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@activeselflove

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💫 |we are all artists.
📚 | author "Thoughts that became poems" 👇

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I just turned 27. And I am published author.
I look back at my younger self realizing that I fulfilled one of my biggest dreams this year, and I am sure she wouldn't believe it if I went back in time and showed her.

I grew up feeling afraid to share my writing because of what people would think. What would they say if they knew that behind the perfect clean-cut girl there's a whole world made up of words and imagery that is burning to come out?

I only shared my writing with a few friends, one of them @mariangela_rt who I am forever grateful for. She always received me and encouraged me.

"Thoughts that became poems" is a collection of what the title says. Thoughts that were born from a deep state of contemplation of my past as I healed from self-doubt, people pleasing and insecurities. It was written between 2019 and 2021, when being heartbroken guided me to my artistic liberation.

I once wrote that we carry heavy swords that keep us from flying, and as I turn 27, I am choosing to appreciate the ones I've carried all along as I do my best to leave them on the ground. They do not serve the rest of my journey.

I am claiming what I have always been: a writer, an artist and I trust that my work will reach the hands of whoever is ready to receive it.

To the friends whom I've met online and offline who have supported me for more than 3 years in this journey, I thank you from the bottom of my heart and I am forever inspired by you.

If you feel like supporting my art, the link to my book is in my bio, and if you are not ready yet... I hope our souls find a link to each other someday ❤️ by @activeselflove

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3 years ago

🤍🤍🤍 cologne taken in Cologne, Germany by @activeselflove

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a month ago

ayeeeeee by @activeselflove

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2 months ago

i wish nostalgia belonged in fairy tales.
i wish it wore dresses made out of flower petals and tiaras made out of little fallen branches.
i wish nostalgia would be taken to dances and had afternoon tea in pretty gardens.
i wish something about nostalgia felt like dressing up nicely or using glitter on my eyelids.
i wish i could read nostalgia as a pocketbook, i'd put it on my shelf next to all the classics.
but this is only a dream and none of this is true
i wouldn't wish nostalgia on you.

//nostalgia, tea and pretty gardens//

#spokenword #writersofig #poetry by @activeselflove

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2 months ago

Bart met Tina right before the symptoms showed.
Right when Tina would dance in front of mirrors and windows and sing for all the neighbors to hear.

Tina slowly gave in to the chronic pain. It changed her from the inside out. But Bart was not sure if it was happening right before his eyes.

Tina's shadow had more light than she did. She noticed it too. At least a part of her seemed colorful.

Bart used to remind Tina of the way she'd sing for him and the way she'd laugh in front of the TV watching sitcoms at night.

And Tina remembered, but as a memory of another lifetime. And she wondered how long it would take Bart's heart to get tired of Tina's shadow haunting him.

But Bart stayed. And Bart loved her.

And Bart kept a bit of what the chronic pain had taken away in his pocket as a reminder that Tina just needed more time.

Tina needed more time.

And Bart happened to have some of that.

//til we dance in front of windows//

#writersofig #spokenword by @activeselflove

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2 months ago

i really like the color red.
i have used it on my nails. on my lips.
i like it when i see it on other people's cheeks.
a red sunset sits at the top of the list of things i love to see.

how did the color red betray me like this?
refusing to stay on my nails, lips and cheeks, it chose places where it was never a welcomed guest.

and because it did not listen, it got stuck.
and now i'm stuck with the color red in places where it should never have gone. and it hurts both of us.

it suffocates me.
i love red but not enough to be its host.
it's such a telling color.
i can no longer wash it off my own personality anymore.

it drives me so crazy it's gotten me looking for miracles.

it drives me so crazy i don't know how to believe in miracles anymore.

//red is not the lover i wanted//

#spokenword #chronicillness by @activeselflove

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5 months ago

did you feel the shift in the air?

it felt like the echo that follows church bells after they've rung

or the silence immediately after a balloon is popped by @activeselflove

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5 months ago

I once heard eldest daughters dream of being saved.
I agree to an extent. Because I don't think we want to be saved from our circumstances, we want to be saved from ourselves.
At least that part is true for me.
I did not use to fantasize about the classic hero story, because I learned from a young age, that a lot of things could fall under my control if I really wanted that (and even if I didn't). But I fantasized about being put in a position where I was not seen as resilient but as a soft, tender being. I dreamed of someone seeing right through me and holding me while I released absolutely everything that kept me up at night.

I don't think I've ever really been perceived as that.
Soft or tender.
But again, I don't think a lot of eldest daughters have. by @activeselflove

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7 months ago

I haven't been writing a lot lately.

I have been putting all my energy into trying to stay sane whilemybodykeepsbeggingmetocontinueadvocating formyselfinasystemthatfeelslikeitwasnotdesigntounderstandwomenwhileitalsobegsmeto STOP.
and breathe. and be patient and accepting of what it is now.

and i had been feeling lonely. so lonely. i tend to use isolation as this twisted medicine for when i feel like my chest is getting so tight i want to explode.

but for the first time i looked at someone in the eye and i said "hey, this is feeling bigger than me", and they stayed. and nothing about how they felt about me changed.

and i have been angry at the two people who love me the most in the world and angry at the times when they have not known better. but at least one of them has listened and has not held it against me. not at all.

so i haven't been writing a lot because i have not been giving myself a lot of chances to do so. but i have opened myself to others after a long while. and it has felt so hard but so different. in a good way.

i guess this writing hiatus was needed for me to start relearning how it feels to be listened. by @activeselflove

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8 months ago

"this isn't how I planned for my life to look like," I whispered to myself under as I walked to my car

"tell me about it," an eavesdropping cloud replied to me from above

I looked up and watched
the cloud billow between looking
like a dove and an open hand

the cloud continued:

"I used to be a snowfield in Montana.
I used to be a dewdrop kiss on a lily.
I used to be a puddle in a parking lot.
I used to be a river in Mexico.
I used to be a glacier.
I used to be a waterfall mist in a jungle.
I used to be so many things."

"doesn't that make you sad?" I asked the cloud

"it used to - but not anymore," the cloud replied while wrapping herself around me like a scarf. "I don't think either of us were created to stay the same form our entire life."

"I'm not sure I can let go of my old life," I sighed.

"oh you simply must," the cloud whispered in my ear. "because once you release what you used to be and embrace who you are meant to be now - something amazing will happen," the cloud said

"what's that?" I asked while looking at my hands that were beginning to billow and shapeshift.

"you'll start to float."

and with that my feet lifted off the ground

---

Poem by: @john_roedel_ by @activeselflove

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10 months ago

it reminds me of a blurry photo. frustration.
being so close to at least good enough.
at least functional enough.
i can't do anything with a blurry instant.
although isn't that what memories become?
blurry forms in the shape of what accommodates our story best. by @activeselflove

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10 months ago

I once heard the most revolutionary thing a woman can do is be relaxed. Probably Elizabeth Gilbert's words.

But ever since I can remember my mom has told everyone that I was born stressed. So this means the second I came into contact with the tiny world around me, my destiny was sealed as a "stressed", "anxious" woman.

It's interesting how, in the few instances where I've tried, being relaxed is something I have to prove I can be. That does not sound relaxing at all. And it isn't, indeed.

But taking off this forever label I was given is a bit hard. Especially when my body has been anything but relaxed.

Not sure what kind of karma this is but every single condition of mine is chronic. "No cure yet, sorry, let's try again in 20 years".

And I circle back and wonder, had I not believed in this "careful, anxious" stamp I was given... would this have presented in my life?

You know, a few painful flare ups and tens of doctor visits after, one starts to wonder if there is something spiritual there. Maybe that is where the relaxation I've never found lies.

And sometimes I find it in the depths of my mind. Others I don't.
My mind can produce the best and the worst of imaginary conclusions to my case.

I spend time looking for shared experiences (or prayers, depending on the night) in forums where women like me go to when every day feels like a surprise in the worst way:

"How much blood will come out of my body today?
I don't know."

But don't let a red spot, or tens of them, mess with your head. Blood is sacred, right?

I wonder how Elizabeth Gilbert did it. Becoming relaxed.

I wonder who I would have become if my mom had told everyone: "she was born relaxed". by @activeselflove

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10 months ago