Monday, April 15, 2013


I first started this blog in March 2011...this month, it is April 2013. A lot has changed since that first bucket list post. I've ticked a few things off, but I think the greatest change has taken place within me. It's happened gradually, little steps I've taken every now and then in the direction of becoming a person whose skin I'm happier to be living in. And even though I'm not out of the maze yet, I'm putting together the pieces of the map I need to get me out. Someone who's more confident than she used to be, who respects herself more. One who's let go (or at least has weakened her grip on) of caring too much about what other people think of her. Who's stared insecurity in the face and said, you know what? I'm tired of having this conversation with you, I don't really need you. Who let you in? Also, I've become accustomed to living outside of my comfort zone recently. As nerve wracking as it is, it's been thrilling at the same time.

Saturday, April 13, 2013

Mug of tea,
Don't you see
How you make me?

The boiling water is mine,
But the comfort is yours
Picking me up when I'm down on the floor

Tuesday, April 2, 2013

Autumn wind

The Autumn wind,
Encourages leaves
To roll up their sleeves,
And follow their dreams

I know I can do more with this poem...bear with me x

Monday, April 1, 2013

Mr Turtle

In the deepest lake of a city,
A turtle sits in his chair
The entire night he watches,
Without moving a single hair

Fitted between his fingers,
Is a pen of the deepest blue
To the wandering human eye,
It appears as perfectly new

But the turtle knows much better,
Than an ants curious mind
He treasures this ancient relic,
That took so long to find

For years it sat upon a desk,
Shielding itself from the sun
Stuck inside a pencil case
Not knowing where to run

Til the day he was picked up,
Left on a bench in the park
To find his new home in a pocket,
Shortly after dark

From there he travelled the world,
Asia, France, Australia
Only to be dropped in the sand
And discovered by Aurelia

Two books she wrote with that pen,
Their beginning, middle and end
Until it wrote its final word
Ending a sentence with “send”.

On the way to the publisher,
Aurelia dropped her bag
The pen rolled toward a grate,
And slipped behind a rag

Far down it fell,
Gently floating through a lake
Landing on top of a jelly fish,
It managed not to wake

He shook his head frustratedly,
And the pen fell to the floor
Resting with a little nudge
Against a turtles door 

Sara xx