Dear Sister

Dear Sister
There will be times
That we won’t see eye to eye
As you know
I do love a good argument
But my love for you will never change


Our differences can be vast
They can cause tensions
Even quite a bit of emotion
But my love for you will never change


If I become upset
Rest assured
I have to say what is on my mind
There is more room out in the world
Than there is inside our my mind
But my love for you will never change


Sister
I will always be a stubborn one
But I will always be there to back you up
I will always be the kind that picks and teases
But I’ll be there for you when you want to give up


Sister
I know you may not agree with me
But there are two different lenses in which we see
Our views will vary
Our logics may not be the same
But please know, my love for you is not a game.

I’ll keep that light on
even if you decide to leave
When you grow cold or alone
Please know you can come to me
My love you for will never change
For you’re my sister
And my heart carries your name.

Cassie Redfearn
(Cayenne)

Threads

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. 

Too much

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

Threads

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. 

Story of a Life.

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.

Inspired or enthralled? I’m not sure.

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.

Writing Prompt from GoDogGoCafe.com:Beautiful Dreamer

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