Poems and A Desire to Motivate

I have multiple lists of poems that I’ve started throughout the years.  About bees and solo summer walks in Honeoye Falls.  Watching cats bask in the sunlight and falling in love with the stillness of a sleepy village.  Being 10 and flying over the handlebars of my orange Razor scooter.  I slid about a foot across an asphalt road.  All I remember from that are seeing white muscle, blood, and sudden darkness.  My left knee still holds a scar from that day.

Being 19 and studying abroad in Europe with three other freshmen and about 15 seniors.  Of solo drinking a bottle and a half of Merlot in Nice, France as a way of coping for being treated as naive because of my age.  Walking the dark, cold January streets with classmates in search of food so I wouldn’t get sick.  I still remember the snow quietly falling on stone sidewalks and a McDonalds that sold Flan in a dimly lit display.  It was around midnight and I fell in love with the magic that winters in Europe bring.

I’ve always been a writer, even when I wasn’t.  Coloring the imagery of my imagination on paper with clarity that sometimes only I could understand.  I used to want to travel the world and write about it.  I still desire to travel, but my yearning was different back then.  I’ve been to multiple islands, cities, and countries.  All so vastly different, all holding a memory in my heart.  To me traveling was a form of escape, a need to get away.  But I don’t have that need anymore.

I don’t have that same urge to forget everything I know and leave.  I’m at a place in my life where I can honestly say that I’m happy.  I love Los Angeles.  Any traveling I do here on out will be with people I love.

I still struggle with words and I’m not always able to say or write the correct things.  (Welcome to being human)  I’m looking at different variables and being spontaneous in my decisions.  There’s something to be said about taking a step back and just being.  Writing how you feel and saying what you mean instead of hiding.

I met a guy over the weekend near the boardwalk in Santa Monica.  I thought he was homeless at first because he was sleeping in a hammock overlooking the ocean below.  Lesson learned, don’t pre-judge.  But he was attractive and had these sea green eyes that smiled when he did, so I said “hi”.  There was no planning or script involved.  He sat down next to me and we just talked for about 30 minutes.  I don’t think anything’s going to come of this encounter, but the fact is I attracted what I desired into my life by just being me.  That’s my power.

There’s a great deal of beauty and authenticity in letting your actions speak for themselves.  For doing instead of trying to do.  For taking constructive criticism and opinions at face value and doing what you want with the information.  Applying it to your life in some way or ignoring it completely.

I’ve come a long way since France when I coped by drinking way too much red wine.  Through many trials and tribulations, I made it to 2018 stronger than I could have imagined.  Because I’ve learned that the words I use both outwardly and inwardly are the key, and I hold all the power in deciding what door that key opens.

My goal for the coming months is to spend less time writing and more time talking.  More time motivating and being me.  I love being on stage, and I love inspiring people.

My list of poems is getting shorter, but the imagery that comes from my experiences is growing.

I’m excited about the journey that’s only now beginning to unfold.


Photo by Thought Catalog on Unsplash

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