Michelle Brewer

The Truth about Life

In life, we think that the point is to pass the test or
overcome the problem. The real truth is that things
don’t really get solved. They come together for a time,
then they fall back apart. Then they come together
again and fall apart again. It’s just like that.

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I will enjoy this life. I will open it
like a peach in season, suck the juice
from every finger, run my tongue over
by chin. I will not worry about clichés
or uninvited guests peering in my windows.
I will love and be loved. Save and be saved
a thousand times. I will let the want into
my body, bless the heat under my skin.
My life, I will not waste it. I will enjoy this life.

Kate Baer

Thoughts on New Year’s Resolutions

Why do we start a new year, with promises to improve?
Who began this tradition of never-ending pressure?
I say, the end of a year, should be filled with congratulation, for all we survived.
And I say a new year should start with promises to be kinder to ourselves, to understand better just how much we bear, as humans on this exhausting treadmill of life.

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What if

What if you were sent here for something larger
Not against your will or wishes
But in alignment with your deepest longing
What if it was as simple as finding what you love
And letting it teach you how to live.

Oriah House, author of THE INVITATION

the art of growing

i felt beautiful until the age of twelve
when my body began to ripen like new fruit
and suddenly
the men looked at my newborn hips with salivating lips
the boys didn’t want to play tag at recess
they wanted to touch all the new
and unfamiliar parts of me
the parts i didn’t know how to wear
didn’t know how to carry
and tried to bury in my rib cage.

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They have come for us
We who are female
We who bleed
They are trying to pull us backwards
To a time when their hatred of us was open
Where they controlled all of what we said and did
Their patriarchy perpetuates itself through their churches

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The Well of Grief

Those who will not slip beneath
the still surface on the well of grief,

turning down through its black water
to the place we cannot breathe,

will never know the source from which we drink,
the secret water, cold and clear,

nor find in the darkness glimmering,
the small round coins,
thrown by those who have wished for something else.

David Whyte