A Journey to Comfort
The Art of obtaining Comfort
Clothed and at ease in a high thread count of sheets
To Omit your dagger and expose your vulnerability
As Mellow and recurring as the dewy sunshine of Sunday morning
Feather pillows caressing your cheeks like the way socks toast your feet
Only you can be authentic within your own space
Release those tight curls and bare, naked face
To exist without the bounds of prejudice and anxiety
And the weight of the scales to be perfect in the eyes of misogyny
To Break the bracelets at our feet and leave Plato's Cave
for Lady Justice to unveil and see the truth in the lies of today
Experience the journey of discomfort -- that's where you flourish abundantly. Your destination to comfort doesn't happen suddenly.
About the Creator
A.Y. Mallette
Author & Travel Journalist .... and sometimes Poet.
Keep reading
More stories from A.Y. Mallette and writers in Poets and other communities.
One Glimpse
Can love be captured at first glimpse? The warmth of the sun is known to drive one mad. From just one glimpse, Can one not distinguish thee to a horizon of serenity during golden hour? From just one glimpse, Can one’s song soothe; Just as the waves and a nightingale make a choir? From just one glimpse, Can a single waft make one recite the recipe of morning dew? From just one glimpse, Can one be kissed just as the ocean caresses the sky in the middle of June? From just one glimpse, can one not stifle at the sugar from pursed lips at a lemonade stand? From just one glimpse, Can our souls merge the time it takes counting each kernel of sand? Can love be captured at first glimpse? Just as the moon photographs the Earth during a Solar Eclipse.
By A.Y. Mallette5 years ago in Poets
Trouble at the Tea Leafing Café
The rain had started right around the time that Annie was buttering her second thick slice of homemade toast for breakfast, and hadn’t paused since. Not that anyone could tell. The windows of the café were fogged over, and with every seat filled with happy customers munching on fresh baked pastries or steaming bowls of the delicious soup of the day, it was hardly surprising. Annie looked around the room, finally taking a moment to breathe after the lunch time rush. Her old life already felt like a bad memory, a part of her history, always, but just that. History.
By Hannah Moore3 days ago in Fiction
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.