This is an inspirational blog that utilizes the medium of poetry and creative writing to tell stories.
Our words fall short
They collapse before I love you
Breaking like a vase hitting the floor
We wonder bout the meaning be hide it all..
How to find the closeness of connection?
Without stuttering in the moment when we receive an urgent call
Only to realize that at times we are a bit too harsh on ourselves
On cloudy days we all need a bit of help
Love always, Esha
You bring me back to a familiar yet unknown place. It's the breath of you. The movement of your steady words. The feel of your uneasy truth. The way you calm the riffs in the cliff of my soul.
Hold me... till I can no longer let go. Because I run from the feeling of love. And I clamor at the stoop of rejection. There is no hope at the end of a rope that burns tender palms. But you keep on pulling me back in. Telling me that I can't get through a difficult situation without breaking a little.
You treat my wounds with aloe and salve. Then wrap my hands with bandages and gauze, covered in hope. Telling me that I'm one of your chosen that despite my faults I am loved beyond measure. That my heart is an oasis and my time is treasured... And that's why I call you my redeemer.
Love always, Esha
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| Photot by kieutruongphoto |
Let the naysayers talk?
What do they know about you?
Have they walked in your shoes?
Have they embraced your struggle?
You're made of flesh previously molded from clay
Pay no mind to the things haters say
They didn't create you
And their remarks and tidbits won't save you
So let the words multiply
Like smoke clouds darkening polluted air
Blackening clear sky
Taken in by unfortunate souls
What others call life
Is made inevitable
When negativity without hope takes control
People focused on the dislike of others
Lose sign of their goals
You were blessed to fly free
You're bigger than the adversary you face
Because when God is for you
It's easy to forgive others for their mistakes
Love always, Esha
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| Photo by Esha Montgomery |
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| Pic by SamuelFrancisJohnson |
Writing is a nasty business. One minute you're speaking with your whole heart. Baring the issues of your soul on a white paper that seems endless. The next minute your words dry up like a shallow puddle of water on a hot summer’s day. The words fade to black and the feeling of flowing letters pulsating through easy fingertips slips away.
We sit with open palms writing for the pleasure of the moment. Praying for the eyes of excited readers to scan the lines of tactful words. We are not titans. We are bearers of empty yet hopeful words, subjects added to verbs. Creating sentences you never thought of but every portion read touched a sensitive nerve.
We fly like oceans swiping over wet dreams. We move like clouds rolling too high. Fighting for an opening to a sentence. Working towards a period that never dies. People have limited lives but the feelings they provoke live on.
Count me among the nameless writers who gave up but kept on going. Never knowing if anyone would read. Because they couldn’t change the world. And the successful are defined by monetary greed But the starving artist is defined by need.
Love always, Esha
