Her creative judge,
blue right in. Stop, pause, and breathe.
Courageous love, flows.
About the Creator
RitaFaith MacRae
Hi my name is RitaFaith! I am a nurse and a certified hypnotherapist as well as a Mindset Coach helping woman eliminate their limiting beliefs that are blocking their blessings. I am the "Limiting Belief Eliminator".
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More stories from RitaFaith MacRae and writers in Poets and other communities.
False Positive
She asked for a sign from the Universe. Bang, clang, boom. Was this it? She opened her eyes and ears to the kitchen orchestra played by her newly attained fiancé Jackson and the sweet sounds of Al Green. She knew what that meant. He only played Al when he was in a playful mood and dared his hand at the stove for a special occasion. In between Al’s riffs were the symphony of silverware clanging and dishes smashing into the sink and Jackson’s deep interlude of “shoot, darn, shoot”. “Everything ok” honey, Imani yelled out. “Shoot, I was trying to surprise you.” “It will be if we have any dishes intact after today”, Imani chuckled. Just as Jackson came through the doorway holding a tray of scrambled eggs, bacon and fruit. “What did I do for this extra special treatment, Imani proclaimed?” Jackson smoothly replied before stealing a kiss, “just because baby, just because.” Imani slowly sat up and noticed the gorgeous pink and red roses across the room on their dresser. “Are those for me?” Jackson smiled and recited, “when we delight thyself in the Lord, my love, he shall give thee the desires of your heart”, and my love you delight my heart”.
By RitaFaith MacRae5 years ago in Humans
Foot Bindings
I asked my grandmother how she knew she'd fallen in love. I am not sure I ever did love him, she said. This was before I met my husband. I was naive, a naked spring, a raw nerve of a thing. That cannot ever be me, I knew. Sadness swept in gently like a Moscow thaw. It is no simple thing, looking into a woman's vast soul and seeing its foot bindings. Now, in Italy divorced with my skin singed off, when I say I don't love him mean: I have succeeded at feeling nothing most days and it mostly works. Do you want the comfort of Nothing? Do you want Nothing, too? Be warned: you'll never be free, even when you are nothing. Here is what doesn't work: Accepting the stages of grief. Talking about it. Sitting with the feeling. Missing him—no, the person you were when you believed in death do us part. Writing poetry. That, too. When I say I don't love him I mean: I feel capsized in an endless, starved tide. What sometimes works: selective memory. You must forget ripe tomatoes and his beard and feeling perfectly sheltered in a big blue world. Forget coffee in bed, laughter watching TV, blowing out the candles on the birthday cake and the quiet all-encompassing knowledge that you are chosen. Remember only how love turned to a banal everyday survival act, a trapeze act unsure whether he will catch you, how the warmth stagnated and became sour, remember the foot bindings and remember the resentment boiling in your veins as you stick it out for the kids. Six-hour Netflix binges help, too. A man's fingers tracing your spine. Frozen pizza at 2 a.m. Random trips to the museum just to stand near things that last a while. The realization that crying won’t change anything. Seeing that life is just a dream, and refusing to participate in your own suffering. Bite your fist. Walk on eggshells around joy. When I say I don't love him, I mean he didn’t break my heart, he just stopped touching it and it forgot how to beat right.
By Ella Bogdanovaabout 16 hours ago in Poets
Should We Not Try to Get Too Political?
Here's something you often hear people say, "I try not to get too political." I understand the sentiment and I sympathize with it... while at the same exact time, I completely disagree with the notion. Whether it's referring to social media or wherever, it's kind of unavoidable. You can attempt to sidestep it, not engage, leave the less important things for actual politicians to discuss... you can want it to not take over your life, your conversations, your relationships, and that makes perfect sense.
By Stephen Kramer Avitabile4 days ago in Writers
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