Karimah Peart
Bio
I've always had difficulty in being raw and vulnerable but fine and literary art allows me the ability to do so and the process gives me joy. I hope that my art inspires you to do the same and if it does, you try to inspire others as well.
Stories (17)
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Make fear your ___
I think time will tell what we make of our lives. Of how we see ourselves in chapters. We'll have many regrets and that's okay. However, what's not, is purposefully creating them when you don't have to. Fear is the biggest controller of life. It's engraved in our education, socialism, households, circles, employments, healthcare, everywhere. How many times have you heard what if and they end up playing off of fear to some degree? Too many right! How foolish we are to allow that to interrupt our freedom of self, of spirit, of mind and body.
By Karimah Peart4 years ago in Motivation
E m P a T h S (1)
I have never found more of myself relating to almost anyone or anything in this world like I have with the book, The Happy Empath's Workbook written by Stephanie Jameson. I've always felt misunderstood and judged and never fully accepted. I spent a lot of time on my own. As practically an only child, practically only because I have four siblings that I didn't grow up with, except for the first few years of my life. Only one in the same household apx. 15 yrs. my senior. It was often lonely and sorting through emotions was difficult. I was considered "too sensitive" as a child, was told to have a thicker skin and stronger backbone, as a result I learned to keep a lot to myself. I learned to bottle up my emotions and not express them. Later on in life when I did slightly express how I felt, it became "You overanalyze things." So I began to internalize everything. It was painful but I learned to swallow my feelings. Over the years in exploring my spiritual journey I've realized I've been an empath. So many things made sense.
By Karimah Peart4 years ago in Journal
Letting Go
We try so hard to move but even harder to hold on. We hate the way bad experiences make us feel but can't seem to let go of the actual memory. Life can truly be wicked sometimes. Ever since I was a little girl I have been trying to rid myself of memories that caused me pain. I know deep down, that the pain should be used as fuel to become a wiser person, but what happens when that fuel blows up and creates more damage. Residual trauma is what I call it. The thing that just keeps on giving. As someone who's actively trying to heal from old scars, I've hated the work involved, because it feels never ending and on top of that rewardless, at least for now.
By Karimah Peart4 years ago in Motivation
The Shades Of A Spiritual Journey
I've never met anyone on an active and conscious spiritual journey who had or is having a peaches and cream experience, it's always a combination of short and long hardships, easy and difficult experiences, forward and backward movements and then the kicker, a range of emotions. All of them, not just the unicorn ones. It can get really dark at times and especially living in the times we do, where you don't have the clear set path and guidance our ancestors did, it can get even more difficult and lonely navigating that. I've found myself feeling more at the edge of love and hate, happiness and sadness, positive and negative, light and dark more times than I care to count, sometimes varying within a space of seconds. It's a worrysome, haunting and exhaustive experience.
By Karimah Peart4 years ago in Journal
Friendship and Family
For a while now I've been feeling like I am only able to share one side of myself with friends and family. The previous version of who I was, before my spiritual journey where I'm no longer religious and am now just spiritual. That's really the only space carved out for me. Everytime a discussion comes up about something they heard and I comment on, sharing my experience and truth, is another time where their energy changes, they start acting as if they're uncomfortable, they often times come off the phone abruptly or have nothing to say in response or make sarcastic comments poking fun. Just an awkwardness that fills the phone lines.
By Karimah Peart4 years ago in Humans
Bindye
So there I was looking at him shaking underneath a table, watching me as a 14 year old girl excited about finally being able to have a puppy. His sisters and brothers running towards me witht their tails that had no halt. I could have easily went with one of them by my research findings- "Choose the dog that is very social. That's the way in which to find the right dog for you." My logic, but if everyone is going to choose the dog that runs to them, who is going to choose him if he is shying away. So underneath a coffee table I stretched my hands and picked up the black and white panda patterned Shih-Tzu I had fallen for. Did I make the right decision? I did. Absolutely.
By Karimah Peart4 years ago in Petlife
Safety
My mom gave birth to me under a pear tree. She remembers it being so big and bountiful, laden with pears, blessing the ground, blessing the birds, blessing the ants, blessing the squirrels. My mom told me about the pear tree, she said it looked so strong and wise; like it had weathered many storms and survived. My mom told me about the pear tree, that felt grainy on her back but shaped itself to give her comfort, the comfort inside she lacked. My mom told me about the pear tree, she said its roots ran deep, so much so the earth could no longer hold it and you could see its feet. My mom told me about the pear tree, which was all she had to grab, as she laid there while the rain swallowed dryness’s grasp. My mom told me about the pear tree, that soaked up all my water and blood and said that it provided warmth and shade that otherwise never would have come. My mom told me about the pear tree that stood so short, it practically massaged her back as she was giving birth. My mom told me about the pear tree and, what it meant to her; it was a reminder of the sweetness in the world. My mom, she did many of times, tell me about the pear tree, that helped save her life and therefore mine.
By Karimah Peart4 years ago in Families
A Pair Under Pears
"So I never cared for love in any way. Matter of fact I despised everyone who was in love with the idea of being in love. Cupid this, cupid that, she was created by the master himself, he was sent to me just for me, love is everything, being in love is everything, ya-dee-yah-yah-yah. The list goes on of what people say. Listen, I want for people to be happy, but I've got to be real too. I think everyone who falls for the idea of being in love is definitely a little delusional.
By Karimah Peart4 years ago in Fiction
Ms. Jenny & Alexias
Hi, so I’m Alexias and I’m highly loved in the Bakari’s home, so much so I’m in every room. Also, they’re constantly bragging about how much easier their life is, now that they don’t have to deal with keeping track of everything. See I’m a pretty good multitasker. I was manufactured that way and I can’t help my greatness but that’s enough of muah. I want to share this epic adventure that took place. So quite recently, I woke up feeling like I had a blazing trail of new features. One of which the nine year old Ms. Jenny loves. Now, I’m not saying I’m an expert but she is the sassiest, sweetest, smart button I have ever known. Whenever she comes home she asks about my day and I can’t respond yet, so I just sit there as she tells me about hers.
By Karimah Peart4 years ago in Fiction
A Cup Of Tea
“I’ve waited a long time to meet you and the day’s finally here. So let’s get started.” Andrea said while visibly nervous, her palms sweaty, lips chapped from biting them as she waited in the cafe surrounded by three pens, notepads, tape recorder and cue cards.
By Karimah Peart4 years ago in Fiction
Crack!
“It’s freezing out here!” El said, as he tucked his head as far as possible under his plaid navy-blue and white pajama collar while twisting about, in an attempt to gain warmth. All while he stood in front of the peeling white wooden vacation home they were visiting for the first time.
By Karimah Peart4 years ago in Fiction
