The Quirky Owl

 This is an ode to the unlucky victims whose stories remain untold. Because how can they let it unfold without betraying the poisoned hands that give them life ? FARCE A man and woman, who were poles apart, Let their societal obligations lead them Into a compromise more destructive than their past. Beauty without love, success without joy, They tore down a home and turned it into the ruins controlled by their demons. A marriage they say, is a bond sacred One that is blessed by God, But is it truly a blessing  If they torture you with iron bonds? They say it takes two parents to run a family, But after years of a compromise gone sour Of mansions haunted by their silence, The parents let their demons take it out on their offspring. Two grown up girls, born beautiful and strong, A potential future for these miserable souls Were broken into pieces By their chokeholds and cuffs that were left on for too long. Taught to be obedient, subservient, invisible Values that were to be buri...

 Trauma, no matter how small it may seem, is a defining circumstance that shapes every individual. It may be ignored, or glossed over into an invisible scar that we carry with us as we move through life. It may seem unlikely, but we have all faced it at some point. Loss, betrayal, abandonment. It has many forms, which we sadly normalize and push it away without ever addressing it. Instead, we manifest it through the broken bits of our soul, letting it turn our bright moments dark.  A thorn that pierced through as a child A cut that seemed harmless at first Unknown, festering over the years Into a wound no salve could heal. It poisoned everything Love, friendship, intimacy Buried its roots deep into the mind Twisted and dark, Engulfing every happy thought. Time taken over the years May have covered it with a scab But the angry, swollen spirit Is now toxic, a shadow of what it was born with Deep and non-healing  One can only hope The hurt and sadness will suffocate it Until...

 Here's a little poem to address our silenced pursuits, struggles and sorrows. I hope one day we have the strength to face them and move forward without carrying them as a burden along the way. Oh the irony,  When all you want to do is scream your lungs out but there’s no one to hear you When you want is someone to hold you tight and never let go To want to be close to someone, but all you know is to push them away. So you do what your duty entails you You take away the emotions, the pain, the sorrow And bury it down a thousand leagues of repressed memories, Never to be touched again. So you put on a mask, the façade that everyone seems to believe is true Because this is a place of the survival of the fittest, Here, a weak mind will only bring your downfall. If only I wasn’t faint hearted If only I was brave enough  To bare my heart, to speak up, to stand out. Instead here I stand In the empty wasteland Cold and abandoned With no one for company,  Save for a pile of ...

 Weekends constitute a moderate portion of an individual's social life. From club hopping to Sunday brunches, there are a variety of plans that people make to catch up with friends, family and the rest of their social circles. Friday night planning turns to midnight tripping with your girlfriends and bottles with very questionable content, and sometimes they change and end up in watching sunrises in the arms of someone unexpected. These plans in turn, lead to the making of memories, which in today's modern society calls for posting our weekend photo dump and dance reels to pop music on social media. Documenting our memories on public platforms has become the new norm, even when our weekends may be restricted to a single day due to the nature of one's' profession. But does our presence or lack of, in this particular display of our lives make us reserved individuals or dare I say it, boring? 2020 was a year that made history. When people could not instagram their outfits ...

Here's a small dive into the deeper parts of our minds expressed beautifully by a seasoned writer I know. On Most days, My mind is my worst enemy. I somehow don’t know where to look or whom to turn to for the right answers. Truth be told, there are none. It’s  been a long lost battle and I still don’t have the answers. It’s  been hard to decipher what I feel from what I know is the truth. This battle is not going to end soon and I know  There’s a lot to learn and a lot to figure out in the years to come.   But this is my mind. This is what lives in me  And this is what I know is the truth even if I may not have all the answers yet. -Kristen To find more of Kristen's work please click on the link below https://www.instagram.com/elizabeth_suares/?hl=en

This week I would like to share a snippet into the workings of the world of poetry, which has been described eloquently by a writer who can spin stories with just a few strokes of her pen. A tiny little flame births a regal forest fire, The remotest nooks of her mind now a grand pyre. Her very being set ablaze with an inspiration so great, She grabs a pencil before the sly flames can attenuate. Each word a drop; from her hand runs a river thence, Fills the parchment before her; a happy turbulence. Only water can quench fire, the stanzas doth flow. Untamed ripples dancing as her eyes begin to glow. Before she knows it, she’s the most unyielding General. Her army of sixteen before her merciless wrath grovel. Soldier out, soldier in; every line proportionate. This wordy patriot did it with rhyme and reason, yet. And now, at yet another christening she’s a Father. An air of certitude prevails, as she sprinkles holy water. Content with her myriad roles, she smiles exhau...