Tag Archives: therapy

#Write Myself Whole Day3: Survival of A Psalmist

From time to time, the person I no longer -am has come to say goodbye. And it’s okay. I want the old me to know. I see you. Bowed head, shrinking back. Third-degree burn on your right hand. I see you. Oh! How have we grown as the years have gone on. 

The scars I was carrying have no weight on who I am now. I won’t dismiss the facts. We’ve had a lot of ups and downs. And the trail of deaths runs deep.

Photo by Raquel Su00edlva on Pexels.com

  I have come back to  take you by the hand, to lead you into a glorious departure. I’m better now, as are you. The little girl in me is cheering, every scar, every wounded hole, every dark night of the soul, We are the answered prayers of treacherous nights. We are  the songs of holy grail, that’s right!

 it’s’ time you know, 

I whispered you into that holy-goodnight, 

I smiled at you, at thought of your transmission,

 I played this verse in your remembrance,

a sway of nod, impermenament,   

There’s a new story to hum, 

off key needs a bit of tuning though, 

I have a good-good feeling, doe! 

in gitty-pockets like butterflies 

take the wings of the morning, 

I realize I am life’s unpretentious dance, 

an ocean-breath on a life-time of chance 

churning fragile into fragrant, woody resinous 

drink from my own homemade cistern, 

eternal resilient- taverns of waters, 

are always flowing, always leading 

me home.

Poetry Krissy Mosley 2022

Book-Therapy:

woman reading book
Photo by Renato Abati on Pexels.com

Sometimes I’m just a girl, walking into a book store. Swimming in the minds of other writers- ah that’s life! We’re all a little crazy or maybe it’s just me, I can never find the exit-sign in those places. So I stay until almost closing, get a sense -long body lines come out of nowhere, and then there’s another book that catches my eye – I sniff first, tucking in the lastest cut-timber, ah Lanston Huges, The Negro Mother “Children I come back today, to tell you of the long dark way, that I had to climb, that I had to know”…

I move on: Oscar Wilde hitting me the face, The Ballad Reading Gaol “That fellows got to swing” I skip along the lines, chewing -sweetness and everything in between.

“Some love too little

Some love too long

Some do the deed with many tears

And some without a sigh:

For each man kills the thing he loves; yet each man does not die.”

I look up for a minute, rub the cover of the book, gently place it back on the shelf. I wonder about book owners, are they like me? Do they melt? Do their eyes sparkle in delight of books? I know there are many parts of owning books. Selling books, books on display, one day I might know these operations but for now, it is my own personal luxury.

P.S. I always spend $50.00 plus in bookstores, I say its worth it.

signing off Kindness sis. Krissy