My Muse is Depressed; In Need for Uplifting Inspiration

After reviewing my writing, I discovered I am often very depressing. My latest poems were written with me wanting to write somethings that were lighter. I believe I failed. While I was writing, I got so frustrated at my inability to write something joyful and light lacking any thought that was depressing. The closest thing I came to success with was my musings about mushroom hunting. I have to come clean…I hated that post. Only reason I sent it…was because it was the lightest thing I wrote.

It is clear. My Muse, despite her recent day off, is close to a break-down. I need to make sure she gets some help. I promise I will do that.

However, while she is under medical care I need your help in inspiring me. Give me a writing prompt that will inspire me to write with light…instead of dark. It can be anything that you believe is something that needs to put in poetry form because of the goodness that it has.

You are under no obligation to help me with this…but I figured I would ask because my Muse and I have not had the best luck accomplishing this task of yet.

I thank you in advance for your consideration,

Best Wishes!

Billie ♥

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Defection to Happy (Sestina)

I am visiting this new land called Happy
I don’t know how to act.
All my life I have lived in Despair.
I never liked living there, because it is very glum.
However, my feeling of this new land of Happy is fright.
But, I will travel on despite.

I never felt the joy that forms a smile I attempt one despite.
What makes all the people feel cheery in Happy?
Do they know what it feels like to feel fright?
Could all this bliss be an act?
Does the monotony of content make the natives glum?
I can’t help it I feel home sick for Despair.

Is it my emotional predisposition for misery, which destined me for Despair?
Could I learn to be a Happizite despite
my life long teachings of how to be glum?
I admit I have a fascination with this land of Happy.
Perhaps things would be alright if pleased I could act
and keep hidden, from those all around, my fright.

How does a person mask fright?
When they lived their whole life in Despair?
Is delighted still a wonderful feeling if it is an act?
Can the act ever become fact despite
being a foreigner to Happy?
Or am I forever doomed, no matter the effort, to be glum?

I don’t want to be glum.
I don’t want to feel fright.
I want to live forever in Happy.
I want to defect from Despair.
No matter I was born a Despairian, I want to be a Happizite despite.
I want to feel glee for real and not have it be only an act.

I have decided, I will drop my act and no longer feel glum.
I will do this despite my feelings of horrible fright.
I herby revoke my citizenship to Despair, and pledge my allegiance to Happy!

A Mother’s Dream

my dream finally came true

true tale i tell to you tonight

tonight my baby feared lost

lost to me forever was found

found my reason for living again

again there is hope

hope to start over

over the past

past the hurt

hurt that was caused by me

me, myself, and i

i can breathe easy

easy my breaths

breaths given to me anew by GOD

GOD, aware of my heart’s torment

torment of my own making

making me cry each night

night after night he listened

listened to my pain

pain he had mercy

mercy is what he gave

gave by a power held only by THE MOST HIGH

THE MOST HIGH made my dream finally come true

true tale i tell to you tonight

tonight my baby feared lost

lost to me forever was found

found my reason for living again

again there is hope

 

Defection to Happy (Sestina)

I am visiting this new land called Happy

I don’t know how to act.

All my life I have lived in Despair.

I never liked living there, because it is very glum.

However, my feeling of this new land of Happy is fright.

But, I will travel on despite.

I never felt the joy that forms a smile I attempt one despite.

What makes all the people feel cheery in Happy?

Do they know what it feels like to feel fright?

Could all this bliss be an act?

Does the monotony of content make the natives glum?

I can’t help it I feel home sick for Despair.

Is it my emotional predisposition for misery, which destined me for Despair?

Could I learn to be a Happizite despite

my life long teachings of how to be glum?

I admit I have a fascination with this land of Happy.

Perhaps things would be alright if pleased I could act

and keep hidden, from those all around, my fright.

How does a person mask fright?

When they lived their whole life in Despair?

Is delighted still a wonderful feeling if it is an act?

Can the act ever become fact despite

being a foreigner to Happy?

Or am I forever doomed, no matter the effort, to be glum?

I don’t want to be glum.

I don’t want to feel fright.

I want to live forever in Happy.

I want to defect from Despair.

No matter I was born a Despairian, I want to be a Happizite despite.

I want to feel glee for real and not have it be only an act.

I have decided, I will drop my act and no longer feel glum.

I will do this despite my feelings of horrible fright.

I herby revoke my citizenship to Despair, and pledge my allegiance to Happy!

Woman! Love thy self.

I wrote “Known But Never Seen (A Love Story)  https://billieazahir.wordpress.com/2013/05/14/known-but-never-seen-a-love-story/in response to photos like the ones included here been seen by me. I wanted to try to offer something to all the woman in the world who already feel like they are not good enough to deserve the best in life. I needed to do something to use my voice on this issue. As a woman who is trying to love who I am….the actual reality…and not what I wish I was, I can say the hardest part to love is my body. My greatest fear is after putting in all this work to be happy being perfectly imperfect, my hate of body will undo all that I have done. I believe if I feel this way there must be others who feel likewise. I urge you, to work on loving your body now…don’t wait to the end. We are woman, we are better than this.  

Billie ♥    Photoshop1Photoshop3photosop2BodyPerspective

Known But Never Seen (A Love Story)

I fell in love today with someone I have always known.

 She was brushing her hair, and I was brushing mine.

 when I caught her eye, no lie, for the very first time.

Her face had no make-up.

 This gave me a chance to absorb her natural, even if it was raw, realness.

It was beauty beyond what can be found in magazines.

 Her allure was in her imperfections

and not some manufactured rendition of beauty.

Seeing my new found love this way,

I took a moment to appreciate visual evidence of every

 laugh she unleashed, frown she felt, scowl she showed,

and every moment she felt nothing

because those where the things which carved the face I adore,

and serves as her witness to the life she had endured.

In our many encounters, we had showered together before.

This time, however, we knew the experience would be different

I was going to take this time to know every inch of her.

 She was scared, doubting us indulging in this delight was right.

Knowing this, I did not rush her.

I knew she would open up in time.

I let her go through her shower routine.

I allowed her the initial downpour from the shower.

I knew, those first moments was when

she soaked in the sensation of being blessed with being clean.

I appreciated the way that she tilted her head up to the heavens

and slowly rotated;

making sure every part of her was sanctified by wetness.

When this holy moment passed,

we had fun singing off tune

any bits and pieces of tunes that caught our fancy.

 As we enjoyed this freeness,

 I was struck how she just gave me

one of the rarest gifts…nobody before me…saw

 her like this.

When she started the process of washing her hair

 was when I knew it was my time…

to make my move and let her know

the celestial being she was

by allowing her to view her radiant light through my eyes.

 As I lathered her hair, I told her to relax and enjoy.

My fingers messaging her head with just the right pressure.

Slowly, I could feel and see her muscles trust by surrendering

to my tender touch.

After she was shampooed and conditioned…and I wiped her eyes,

I could see all doubt about our taboo time together

in the shower erased.

Her eyes were hooded.

Each touch I slowly reverently administered she allowed

to shine the light of her essence.

 Her legs, which she thought stumpy and shapeless, she now saw as strong.

Her arms, she hated showing,

she became aware of the elegance

as they stretched up and her fingers dripped fragrant floral suds.

Her breasts, she saw only value being as sexual lures,

she no saw how the magic of their adaptions

throughout every one of her major life changes.

 Together we mourned for the pain wearing

confining contraption brought to the tissue

that loyally stood guard over her heart.

I made sure she was aware

any part of her that endured so much as they had

and bore the forever scars and temporary marks

never deserved to be considered less that exquisite.

When our showered ended…

I did the exalting of parts once more as I dried her off.

He once, pale skin was a rosy red with all the attention I gave it.

Before I wrapped her beauty up in a towel,

I stood her in front of the mirror and said,

“This is me, looking at me, and today I fell in love with the person I’ve always known but never took the time to see and appreciate before.”

 

 

 

Not Forgotten

i was not forgotten today

today, of all days, i feel

feel the need for kindness

kindness of a thought

thought about me today

i was not forgotten today

today when i was so sad

sad about not being remembered

remembered with loving thought

thought about me today

i was not forgotten today

today when moms are exalted

exalted i was not

not by the one i hoped would give thought

thought about me today

i was not forgotten today

today an angel cheered my heart

heart that was saddened

saddened heart was brightened with a thought

thought about me today

I Am Bipolar

I was chosen to be a warrior

Answered the call knowing
My survival is my only reward

Bruised battered but never beaten by the Beast
In need for retreat from time to time because
Pleasure and Pain is often felt in excess
Only time I fear my demise is when both meet
Laughing at the havoc the bring to the one battling.
Amount of agony felt requires a call for reinforcements
Relief is great when they carry me off the battlefield…and I get my only reward for being a chosen warrior.

 

Children are often chosen to be warriors as well. Here is a link to another Blog with a poem about this and further informationhttp://writingsofamrs.wordpress.com/2013/05/07/butterfly-box/

My Angel is a Poetic Pirate (Tony Haynes)

Since my Poetic Pirate Angel (Tony Haynes) has inspired many emotional written responses from me, this being the most recent, our relationship demands an introduction. 

Tony Haynes, otherwise known as my Poetic Pirate, has become a major motivator for me. He not only motivates the part which is obsessed with words and desires to master the craft of presenting them in a way that delights people visually, lyrically, intellectually, and emotionally, he also motivates the part which fights to keep hidden because it fears rejection from those it knows and from those who it meets for the first time. I could go on and on about how great the Angel Pirate is in my eyes. However, I thought I would do this by using a different approach.

Me, aka The Eye, first met the Angel Pirate through a mutual friend who shares our passion for writing. We, who were just strangers in a group, offered our words from our heart risking being torn apart by all the other members who also fancied themselves writers. With every post we made, Tony earned his special spot in my heart. Here is the most recent of our actual Facebook interactions that will show you how great he is and why The Eye sees him as her Angel. Please keep in mind, what I show you is friendly interaction. As such, spelling and grammar errors will be been not only because auto correct is a joke but also because talking with friends, form always takes a back seat to content. As you read, please remember any of my personal commentary will be in bold.

 

“For Every Breakdown, There’s A Breakthrough”

For every breakdown there’s a breakthrough
Over to the sunny side
Life will take down – but
Love will take you
On to pastures green & wide
With every breakdown there’s a breakthrough God provides

Growth lays its stake down and remakes you
On the milk & honey side
Does its shakedown – won’t forsake you
So growth is never satisfied

For every breakdown there’s a breakthrough
On the “tears-get-runny-side”
Oh what aches now?
This may hurt you
Still once the saddest tear has dried
The happy ones you haven’t cried
Evoke the joys personified
Proving the ride is worth the price when you ‘make do’
So for every breakdown, there’s a break through

From my book: “This Has Everything To Do With My Life”

Here is my response….

How true! I had a Breakdown and had the Breakthrough that Father was just a title that I did not have to honor if he was not deserving of the title. I had a Breakdown and had the Breakthrough that my words were denied their power to heal my essence if I did not release them from that secret hiding place in my mind. As always, my Angel Pirate, you inspire me! HUG! Btw..do I have your permission to share this on my blog, giving you credit of course, along with my response?

His response to my request shows his wonderful sense of humor. ♥

you get no arrrrghumment from me, share my swashbuckling friend by all means share!

 

Just by chance?

A fellow blogger who posted “I LOVE YOU” to all his readers. He also expressed that his childhood lessons never included how to express his love in ways that were healthy like verbally and hugging. To prove his sincerity he revealed his real name. This is my response as it was sent with no spell check or editing. 

I came by to pay you a visit and I discovered THIS. Some would call THIS a post. Doing so, would not be technically incorrect. However, giving THIS any one single name would be horribly wrong in so many ways. THIS is your heart. THIS is your pain. THIS is your wish. THIS is your confession. THIS is your end. THIS is your start. THIS is your past. THIS is our future. THIS is your connection. THIS is even more than you and I can mention.

I know THIS was hard to give the world. For that reason, I want to show you that the world that your fear will treat you the same as the man who had the title of Father in your life; is actually very loving if you are aware of its acts of tender care. While it would be easy to just dismiss the meeting of us as chance. Perhaps it is. But my desire to believe that all the forces of evil I have encountered in my life must have a force in place to balance it out makes me believe us meeting was not just chance. I will give some evidence to support my belief.

I started my very first blog just a little over a month ago. By chance, I came across a post the_Lunatic made that impressed me so much I introduced myself. By chance, she told me the reason for her blog was to be honest with herself and the world so she could hopefully get some power over her demons. By chance, I share her mission. By chance, the good impression she made on me made me to read her blog regular when most of the times I just allow the reader decide which blog will get my attention. By chance, I came across you through her blog. By chance, I decided to check out what you offered. By chance, I loved what I saw. By chance, On May 5th I posted the following on Facebook, “Billie Ann Howell-Zahir – One of the saddest things I ever had to admit to another person was the sad fact I did not know how to hug. Sure, I knew the mechanics of the process but my insecurities and fears made the act more painful than enjoyable. Recently, I’ve practiced more while letting go of my fears and insecurities. Now….I wonder how I survived without them. :) By chance, you posted this on May 7th. By chance, today one of my followers told me they found you through me and was highly impressed. By chance, I decided to check in with you. By chance, I found THIS. By chance, while so many others shared pain similar to yours as a child, it is me who KNOWS the shame and burden not knowing how to be hugged and hug. By chance, I know from experience the constant torture I endure being a person who is so full of love for others it often overflows and looks silly yet I fear hugs still despite the efforts I made to embrace the act of hugging.

I might be wrong…but what are the chances of all these chances happening to put me in place to write this to you in hopes to comfort?

Thank you so much for offering THIS. THIS gives you more of an identity than any name given or chosen could. But to keep things easy…I will call you any name you feel is best.

LOVE from me to you….

Introduction to a new series…Responses from the heart

On April 2, 2013 I started this blog. I never had a blog before because I was afraid nobody would read what I offered.

I know the, “What if I have a party and nobody shows up,” fear is very common. However, with much delight, people did show up to my party. Each person who gave me that honor, I can not express the amount of appreciation I have for you.

When I was a child, the writing that I loved had to be kept hidden away. You see, I came from a family that believed in secrets and one of the secrets they believed I should never tell was how I felt. Since I did not know how to write anything I liked without expressing them I would have to take a chance and find a hiding place for my treasured displays of being human. More than once, my hiding places were found and I had to watch them be burned. To some, the pain that I felt because of that seems silly. However, I am almost 40 and have learned I don’t HAVE to care what you think about my feelings and I don’t HAVE to hide them. That being said, as with any child-hood trauma, a person develops some internal fears which they can’t seem to ever shake. Those sticky fears is why I chose poetry as my chosen writing for the blog. I believe poetry is a backdoor method of expression of personal emotion. I felt, if I expressed with strangers my feelings this way and they looked down at me for how I felt…I had an out. I would always lie and say what I offered was done because I had literary license. Last night I realized…I was still hiding my feelings I have written. After that realization hit me….I vowed to myself now, who is grown, and the me as a child that I would no longer deny them the right to have feelings.

Don’t get me wrong. I will still write poetry and post it here on my blog. However, I will be making some additions as well. One of which, is a series titled “Responses from the heart.” The inspiration for the series came when I wrote some responses to posts from people I have social contact with online. It struck me how much beauty my responses had when they were produced from the heart and not thinking. I saw a natural lyrical quality that even when I really try I can’t reproduce when I make an effort to write poetry. Most of all…I loved how my emotions were never hidden.

With that introduction I will soon be posting those first two in the series. It stands to reason, because the way they come about can not be planned or thought out I will not be able to promise when you will see the next one. All I can say with assuridy…is you will someday.

Billie A Zahir ♥

 

Mud (Lanturne)

mud

between

toes of feet

recall youthfull

games

Please (Etheree)

You

see me

as I want

to be seen by

others in the world.

The gift you give with eyes

felt like sparks of pure delight

starting its warm feel good journey

in my lonely heart, jolts of heat spreads

to my toes and finger tips..NEVER STOP!

Call to the Common (Quatrain)

To see who you are now, take a look at your history.
Often the stories of the past are
Persons of wealth and power are glorified.
Why is a mystery.

After all, it was the lowly left to bleed
while the elites stayed home to breed.
The common person lived in the ruling mass’ shadow.
This injustice should not continue…agreed?

Now people of the ghetto
don’t think you have no wisdom to bestow.
I assure you the tales you have are the choicest.
To all those who dare to raise their voice…Bravo!

Even if you are the coyest,
people say your stories are the crudest,
and beg you to leave this task to the aptest
please don’t take it to heart because your stories are the richest.

My Brave Artist (Villanelle)

I’m in love with a warrior artist.

He fights demons without making a fist.

I have watched him battle, with pen in had, he is the bravest!

I know his shoulders are not the broadest

and he is not considered part of the A list.

However, this is sadly the plight of any true artist.

He came into my life when it was the bleakest.

The world seemed to be wrapped in a suffocating evil mist.

His words slashed away at my gray existence proving he is the bravest!

I know, you are right. My opinion is biased.

But wanted to let you know about this great man…or at least a gist.

I want all to know of my love, the artist.

He entered my life when I was at my bluest

and gave me what I needed to have other colors with a twist.

Men, full of brawn, were daunted. Making him, small in stature, the bravest.

I have never been considered the brightest

and care others  have for my opinion  probably does not exist.

However, my heart would never find rest if I did not sing a tune of praise for the artist

who fights demons with his pen because he is the bravest.

SISTER OF MY HEART

SISTER OF MY HEART My pen flows with pure emotion as fuel when my heart and mind keep on compelling an in-depth accounting be given of the unique role you have played in my personal development.

SISTER OF MY HEART, as you know, my emotion is often hard to capsulize within what is considered the acceptable confines
for a poet by civilization’s prose and poetry élite. But in an effort not to bore you with too many words, an honest effort will be made to be concise.

SISTER OF MY HEART my depth of gratitude for your existence in my life is without a bottom and the aid you gave can never be repaid. That being said, The burden of expressing, so you can comprehend the amount of love I carry for you in my heart, in confines of such a small space is a behemoth task. However, the part you had in me becoming who I am today demands I joyfully embrace my impossible mission in a effort to repay the person I will forever owe a debt.

SISTER OF MY HEART you are more than a dear friend. Friends come and go as we grow. As we age, we come to accept people we called friends will wave goodbye and wish us luck soon after they completed their mission in that moment’s life lesson. As we progress to our life’s next destination, we are keenly aware of the added weight in our satchel from the wisdom and memories we added to it. We also know, as we trudge on, are satchel is something we could never leave behind and each day we carry the treasured possession we are stronger because of it.

SISTER OF MY HEART was established by THE MOST HIGH as my one and only constant in whom I could rely. GOD knew I would be beaten down with words and fists while being starved of verbal recognition of worth from two other broken children of his. GOD was not to blame for these evil things happening. The MOST HIGH had to choose between two options, and instead of withholding life from me, he provided me with earth-bound angles. such as you, to be put in place to make sure a child of HIS was not without hope under no circumstances.

SISTER OF MY HEART you were the one who did my hair and make-up and made me think, even if it only lasted a short time, I was pretty. You led me on youthful adventures that all young souls need to learn. When I think of family, laughing, learning, and growing you are the face I see. I know you never comprehended the important positive impact you had and have on my life. When others, who had impressive titles such as Mother, Father, Sister, and Brother failed to show me my worth shimmering back at me in their eyes when, by chance, they glanced in my direction, you showed me how I could sparkle and glow if exposed to the light and not kept hidden away in the darkness which I was made to believe was my birth right.

SISTER OF MY HEART what makes all you done for me even more a blessing is knowing you did it while yourself were suffering. I wonder why and cry over this sad fact. How could you have been so strong and confident to be there for me when I was born so weak? I hate knowing for all our long history together I was always the one taking. I pray to find some way to repay you for all the goodness you gave me then and still give me when I call upon you to tell you my woes so you can remind me GOD never gave up on me… proof being his earth-bound angle is still is answering my desperate calls.

SISTER OF MY HEART I don’t have much to offer. Consider these words just a token of my appreciation and love for the big positive impact you have had on my life.

The List You Need to Write a Memoir

Going to make an all out effort to write a memoir. Going to track my progress here for all to see. First thing I am going to work on is the #1 found here.

 

Writer Site

I started working on my memoir an embarrassingly long time ago. When I started I thought I knew what a memoir was–after all, I’d read I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings. It’s the story of Maya Angelou’s childhood.  OK, I could do that.  I didn’t have a similar experience–not even close–but I had my own events to write about.

What I didn’t realize when I started was that a memoir isn’t just telling what happened to me in chronological order.  The story is all in how you slice it, according to Tristine Rainer (I’ve written about her great advice several times).

In order to write a memoir I had to figure these things out:

  1. Exactly what story I wanted to tell.  After all, I have had a full life and could probably mine several books out of it.  To focus on one particular story, I took the advice of…

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Mother’s Day 2013

As of a few moments ago, I hit a Mommy all time low.

I asked a girl, who is about my daughter’s age, to be my pretend daughter this year.

How sad is that?

This is not literary trickery,

this is my real life.

I know it’s something unheard of

to have a child who wants nothing to do with you…

but that is the reality that rips out my heart every day

and this Mother’s Day

will slam it to the ground and stomp all the blood out.

So, in reality,

my pathetic request of a young lady

who does not despise me and who,

I honestly believe,

believes I have some worth…

is an attempt to save my life.

I know one day

Baby of mine

will allow me

back into her life.

My only goal…

is to live and see that day.

That will be the day

I will be resurrected

no longer be this shell of a woman

you now see before you.

Peace Found

I saw the lake

I sat on the rock

I listened to the sounds

I shut off my mind

PEACE is what I found

I was beauty as far as the eye could see

I was comfort for those who sought rest

I had all the right words at the right time

I LOVED me at that moment

Peace is what I found

You find that place

You take a seat

You listen to all the sounds around

You shut off your mind

PEACE is what you will find

Mother’s RIng

After being reminded of our Mother’s birthday,

I remembered the Mother’s ring she was given by us all

on some occasion I do not recall.

I do not know what her feelings

were

or are

about that ring

but I do know mine.

I remember growing up

being amazed

how all the stones were arranged

in a way that would make anyone think each stone,

right to left,

were not placed in order of birth.

September’s sapphires placed at either end.

The first was a son.

The last was a son.

Both turned out to be the daughter’s emotional rocks.

Always looking at the sensibility of living in a family unit

and enjoying

not having the emotional outbursts

that rocked the boat of our clan.

They have learned

if they walked away long enough…

all would be well when they returned.

Next to sapphires is the garnets.

Eldest daughter

Youngest daughter

Both share the same dirty brown stone,

 loud laughs everyone enjoys hearing…

and little else.

The eldest found her path in life early and never thought to stray.

The youngest path is a wondering one

she has no want to find ”the path” but explore them all.

Both believe paths are ”right”

and never see eye to eye.

Both blind to their similarity

of freely giving bits of wisdom

out of love.

In the middle of the ring

 two stones that have no match.

Growing up,

I felt sad

about their aloneness.

Only after getting older,

and learning who the people were

did I see the connection

between the stones

and the persons.

The Diamond is rare

holds great value.

Worth of the pale stone

risks being forgotten

when surrounded by all the color.

This person,

like the diamond,

stands out

catching fire in the light.

She draws eyes

to the beauty of the stones

yet refuses to be outshone by them.

The lone emerald

the remaining daughter

just like in the ring

brings a sense of peace

and purity

to the collection.

Both beautiful enough to stand alone

but opts to bring he gifts to all.

I loved that ring as a child.

The ring is how

I knew my older brothers and sisters.

I hope Mom passes it on to me.

As long as that ring has us all in a row together,

I have hope

someday,we can do the same.

Free from past baggage

and learn to appreciate the beauty of each other.

Much love to them all

from this

dirty red

Garnet.