Perhaps there’s nothing to worry for
perhaps if i simply state my desire
say thank you,
then stand up and
walk to it,
that’d be sufficient.
i like that.
if i keep my imagination
to my prayer
i wouldn’t have to hope for
i like that.
Michelle Bernard speaks: another one, a poem and much more from Michelle Bernard on Vimeo.
I am an artist.
Create your art, and name yourself: artist.
all over your canvases, notebooks, iPads, laptops, journals, microphones, and pottery wheels without restraint or fear that someone might question your validity.
You don’t need permission if you have a pulse.
Because art belongs to our souls, not our egos.
knees stiff from spinning
heels sore from the pace
lips tired of saying my lines
i found another breath in you
before flatlining into fear, a fate that could permanently end curiosity,
you pressed into my chest and gave me life again
hold my hand
pull me safely to the wings
away from the trip wire of resentment that runs
the world’s stage
i will let you
set my wrist
turn my chin
place my feet
even though i prefer to lead when i dance
sometimes you have to follow.
your heart will be persistent
even if you leave it to wither in a shoe box
even if you flatten it and use it as a bookmark to save your place
even if you bury it in the garden between the bossy rows of peppermint
your heart will keep on trying to tell you
what you need to know
to be able to survive
to be able to go on
to be free.
when you are ready to listen
when you are ready to know
when you’re ready to let go
your heart will say to you
you’re the one that I want.
the mist can see me through my window.
I see it too. It cannot hide behind the glow from street lamps.
It was raining when the dogs woke up.
It’s still raining now.
this is certainly not the way I expected to experience the last days of April:
wrapped in two scarves, socks up my legs, and a fur-lined hat near the front door.
I wanted flowers out my window
and fresh air to blow into my apartment while I get ready for bed.
I do like the stillness of this night.
And I like how time hangs onto the mist
giving more evening
in my mind
so I can see the beauty
in this foggy night
Michelle Bernard: not expected, a poem for the season from Michelle Bernard on Vimeo.
i love ya
i wiggled into you
(you were worth the wait)
through grateful hips
shoulders praising morning
i pointed these feet
while white strands caught my eyelashes
i increased the decision
taking longer strides
(trusting myself for
the 108th time)
letting what I felt
swallowed the noise
letting the sound of light play
from my body
making the days
Michelle Bernard: longer – a poem from Michelle Bernard on Vimeo.
explorer of dream.
casting magic on those in her orbit.
peeking out from pink and turquoise
striped and barefoot and bejeweled.
sweaty, whirling hips.
painting the sky with patchouli hands.
grey wool exterior, lined inside.
big eyes squinting. taming Questions.
determined for answers.
once prodded, bullied.
forgot her name.
close up, no injury.
underneath bronzed body armor—
What to do…
when the person you thought you’d love forever
makes you sad, manipulates, cannot relate to your desire for growth?
How do you break-up with a best friend?
Do you stay when you’ve grown in different directions?
Kids know how to find friends who align with them.
We need to do the same as adults.
You are not a bad person to want joy and alignment.
I had a plan. It certainly didn’t include being single in my late forties. If I knew this future 10 years ago, I would have thrown a temper tantrum at the angels.
I am single. I’m 49. And I am happier today, yesterday, and the day before. I cannot remember feeling this free as a girl, as a woman, in every part of my life.
These days, being single does not feel like being alone. It used to, though. And I’d hunt down a soul just to patch the hole.
I feel finally complete as I continue to untame myself, to drop my guard, my masks, my potions.
I am giddy and wild again like a curious child playing with the toys in her chest.
I whisper sweet thanks to experience. And Spirit responds to this exchange.
The boys who once broke my heart, came to apologize when they became men. The threads that tied me to many hearts over many cities and hopes are slipping out of my hands. I bless each one as they float like balloons on a slow breeze.
This story of my completeness I wish to share with my sisters who cry out to be loved by another as a sign of life, and worth.
I wish to tell them:
First set your Self free. Let her thrive in realness.
I would tell her to listen to the opening note of the song you always wanted to sing. This tune will enliven you. Sing it.
I would tell her Wave Your Magic over miles of dreams and fears, and follow every hunch that brushes your cheek.
I would tell her love is an unwrapped present you carry with you all the time. It’s been with you during all those misshapen relationships and solo Friday night dinners.
Once you realize this, open it. Open your gift. It’s wild and untamed inside, made pure and rare, so don’t change it.
When you do–open it–you will have opened the love of your life.
You will have opened your full Self, and she’s exactly who you’ve been looking for all this time.