As a child, I was afraid I'd break my right arm and wouldn't be able to write. At the age of seven, I started practicing with my left. My fear has been revisited. For the last two weeks, my right shoulder and neck have been locked into a fiery grip. The pain radiates down my arm and into my fingertips. My arm aches like a branding iron into my heart. It speaks volumes of unwritten words and conveys a serendipitous explosion of prose. I find I’m holding myself carefully together like a piece of fine hand-blown glass. There’s a blockage in my shoulder and arm. I asked and it spoke to me. What are you trying to say? Listen to your heart it beats to a different drum. The old messages are worn out and the new ones fill you with trepidation. Scared, huh? It’s okay. Keep blazing through the crap that holds onto you like a trap. I’m at a pivotal point in my life and walking a new, challenging direction. It’s a path riddled with obstructions and yet I...
Women's Spiritual Poetry