of the golden afternoon
Cheeks rosey and hair wild
Autumn had come
-gws
It echoed of all the things that have caused me the deepest pain, and with nothing different or looking to be different, I think the final piece of shattered glass crashed to earth. -gws
I hope that when I One day Write my memoir I have learned How to be happy -gws
If I am too much Then let me be too much I am light and expansive And I will not be constrained By those who wish me to be small For like the wind I will not be caged -gws
Not enough resources
Not enough time
Not enough support
Not enough me
-gws
Do you earn medals for hurting me Because you treat it like an Olympic sport? Are my tears some cocktail that intoxicates your soul For I have cried oceans at your words and deeds? Is my pain the wood for your spiteful fire For it seems to always stoke your rage higher? When did the joy we shared turn to ash? When did that concentrated venom infuse into your words? When did you develop such resentment of me to turn your eyes to depth-less stone? -gws
Words Wishes and Wisdom 