The Devil's Grip Tightens

The devils grip tightens.
The darkness is rising.
The light is dimming.
Weakness is the vulnerability.
The angels light is essential.
Help me find tranquility and freedom from this sorrow.
You left and found serenity.
I turned and found anguish.
The flames and clouds battle.
Strength is lost in smoke.
The light is nudging down.
My heart and soul is twisted.
The dark and light brawl with grief.
The devil and angel continue to play.
My heart is burning.
My soul wants calm.

Dawn Piecham

Dawn is a native of Somerville, Mass. and has earned a bachelors degree in nursing and is currently working on her masters degree in nursing. A natural born caregiver, Dawn is a loving wife and mother of three boys with another on the way! She is proud to be able to say that she simply adores her family. While all of this is very apparent to those who know her, Dawn has been hiding the fact that she is an incredibly talented writer from us for years!

Tenderness & Tenderbits

This is today's Truthbomb from the ever-inspiring Danielle LaPorte.

Sounds easy, right? 

Defend your tenderness. 

Of course the things that sound easy never really are…are they?

Tenderness.  Those soft, raw, unexposed pieces of your heart and soul that haven’t been beaten to a pulp yet.

The parts that loss hasn’t carved into with the ferocity of a blade slinger.  

Suicide, drug and alcohol addiction, overdose, loss on top of grief on top of mourning.  

Years and years of mourning.

The weight of it all cripples any tenderness that has the balls to stand its ground.

Tenderness along with innocence are my casualties of circumstance.

What was once tenderness is now covered in scar tissue.

What was once innocence is now cold, hard experience.

What's even more concerning is whatever battleworn tenderness might be bunkered deep within can’t even find solace in my sleep.

This grieving and mourning and wailing doesn’t fucking quit.

I wake up with it.

I live my days with it.

I tuck myself in with it at night.

That's when things really get muddy.

As my eyes close and sleep takes over, my subconscious mind continues to rip apart at my tenderness.

Visions not suitable for waking hours.

Abysmal sadness.

So, so deep.  

It’s a wasteland of despair, my dreams.

I’m failing my tenderness.  

Unable to defend it.

Weak to protect it.

Lacking faith that I have any pure tenderness left.

My own truthbomb is this:  My tenderness is broken. 

Which leaves me with one question...

If defending it has failed and it’s broken to bits...

Is there HOPE to HEAL it?

Because luckily I can say...

Somehow, some way my hope is still in tact.

Tara Mazzeo Jackson

Co-Founder of Storytellers:  The Collective, 

Curator for Bohemian Living, Owner/Artist of Bungalow Wilde 

and Blogger at Bits & Pieces.

Tara is a lover of yoga, bleeder of words and a bohemian city-kid who has a knack for rescuing stray animals.  

She has a mean case of wanderlust and you’d be hard pressed to find her without these things:

a journal in her bag, a camera in-hand and sun kissed shoulders.

Tara writes from experience, pain, truth, triumph and that place, 

deep down, where the words simmer in emotion.

So I Wait . . .

The winds in my sails now seem to be gone...

So here I float in uncharted waters, and WAIT.

The sunrise that use to greet me won't break the horizon...

So I sit here in the shadows longing for its warmth, and WAIT.

The drops of rain that would wash everything anew can't seem to reach the ground...

So I stand here with my arms wide open, reaching for its baptism, and WAIT. 

The dreams I used to chase have been interrupted by nightmares...

So with eyes wide open I do my best to keep the monsters at bay, and WAIT. 

The path that I used to follow now leads me in circles...

So with blisters on my heels I shall stand firm, and WAIT. 

The inferno in my belly has all but been extinguished...

So I hold firm to my last match hoping for the winds to die down, and WAIT. 

The beats of my heart now show signs of a murmur...

So I accept the fact there is no cure, but refuse to accept defeat, and WAIT. 

I wait because of hope...I wait because of love....I wait because I know what is waiting for me…

I wait because it is what he would want. 

So I wait...

Heidi Donovan

An old soul who speaks the truth, personifies loyalty and can induce the kind of laughter that heals you.

In addition to all that (and unbeknownst to many), Heidi is also an incredibly talented wordsmith and photographer.  
Allowing only the luckiest and most trusted into her world of woven words and captured moments.

For years she's been steadfast in her "thank you but no thank you" response to requests to share her work.  
Until….The day she said "Yes" to being a storyteller here.

I don't have words to express how happy, excited and overwhelmed with pride I am 
to introduce you to one of my favorite writers (and one of my best friends) of all time.

(Bio written by the President of her fan club, Tara Mazzeo Jackson)