I am Dorthy’s Defense Mechanism

Dorthey has to fight the villain inside her. She tries to stay focused on growth and not letting others bring her down. But sometimes she gets down, real down. She wants to drag her enemies to the depths of hell. Introduce them her friend, Death and fill their bellies with the greatest pleasures in life. She wants to leave them stranded and lonely waiting for someone to just. come. and. love. them. The place she was. The way she was. And sometimes she loses control and she stoops. She stoops and she feels like she’s let herself down every time she does. She never wants another human to feel the physical and emotional pain she’s gone through. But she clinches her fists and grits her teeth at times, praying for vengeance from above and below. Then she thinks, you know what, they may never realize the pain they caused. They may never take the time to learn their own soul. Their own magnificent inner being. Now that, is the true heartbreak. And that is when she reels herself back in and remembers that in another life, in another dimension, she made the same mistake. Even if it would have never been in this lifetime. That thought slacks her jaw and releases her shoulders. This is her growth. This is a snapshot inside a human mind attempting to grow from every circumstance. This is her truth.

Little purple person

Who are you when you’re

not looking,

when that sweat is dripping

from your brow

When your feet are up

on the couch.

Can you define yourself?

Not your hobbies

or your top responsibilities,

but who you are,

those spaces,

 between your out-right 

maddening choices?

“I’m a little purple person,” it whispered in my ear. “I run and frolick and think of the many ways I can return to you. It’s just a matter of getting to you.” It takes ten huge steps away from me, but since it’s so small it doesn’t get more then 3 inches from my face. It sits, crosses it’s legs, and faces me. “In between the spaces is space, my dear poet, it’s space to be filled with memories and love and if you even feel the need, hate.” The little purple person then lays down staring at my popcorn ceiling, and places two arms behind his head. “And if you must know, my dear poet, the space between my maddening choices is balance. Where the imagination runs wild because the madness isn’t present, but it was and it will be. Some call it peace, but I believe, my dear poet,” he faces me now, “it’s best left temporary. Because to grow we must change.” He goes silent and slowly closes his eyes. I study this tiny person. He must be no bigger than my thumb. I roll over and look at my popcorn ceiling. My eyes slowly close. That could be true, it could be true. 

 

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New Project, New England Authors

I’ve started compiling a list of Famous Writers from New England! 

Still working on the list. But this is what I have so far. I’m proud to be from New England and live where so many great writers have lived. Thought I’d make page to show off my home.

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