#bitsofstarlow

[thepastisapebbleinmyshoe]

I am lost deep in a quiet glen, smelling the flowers in bloom, listening to a white-tailed kite, where the laws of reciprocity, reverberate softly into my life. I observe his reverse hoovers, and respond with nothingness, never to be swept into a vortex, the kite designed for every time, I cross his dark tormented mind.

Nature Reclaims the Soul

[thepastisapebbleinmyshoe]

In cracked pavement, where shadows play, Silent echoes of a deceitful love's dismay. Yet through the rubble, green shoots arise, Words of hope beneath smog-stained skies.

With each breath drawn from city seams, Healing blooms in her fragmented dreams. Our storms may rage, and memories ache, Life blooms wildly for the heart's own sake.

Urban Flowers of Change

[thepastisapebbleinmyshoe]

In the darkness, where silence wed, A heart once shackled now gently bled. Amongst the pines, a breeze takes flight, Unraveling pain beneath the twilight.

New petals unfurl from the roots of despair, As sunlight kisses scars, breathing life in the air. With every step across this mossy earthen floor, I dance with the echoes; bruised no more.

Wild Soul's, Nature's Beauty

[thepastisapebbleinmyshoe]

In shadows thick, love’s laughter fades, A dance of masks, where sunlight wades. Yet in the heart, a whisper grows, Roots tremble deep, as winter bows.

From ashes cold, a spirit takes flight, With wings of dawn, embracing the light. Fragmented thoughts and haunting fears, New blossoms bloom as the soul clears.

Let not despair weave chains so tight, For even in darkness, we find our light.

Awakening Spirits

[thepastisapebbleinmyshoe]

The tragic truth of divorcing a narcissistic man or woman will leave all who love deeply questioning their own sanity, pulling them from the clouds where true love is pure, kind, mutually trusting, reciprocal, into a revisionists' lonely hell, where pain and hatred reside.

When the Mirror Lies

[thepastisapebbleinmyshoe]

I will sit beside you in the dark, knowing, that I myself will be written off, judged, in a matter of moments by those I love. A gentle leaf dancing into every season, of the painful perceptions I was left with. Softly becoming a light in a lonely prison, to the exploitation I once quietly observed, countless hearts shattered so needlessly, falling into a discarded pile of woeful pleas, echoing in the parts of me, you fail to see.

Elegy of Discarded Leaves

[thepastisapebbleinmyshoe]

Lay with me under northern lights, in the Adirondak's, a winter paradise, amidst the strength I found in silence, standing beside officers on a gray line. I don't need society to say I'm worthy, of love that's spiritually safe and kind.

Light Beneath the Aurora

[thepastisapebbleinmyshoe]

I have never proclaimed to be innocent, a troubled young adult living in the shadows, but her violent outbursts and inner torment, will be always be her evil demons to fight. and I pray she is repulsed by all of my light.

From Emptiness, Life Springs

[thepastisapebbleinmyshoe]

A narcissistic sociopath's grasp, is written on pages of who I am, unashamed of beautiful shades, and many different layers of pain, I waded through at a young age, for all to understand the softness, and gentle touch that reached in, to save me from evil, he still lives, sitting beside me in the darkness.

Love's Soft Farewell

[thepastisapebbleinmyshoe]

The autumn season begins, wrapped in apple-cider scents, stumbling into the quiet closure, that arrived so unexpectedly, with a gentle kind of equity.

Yellow leaves begin to dance, over the threshold effortlessly, his tasteless love wilts slowly, into an unsophisticated pallet.

Upon a tongue of rotting feasts, cornstalk crops left unattended, entitled decaying moonbeams, un-nurtured, bitter and weak.

Crimson colors softly embrace, the woman I had deeply craved, soaked in homemade blessings, a golden touch quietly awakes, the man who loves with modesty, foraged in our autumn escape.

Crimson Embrace

[thepastisapebbleinmyshoe]

He keeps looking to my gentle soul for solace and peace, but my mind and body are not a place for subtle hesitations, or his burning sexual interest, easily served to other women. Underneath the glow of neon lights and looped techno beats, he’s a musical man whose lust and thirst invalidates beauty. That's how he found himself alone, on a cobblestone street.

Whispers in the Winter Wind

[thepastisapebbleinmyshoe]

In chaos born, he sought control, Regulating a dark and fragile soul, Of a man lost, his mirror cracked, In the depths of storms, he racked. I welcomed him into a sacred space, A universe where love finds grace, as shame roots, the creeping vine, Entwining hearts, a twisted line. His wild delusions danced like fire, Igniting dreams, yet fanning ire, And in the wake, a grandiose spark, Left me heartbroken, lost in the dark. But in that chaos, beauty bloomed, From shattered pieces, I found room, To rise again, with lessons learned, In every tear, my spirit was renewed. So here I stand, with a heart laid bare, No longer bound by weight of despair, For even rainclouds have their place, In the nourishing roots I've embraced.

Rainclouds of Renewal

[thepastisapebbleinmyshoe]

Surviving the abuse was merely the beginning. It was a survival instinct, a primal urge to keep going, to breathe, to exist. But I soon realized that true living required more than mere survival. It demanded courage to confront the ghosts that haunted me and embrace, the dark emotions I had long tried to suppress.

With every therapy session, I found pieces of myself, I thought were lost forever. I learned to navigate the storm, to ride the waves of anxiety and despair. There were days when I felt like a fragile bird, terrified to take flight, yet each small step became a victory. Each tear shed was a release, a cleansing of the soul that allowed me to reclaim my strength.

As I stood at the edge of my own horizon, I could see the beauty that existed beyond the pain. I began to write my story, a narrative that transformed my scars into symbols of strength. It was a reminder that I was not defined by my trauma, but rather, I was defined by my resilience.

In the end, I learned that life with CPTSD is not just a battle; it is a journey of self-discovery, of forging connections, and of embracing the journey as it unfolds. I may have started with wounds, but I emerged with wings — wings that carried me toward hope, healing, and a future that was no longer dictated by my past.

Grace in the Ruins

[thepastisapebbleinmyshoe]

Beneath the hush of moonlit beams, in a haunted hospital, softly weeping, from all the care etched onto hearts, of the ghosts lingering in corridors, a life pulse suspended in autumn air. You'll find me working, contemplating, all of the roads that quietly led me here. Graceful steps upon crestfallen streets, of Ogdensburg, with kind urban angels, emerging from shadows, health-heroes, quietly breathing life into my journey.

Urban Angels

[thepastisapebbleinmyshoe]

She found herself falling, into a tender and holy love, wrapped in the soft embrace, of her northeastern hometown, a heavenly rustic, land of lakes.

The Heartbeat of Hidden Lakes

[thepastisapebbleinmyshoe]

I write to shine a light into, the darkness of lonely souls, a gentle reminder, it's okay, to pour all of who you are, building a purposeful life, without anyone at your side. Clutching onto your peace, and those unspoken beliefs, for a healthier connection, to the person who dreams, in an unconventional home, where the love is authentic, and individuality is a gift, shining through silence.

Shining Through Silence