Intuitive Poetry Readings
To be seen, and to be shown how you are seen...
There is a profound power in being seen and reflected in your healing journey.
Is it a confirmation, a confrontation or a reclamation? If any of the times I have been truly seen are anything to go by: all of the above.
Well, give us a spin! Let me look at ya…
Personalised, soul-seeing poetry
I am a witness to the cry of your soul.
My words are simply a commentary on that cry.
Tell me:
there’s a part of you, isn’t there?
That piece that’s unseen, unheard, unsure even – of whether it truly exists because, well, no one has ever really read you that way.
That ocean-deep knowing of the fire that burns in your soul, or the panther you keep caged under lock and key in your heart because maybe you’re afraid of the destruction that might occur if you left her out.
When you’re ready though… you start to realise that the only way to build who you really are, who you’re destined to be, who you’ve always dreamed of growing into, is by re-building.
Reconstructing from ashes, from dust, from stepping into the eye of the tornado.
When you are seen, you can moonwalk out the other side. You can swing from crescent moons on the jungle vines that have grown thick with every ‘No!’ your heart has screamed in the face of your socially acceptable, tight-lipped and oh-so-polite survivalist smile and nod.
A little bit like a medium in the trenches of your heart… I can’t guarantee who will be called forth.
And maybe I won’t find the parts of you crying to be found. Maybe I’ll find something completely different.
But maybe it will open you up to finding yourself.
We are afraid of the first fire we must walk through to begin to feel and heal our wounds…
Perhaps being seen in this way is your inferno of initiation.
I see you.
Sitting on the grass in the sun as the wind spirals around you; born in your roots, unfurling in your curls, raised in the lengths of your hair. I see you.
I think you might’ve forgotten: you aren’t just a play-thing for the wind, you are the wind. And I see it.
I see what’s sitting there, a fraction below your earth’s surface.
A seed pressing at the line between soil and sun; the universe that lives between inhale and exhale.
The lid that is straining at the clasp: you’ve wrapped around your heart rubber bands and ribbons and a frail bit of string you found on the ground, kicking between the cracks in the concrete below your feet. I saw you pick it up, hoping no one noticed. I saw you tie it around your treasure chest of hurt, hoping no one noticed you were struggling to keep it closed.
I see you at the bottom of the pinot grigio bottle.
I see you look at the clock in the morning, unable to think of a reason to actually get out of bed.
I see you slide down the wall of the shower, praying that the warm, lukewarm, cold water will wash you clean.
I see you.
And I take a little broken, ugly piece of what you are up against.
I hold it and love it and nourish it and slowly, slowly, slowly watch it shed the unused skin. Rebirth. Hope. Love.
I want to witness you. Spin webs of poetry to help you alchemise your blackness into light.
I want to hold it for you. Breathe it in as one thing and out as another.
this is for you, baby girl, when you think you can’t be yin and yang.
when you are scared of how full your fullest self expression is.
when you forget you are made of stars and moon and sun and venus, honey, don’t forget venus. she’s the hottest planet in our solar system, the first light in the dusk, she set herself aflame to save her soul and we really think el sol is the one who warms us on our darkest night?
you are the fly trap, darling one, and only you know when it’s the right time to bloom.
i had a conversation with a scorpion once, and he told me about my essential nature.
this is it: to self destruct.
