These are my inner thoughts, passions and inspirations.
I tend to be “too much” for a lot of people.
Too opinionated.
Too fascinated.
Too infatuated.
Too loving.
Too forgiving.
Too accepting.
Too “ready for change” – constantly.
Too free.
Too sexual.
Too sensitive.
Too emotional.
So I guess I am enveloping myself
in my “Too muchness”
-learning to love it’s uniqueness.
@cassiecass04
Cassie C. Redfearn
She healed my soul with threads of herself and left the longing of her beautiful lips as she pulled away the pain and replaced it with her love.
She tucked it away into the dark corners inside of me and it lit a path to hope.
Little did I know that when she unraveled, so would the threads in which she used to stitch my soul and the lantern she left to burn would be snuffed out. Leading me back into a darkness darker than before, void of sound unlike before and full of fearful dread.
The story really never ends. Though the happy ending cuts the scene of your favorite movie, you’re left out on what really happens next.
Things go on, despite our knowledge. The world becomes busy. Vehicles crowd the high ways. People go to work. The side walks are crowded with feet, hurrying to their final destination. Passing the same woman five times in a week, as she holds out her hand for a few measly coins to be dropped. She is invisible. The story never really ends.
Infinite connections, boundless alterations to any story changes from moment to moment. Like the books with alternate endings, depending on the path you choose. Life may circle back and you’re to choose again.
Over and over again, making the choice. Making the statements with your voice. Once is not enough, it must be said again. Stand your ground. Don’t disappear within. Be present. The story doesn’t end. The movie stops but their life just begins.
Say we died but that pain ripples through many others. The story grew. The sorrow the heartache and the moments of good times. The story doesn’t end, it just begins to unwind. Faucets of laughter, even tears and joy. The story didn’t end. The memories were deployed.
The story really never ends.
Here goes that crappy first draft that they always say to jump right into. So, why writing? For me it is more about freedom of expression. It is a way to throw down all of those words that do not make sense in my mind and then re-read it all later to have that final “Ah-Ha!” moment, or in retrospect, perhaps a “Oh Damn” moment. In 2020, I have had many of those latter moments.
For me, writing began during high-school. That’s right. Those amazing early 2000’s. My journal overflowed with every thought that did and didn’t make any sense at all. Doodles from front to back, on the covers, down the spines and throughout the pages as an expression of my emotions littered the lines after most paragraphs. What I wouldn’t give to hold some of those journals again and read through my adolescent mind of self-doubt and turmoil as the adult that I am today.
Do not hold too tight.
Yet, not too loosely.
Let her love flow
freely and willfully.
Constricting will suffocate
though being aloof
will lose her forever.
Allow her to “be”
and flow in your arms
the way an ocean holds a boat.
Rock.
Sway.
Allow her to dip
And sail through the sea
But find safety
In your harbor.
-Cassie Redfearn
Tuesdays Writing Prompt: Beautiful Dreamer
GoDogGoCafe.com
Emma
Her loose white cotton gown
Catches the wheat bush
As it whisks in the wind.
Her bare feet dance
through the dry soil of the field.
Quick as the wind, her legs carry her
and her addictive laughter
echoes through the valley.
Auburn curls catching in the wind,
Bouncing from her shoulders
Like butterfly wings as she sings
Made up songs of joy.
She goes by Emma Ophelia
But only in my dreams.
Beautiful dreams of a baby girl
I hope to carry some day.
Some day.
Hopefully, some day.
Cassie Redfearn
That’s it
That feeling right…
There
It’s caught my breath in my chest.
Oh no
Now that..
That’s the knot.
I know this
This feeling
It isn’t me
No, please say
It isn’t me
It’s him isn’t it
It’s him that runs
Runs through my veins
My father
He comes out in me
I cannot control it
Deep Breath
But it hurts
My eyes
They’re moist with tears
Just let it out
If only
I just let it out
No, this isn’t me.
Breath
Please Breath
Count
5
4
3
2
1
Eyes open
Dilated
Now I see
Now I feel
This is what it is like to be him
I have tried to run
But you are in my veins
I cannot dispose
Only grow
5
4
3
2
1
Now breath
I’m me.
Only me.
Finally, I am me.
Cassie Redfearn
GoDogGoCafe.com Tuesday Writing Prompt–Today’s prompt: End a piece of prose or poetry with the phrase “I miss you”
Grandma,
Mom use to tell me stories
Of memories she has with you.
Many of those stories
Were toward the end of your life.
They often left me wondering
What your life must have been like
Before the cancer set in.
Many others have told me
what a wonderful
And beautiful soul you were.
I believe that,
Even though it leaves a lot up
To the imagination.
Curiosity of your laughter,
Your quick witted responses,
Or your compassion for others
Chase me around like day dreams.
What must you have been like
In your quiet moments when the world was still
And your thoughts had room to dance
Around in your head?
I imagine you were full of lofty ideas,
Like myself. Like mom.
Your memoirs sit on my desk.
Your words remind me of myself.
But they also remind me of my mother
And at times, my sister.
They make me feel connected
To a woman I never got to know,
Being only six months old
When it was your time to go.
Tears come so easily
Reading the words of a woman
full of pain at the end of her life
with nothing left to gain.
Your last entry hits the hardest,
written only days before your last breath.
How incredibly powerful
those few lines are to me
having never known your smile,
Your voice,
Your laughter,
Or your touch,
But feeling your pain with ease.
My only life line to you
Has extended across
the barrier of life and death.
I have wanted to know you
All these years,
Like there is a piece of me missing.
An irreplaceable love
That I can never share with another person
Nor can I will feel in another way.
Despite only knowing you through photographs
And the way your “W” curves at the end,
There’s really only one way to express how I feel.
I miss you.
Cassie C Redfearn
