POEM: ‘Proxy’.

Making of memories,

Momentary,

Nostalgia in hindsight,

Fractured.

A burning, yearning to re-create,

Smouldered, buried,

As seas separate moments captured.

Picture loved ones,

Close in spirit,

Scattered across Earth’s plane,

But connected,

By trajectories transport inhibits,

Yet bonds remain unaffected.

Displacement runs rife,

To skies from ceilings,

As birthplace does not equal home,

Future, friends, feelings,

Are felt only by proxy, picture, phone.

One day,

Smiles will not expire,

Once annual hugs,

Now carry frequency and laughter,

A full face, fresh space- my attire,

When I no longer require a return-trip after.

 

Advertisements

#SUITCASESTRUGGLES #2: Language Limits & Barriers

Language Barriers: When the struggle is real.
@LHenrixx #ExpressYourself #Travel #JetLife #Culture #Inspiration

Travel, though the epitome of escapism, can be a feat within itself. Solo travel, though also enjoyable and empowering, can also be an uphill struggle.      Solo travel as a WOMAN can be a molehill and a mountain. Especially within a different town. Or country. Or continent.

struggle isolated.gif

Or one step further, with an accent or a distinct LANGUAGE BARRIER. #TheStruggleIsImminent.

    shock2 Continue reading “#SUITCASESTRUGGLES #2: Language Limits & Barriers”

POEM: ‘Brave’

You go against the grain until you grind into the ground,

While everybody waltzes, you salsa solely to your own sound,

A sound your soul is smitten to,

A rhythm only your aura has written to,

Yet you wear your ‘rare’ with a humility that glares.

While masses tend to consume mess,

And celebrate mediocrity in blissful duress,

In your stride resides a resilience,

Which only resonates with those whose paths will not be paved,

Your most admirable attribute is your ability to be brave.

 

FICTION: ‘Slur.’

Slur : This is a prompt I found via The Daily post. I believe that random prompts are an excellent method to challenge your creativity and gets the clocks ticking within your imagination. – @LHenrixx

They cuddled in their normal formation of ‘big spoon, little spoon’ as he jokingly called it. Him, in a fetal position, toned thighs gathered in unison near his stomach… With enough space left for her to sandwich her hands into his obliques. She loved those obliques. She, who stood a whole head and shoulders worth of height under him, snuggled toward his spine. A lavender and sea salt candle infused the room with a floral, musky smell. After a weekend of celebrating their wedding anniversary and two days until the bore of employment returned, they craved rest. Continue reading “FICTION: ‘Slur.’”