self-care Archives

self-care

26 Aug 2019 Poetry dearmamarose, emotion, enlightenment, gratitude, growth, growth mindset, jealousy, mamarose, poem, poetry, self-care, self-love 0

Jealousy

Charlotte Rose

Jealousy is hot red lava in my throat. There must be another way, a flip side to competition, some harmony that only love can build and nourish.

For, where I used to hide in the security of another, I have found my hope. A seed of a larger dream. Lines that move like I do, watery, wet, stream. Refreshing. Cooling lava. Making stone and steam.

Jealousy must be what kept me small. Afraid to leave the warmth of a hearth in winter, afraid to travel for fear that my space would be filled if I were gone.

I am choosing to move without a map’s direction, to learn the whispers of the stars, to trust the creatures of the forest and their offers to house me. I am learning to find space that holds me as I dance.

And I am afraid, for each step of my foot breaks what was untouched, snapping twigs beneath perfect crystals of water, bending beneath my weight.

I am afraid but I move and I pray that my steps are not ever causing harm but rather showing a way, not the only way, but my way. So that all who cross paths with me might say, “Look. Look how far you’ve traveled and how safe you remain.” And when the snow melts and Spring begins again, I pray that my path unfolds before me in blossoms whose colors call me by name.

18 Jan 2019 Poetry dearmamarose, dreams, fantasy, mamarose, orgasm, pleasure, poem, poet, poetry, self-care, self-love, sex, sexual, tree of life 0

If I could eat myself alive

Charlotte Rose

I’d meet myself under the tree of life,

lay me down,

rest my hips between my hands

and eat for hours at a time.

I’d eat all night,

come into the stars and back again,

reborn, reborn, reborn,

and into the next day

and when the light of morning touched my face I’d feel both warm inside and out.

I’d lick every remnant of inside from my outside until my flesh had nothing left to say

and then I’d pray and pray and pray

and sing the sweet sap of orgasm to my tongue once more.

If I could eat myself alive I’d be alive for sure.

I’d know my body like both sides of a coin and I’d flip to see who stays and goes,

who comes and who watches,

who feels the throes of my pelvis rocking

and I’d explore every possible movement, every probable and impossible reaction to every twist and plunge of my tongue.

I’d be patient with me.

I’d laugh and I’d chew and I’d sip sweet sweat as it rolled from once flat spaces to those who have grown stretched and round.

I’d find all of my secrets and invite them out in the cover of night, under the cover of the tree of life

and then I’d sit myself down on the branch’s long swing and I’d pump until I could fly out into the wind,

whispering to myself that I could find myself here again

any time.