Izzy Thomas

Poetry by Izzy Thomas

As We Age

Bird’s sweet song
daylight squeezing
through the crack in the door
There are lines
imprinted on your face
from the cars
you cling onto all night
so dearly
you say
as I lift you to my heart
feel your sticky warmth
kiss the rosiness
of your cheeks

When you are
I will admire the rosiness
from afar
remembering your
arms around my neck
And when I am
you will be the one
lifting me
my cheeks will be 
pallid  and sunken
my heart will be full

Dandelion Dance

Every time you spot a dandelion
you do a magic dance
I help you to free
the fluffy wisps
Every dandelion that springs from seed
is a reminder of you

I Am (A Mother)

I am a ship
with broken sails 
running aground on rocks 
I am a racing car 
(your favourite)
veering off course 
trying to reach the finish  
I am a horse
saddlebags overflowing 
with your precious things 
I am a pillow 
a safe haven 
for your soft curls
I am a circus performer 
juggling motherhood 
and everything else 
I am a mountain to climb 
but you 
you will move mountains 

<strong>Izzy Thomas</strong>
Izzy Thomas

Izzy documents her journey as a first-time mother through her poetry, expressing themes of childhood wonderment, the beauty of nature and the identity crisis new mothers can face.

She lives in the English countryside with her husband, two-year-old son, and cats Hemingway and Fitzgerald. She has a first-class degree in Creative Writing and is a secondary school English teacher who loves to inspire her pupils. 

Jevin Kwello

I am a bird, Living freely and winging whenever I please. I am a Toyota car, Travelling long distances while preserving its fuel.
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Withdrawal from you is like removing all the blood from my own veins.
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I could write you a long poem About the loneliness of the HIV-positive man But that would be unfair to me
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I drive around with the lamps all put out and the moon sunk. A thin rain drummed against the roof of my car, a certain downpouring of emotions.
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When the Next Full Moon Comes

When the next full moon comes, I’ll think of a perfectly peppered smile. I’ll think of the wool that held me in close and how, for once, I let myself go. It was so wild.
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Read submission criteria here.

Lawrence Ferlinghetti

Photo of Lawrence Ferlinghetti reading in front of City Lights Books

A Literary Light: Lawrence Ferlinghetti

A beautiful literary light passed on February 22, 2021. He inspired a love for books, poetry, and art. Ferlinghetti strove to create a social environment where people could gather and discuss their passion for poetry, books, and the arts. And he succeeded when he founded City Lights. He’s an inspiration to me and what Eve Poetry Magazine represents. I encourage you to read further about Lawrence Ferlinghetti. I’ve linked each of the passages to their sources.

Lawrence Ferlinghetti, distinguished American poet, artist and founder of City Lights Booksellers and Publishers in San Francisco, died February 22. He was 101 years old. In a tribute, City Lights noted that Ferlinghetti “was instrumental in democratizing American literature by creating (with Peter D. Martin) the country’s first all-paperback bookstore in 1953, jumpstarting a movement to make diverse and inexpensive quality books widely available. He envisioned the bookstore as a ‘Literary Meeting Place,’ where writers and readers could congregate to share ideas about poetry, fiction, politics, and the arts. Two years later, in 1955, he launched City Lights Publishers with the objective of stirring an ‘international dissident ferment.’ [His own Pictures of the Gone World] was the first volume of the City Lights Pocket Poets Series, which proved to be a seminal force in shaping American poetry.”

Shelf Awareness | Obituary Note | Feb. 24, 2021

Ferlinghetti and City Lights

In 1955, Ferlinghetti launched City Lights Publishers with the Pocket Poets Series, extending his concept of a cultural meeting place to a larger arena. His aim was to present fresh and accessible poetry from around the world in order to create “an international, dissident ferment.” The series began in 1955 with his own Pictures of the Gone World; translations by Kenneth Rexroth and poetry by Kenneth Patchen, Marie Ponsot, Allen Ginsberg, and Denise Levertov were soon added to the list.

From: A Biography of
Lawrence Ferlinghetti
on citylights.com
Home » Archives for evepoetry

A Dead Lover

A Dead Lover by Shriyanshi Yadav

I think my love is meant for someone
who ceased existing centuries ago,
and now all I have is grief to hold in my hands
and stupid poems I wrote in the washroom of my school,
in the name of love.

When I look into the eyes of another stranger
I hope they would smile
because my lips are too cracked to give one
but all they do is look away
like I am not a thing to look at
with compassion,
like my soul doesn’t deserve this kindness.

I stay up till three
thinking if only love could save us from ourselves
or it is just another line,
I read in random suicide letters found on the internet.

The moon hanging on my half misted glass window
is just as alone as me
with all the stars miles away from him.
and while I cry between these four pastel-coloured walls,
he hides behind the grey clouds,
screaming in his own sky.
that I can’t even touch.

My grandmother’s favourite flower
was lavender.
She recited the fragrance of it by heart,
and her house was always filled with purple candles and oils.
even though she never held a petal of it between her fingers,
she loved it.
she loved it,
as people loved random poetries in the margin of notebooks.
or the lit Christmas lights hanging over an empty house.

When she died, grandpa silently placed a stalk of lavender in her hand,
before she was taken away.
I hoped,
one day I would love someone
as my grandma loved that flower,
too poetic to not touch its skin for a lifetime
but leave its scent lingering in every poem I write.

<strong>Shriyanshi Yadav</strong>
Shriyanshi Yadav

An eighteen-year-old,
who is deeply in love
with poems and this beautiful world.

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Adapted to War

Adapted to War by J. Rylee D.

I search for you at the bottom of the bottle,
Only to be faced with my darkest regrets.
Every remaining stain that I crave to forget.

We were too young and immature.
A plague for which there was no cure.

But oh, it was exhilarating.

Shockwaves of chaos rippled in our wake.
Vowing to never surrender.
Not until we break.

Is it crazy to say that I’d do it all once more?
A sick little reminder,
Of how our love adapted to war.

I have a tendency of being blinded,
By believing everyone is good.
Especially when it comes to beautiful faces and pretty words.

But what happens when the lights dim all around you,
And all the masks are removed?
And the pretty words are now laced with the ugly truth?

Sometimes the lights must go out,
For the blind to see.
And unfortunately for me,
The truth is much more blinding.

Shockwaves of chaos rippled in our wake.
Vowing to never surrender.
Not until we break.

I know it’s crazy to say that I’d do it all once more.
As a sick little reminder,
Of how our love adapted to war.

Yeah that’s what happens,
When the heart gets pushed too far.

Of you, I thought I was sure.
Hoping we could be the cure.
But turns out, our love just adapted to war.

<strong>J. Rylee D.</strong>
J. Rylee D.

I’m just a 26-year-old girl who spends her life daydreaming. I have always been an avid reader and writer, but recently decided to publish my poetry and a book on a public platform.

I like to portray honest and raw vulnerability in my work because life isn’t always pretty. I want to inspire people to fight for their happiness and to tell their truths, because they deserve to be heard and know that they are believed, and that they matter!

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Racism by Ali Ashhar

All are born equal,
Yet some are deluded to be manipulated by hate,
Not spurred by difference in ethnicity,
Nevertheless, by deviation in ethics,
Ethics that made him perceive ghastly,
This racism pervading, deep below, doesn’t know any impunity.

This malevolence not only compromise of colour,
Someday it’s for religion,
Someday it’s linguistical,
Someday it’s for ethnicity,
Someday it’s for minorities.

Vexation traversing around needs to be eradicated,
Our humane aura ought to be elevated,
Human devoid of being humane is merely an animal,
Who needs to remember Almighty’s favour upon,
To perceive no difference stancing colour, ethnicity, or religion,
To didacticize how beautiful every creation of the creator is,
Who created them the same way he created you.

<strong>Ali Ashhar</strong>
Ali Ashhar

A 21-year-old from India currently pursuing a Masters in English Literature.As an introvert, writing gave my emotions the voice which was lying dormant since long.

I started writing at 18, primarily some motivational poems after finding myself encompassed by adversities.I pen my emotions on motivation, social issues, nature, love and family. Besides, I am also a nature lover and football aficionado.

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Writers Conferences

Writers Conferences

Writers Conferences: 5 Reasons Why

Writers Conferences occur all over the world. In this article, I will share my first-hand experience and reasons all writers should attend them.

This year, I attended my second writers’ conference hosted by Willamette Writers. After each, I left the conference more confident in my writing, more prepared for the current publishing climate, and better connected to industry professionals who can make a difference in my writing career. Bonus: I also made new friends.

If you’re embarking on your dream to be a writer, I encourage you to read through this article. Comment with questions, then verify with your own research.

#1: Valuable Workshops

Willamette Writers may be unique in that there was literally something for every type of writer. Some writers’ conferences focus on specific genres. Some examples of this: Sleuthfest, for mystery, suspense and thriller writers, RWA Conference, for romance writers, and The Writer’s Hotel Poetry Weekend.

If your writing focus is singular, genre-specific conferences are a great option. If you’re like me, and write a variety of things, I recommend attending a general writing conference.

Here are examples of the courses offered at this year’s WWC:

  • Conversation: Travel Writing
  • Current Themes in Science Fiction and Fantasy
  • Dastardly Deeds: Writing Mystery (I attended this one taught by Dana Haynes, Hallie Ephron, Phillip Margolin, and Leslie Hall.)
  • Developing and Pitching an Idea for a TV Series
  • Diving into Social Media Analytics
  • Personal as Political
  • How to Sell Books by the Truckload on Amazon
  • Understanding and Negotiating Publishing Agreements
  • Suspense Five Ways
  • Structuring the Romance Novel for Success
  • The Work: Poetry Writing

The above is just a sampling of the variety of courses that help writers dive deep.

#2: Education by High-Caliber Industry Professionals

This one is hand in hand with Reason #1, but deserves its own spot. The authors and educators selected for conferences have proven track records of success. You get to learn from them in an intimate environment with opportunities to ask questions and glean knowledge that you can apply to your work or writing journey immediately.

These are best-selling authors, literary agents, editors, professors, etc. The face-to-face opportunities with these individuals, alone, make attending writers’ conferences worth every penny.

#3: Pitches

Many writers’ conferences provide the opportunity to pitch literary agents who actively seek new authors/poets with new material.

Literary agents are inundated with queries daily. One way to push your manuscript to the forefront and avoid the slush pile is to attend a writers’ conference and sign up to pitch agents. Not all conferences offer this option. If you wish to pitch, verify the conference you attend offers them.

Pitching agents is an additional cost to the conference fee, but 100% worth it if you dream of traditional publishing. But if you’re interested in indie publishers’, they accept pitches too! And pitching indie publishers pushes you to the top of their inbox and guarantees your work gets read by the right person.

Bottom line: if you want your work published (regardless of “how”), pitch agents at a conference!

Here are articles I found helpful to prepare for my pitches:

How to Pitch Agents at a Writers Conference by Jane Friedman. **A MUST-read before you pitch.

How to Pitch a Literary Agent in 5 Easy Steps by Tomi Adeyemi.

5 Literary Agents Reveal the 9 Pitching Mistakes Authors Make by Bushra Rahmani. This article touches on querying agents via email. This is a “what not to do”.

#4: Keynote Speakers

One of my favorite experiences at conferences are the keynote speakers. These are individuals who are living the dream. They’ve found a level of success in writing that we all aspire to. They inspire, encourage, and share first-hand knowledge writers can apply to their journey.

At an in-person conference, they speak on stage, then follow their speech with a book signing. The virtual experience (courtesy of COVID-19) takes the book signing element away, but I found a different and positive intimacy by attending the keynote via Zoom, and still left the keynote inspired, encouraged, and with new knowledge.

Here are some keynotes from Willamette Writers 2020. They are examples of the caliber of keynotes you may experience at your first conference.

Alex Dang

Cheryl Strayed

Zoraida Cordova

Mitchell S. Jackson

Good keynotes aspire writers to see their future selves. I’ve not attended a keynote that didn’t do this for me.

#5: Connections

The most valuable take-aways from writers’ conferences are connections. Writers make lifelong friends, receive valuable resource recommendations (for editors, indie publishers, etc.), and exchange contact information with industry professionals that can change their lives.

There is no other experience like it. At both conferences, (both live and virtual) I’ve made new friends. Who else can understand your journey better than another aspiring writer?

When you attend your first conference, I encourage you to make friends too. Be open to conversations with people you don’t know. It may feel scary or uncomfortable, but I promise you it’s worth it, and you’ll quickly feel the fear melt away.

Upcoming conferences as of 8/2020:

Please do your own research when vetting a writers’ conference to attend. Find the right fit for you.

Final Tip: Local Writing Associations

I highly recommend you research your local region for literary associations. These usually require a minimal fee and offer discounts on, and free, workshops, clubs, and networking opportunities. In Portland, Oregon, we have Willamette Writers and Literary Arts.

Often these associations will host the regional writers’ conference and offer discounts to its members, and volunteer options to attend the conference for free.

If you’re ready to get serious about your writing I implore you to PLUG IN to your local writing groups and organizations.

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2020 New Year

2020 New Year

It’s official! 2020, A New Year.

Last New Year I shared my resolutions with everyone. I listed five things I wished to accomplish in 2019. I’ll break each down and share how I did.

Resolution 1: Read my poetry in front of an audience.

When I wrote this I had already practiced reading poetry on Instagram Live. It was my practice ground for the real event – a live audience. People in a crowd staring back at me – a scary thought for most people. Me included.

Luckily, I live in Portland, which proves to be a GREAT location to live for a writer. Portland has amazing resources and groups dedicated to supporting writers and the art form of writing – whether it be poetry, short stories, novels – it’s all covered in PDX.

In downtown Portland, Literary Arts hosts workshops, runs the Portland Book Festival, and they also host Slamlandia once a month. The first event I attended at Literary Arts was a Slamlandia Open Mic.

I attended the Poetry Slam intending only to get a feel for it. Figured I would watch and it would warm me up to getting up one day when I felt ready. I sat down, then something inside urged me to get up and add my name to the list to read something.

2020 New Year
2019 New Year Resolutions shared on Instagram

I’m so glad I did! That small tug to get up came from knowing myself. That if I only attended this first time, I may never get up and read. I envisioned myself settling into a habit of staying in my comfort zone as an audience member and knew I needed to rip off the blanket right out of the gate.

Reading and breaking through the fear I had to read my work in front of a live audience was empowering in all the best ways. I highly recommend it. The validation by fellow peers, the relief from the fact that you don’t spontaneously combust when you speak in front of a crowd of strangers, all of it leaves you feeling a sense of satisfaction you can only understand when you get up and read for yourself.

If you’re reading this and haven’t attended an open mic yet – and you’re a poet – I challenge you to add it to your 2020 New Year Resolution list! If you’re in the Portland, Oregon area and wish to attend an open mic- let me know when you go and I’ll try to attend with you!

Resolution 2: Start a group for writers.

Another gold star for me! Yay! I began the Facebook writing group in January 2019 and shortly thereafter started the Eve Poetry Group Instagram account.

Because of limitations on time – that there just isn’t enough hours in the day – I focused much of my effort on the Instagram group. The Facebook group exists and continues to grow, but has yet to receive the attention it deserves.

My goal for 2020 is to delegate the workload to the writing group members and empower them to create challenges, contests and other fun activities for the Facebook group. The group format on Facebook provides easier ways for people to interact and work together.

So if you’re reading this and have an interest in helping with Writers and Poets’ Cafe, please let me know!

Resolution 3: Finish my first book.

Done and done. I wrote my first novel and completed the publication of the first poetry anthology for Eve Poetry Magazine! Woot!

Publishing the poetry anthology was a huge learning experience. I made some mistakes though, like accidentally excluding a writer who I meant to include in the book! Ack! I appreciate your continued patience with me as I learn and grow.

That said, I’m pleased with the finished product. My hope for the next one is to include short stories and more writers, making it a bigger book. I’ll release Volume Two’s theme in February 2020.

Silver Linings Anthology

Silver Linings… By Eve Poetry Magazine

Photo book

Book Preview

Resolution 4: Make plans with close friends & family more often.

Wish I could say I achieved success on this one. However, resolutions one through three consumed my free time, so this resolution remains on my list for 2020.

Resolution 5: Leave room in each day to breathe.

Well, at least I’m 3 for 5! Three successful New Year Resolutions. Two that move to the top of the list for 2020.

My 2020 New Year Resolutions

I’m keeping my list concise. It consists only of two items: Make plans with close friends & family more often and leave room in each day to breathe.

Not to say I won’t have professional goals. There are many things I wish to accomplish in 2020 with writing, etc. They just need to move down in priority.

My principal goal in 2020 must be for self-care and reminding myself to breathe. Allowing myself downtime to clear my head, to rest more, and give myself permission to recharge and be still. I failed miserably at this in 2019. Took on too much.  Wore myself down.  Felt guilty when I became overwhelmed. 

That’s just not healthy. Our health is foundational to everything else. It must come first. Duh, Deanna! **smacks forehead**

Hand-in-hand with self-care are the close relationship we [should] cherish. When we rush around, too busy to nurture relationships that matter, we lose touch with ourselves. In 2020, I aim to prioritize my time for my children, husband, and making plans with family – my sisters, brother, cousins, and close friends.  

Last night, at my Grandfather’s celebration of life, I saw family members for the first time in YEARS. Many of them live only five or ten minutes away. It’s a shame to waste time this way.

What are your 2020 New Year Resolutions?

Please comment and share! I’d love to hear yours!

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Gravity and Unrequited Love

Gravity and Unrequited Love

Gravity and Unrequited Love by Amber Jasinski

Depersonalization is the feeling of being disconnected from one’s physicality.
My body is here but my mind is wherever you are.
I ache for you like a phantom limb...
acutely aware of your absence.
I searched, but was unable to find a word that describes what it is to feel present in my body only when it is in close proximity to yours.
My mind wages a constant assault against any thought that crosses through that does not pertain to you.
I manifest a life with you through daydreams.
Derealization is an alteration in the perception or experience of the external world so that it seems unreal.
How I only feel like my truest self when I’m with you; But I’m never really ‘with’ you...
Just a deep visceral longing.
When you’re gone I feel this immense emptiness where you should be.
Like the infinite density of a black hole.
If it weren’t for gravity, we wouldn’t even know black holes exist.
You’re my gravity.
And I’m slowly collapsing in on myself like a dying star to become nothing and everything all at the same time.
Amber Jasinski
Amber Jasinski

Amber Jasinski has been writing poetry about the human experience and mental illness for the past several years. She has an undergraduate degree in nursing and works full time as a Registered Nurse. 

Amber is a wife and mother and lives in a full house with her husband, 3 daughters, 2 young grandchildren, her younger brother, and 2 awesome dogs! She enjoys writing as an avenue to explore her own journey with mental illness and to promote mental health advocacy. 

Amber writes under the name ajblueorion on social media where you’ll find her “lost somewhere between the words and melancholy madness.”

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Thanksgiving 2019

Thanksgiving 2019 | Family, Loss and Forgiveness by Deanna Ramirez

Trigger Warning: Touches on childhood abuse and death.

Last night, I learned my grandfather passed away. I said my goodbye on Monday morning. His eyes, narrow slits, peered at me briefly. I think he saw me, though I don’t know for sure.  

I haven’t seen my grandfather for nearly two years. He and my grandmother lived with my aunt. She and I had a falling out years back.  She doesn’t like me around. So I’m no longer invited to birthdays or holiday celebrations.

Family history

I come from a family of enablers.  Many family members who protect and huddle around those who do bad things.  It’s a systemic issue, starting at the top.  That’s how disease is.  It begins at the pinnacle, then spreads as far as it’s allowed to reach. If nothing fights it. If no one uses antibiotics or anti-viral practices, it spreads its infection everywhere.

The vicious cycle of abuse continues in families so long as enablers are present. So long as enablers don’t acknowledge their part in it. This cycle distanced me from most of my family. Family that I moved to Oregon to be near. 


I wrote a micro-poem months ago and shared it on Instagram: “Silence. The most underrated weapon.” 

I know this to be true.  Sickness. Evil. It flourishes with silence.  In abusive families, it’s silently demanded. My experience with this broke my heart. My family rewarded the silence and shunned the truth when I spoke out. Speaking out, talking about it at all, met with discomfort, curiosity, judgment, and nothing at all.  

As a child, I experienced the worst violation. Never did I speak of it. Guilt and shame kept me quiet. Confusion and the inability to understand why it happened kept me silent too. I’ll spare you the unnecessary private details and include only those aspects surrounding it.

Breaking my silence set me free. And it didn’t set me free. It was not an instant band-aid. Speaking the truth was messy and confusing in ways I couldn’t expect.

In fact, breaking my silence at twenty-six years old led to the destruction of a marriage and my family as I once knew it. Instead of relief, it filled me with a fear of people “knowing”, and many unexpected emotions for me to process.  I didn’t process them. 

The problem with silence is that in its power, it creates a habit of it.  I became great at burying my feelings. Making them go away completely.  It wasn’t real.  I needed to believe that. When things aren’t real, they can’t hurt you. 

Cousins and Truth

A few years ago we had a “cousin retreat” at the beach. I’m the eldest of eighteen cousins, most of which live in Oregon. We rented a large beach house. Many of my cousins and their families showed up, and all was fun and light-hearted. Until…

One cousin asked me about my childhood. About the thing I kept silent about. My stomach flipped when she asked. But I saw her eyes. I don’t know how long ago she learned of it, but she had questions and concern and I could see she needed answers. I did not owe her answers. But I love my cousin and don’t want her to speculate on details of that nature so I answered each question she asked. Other cousins trickled into the room we occupied. They had questions too.

The next day, a family member that wasn’t part of the private discussion said something to me at breakfast. He felt it was inappropriate that I talked about my childhood trauma during our happy gathering. He seemed to think I started the conversation and offered the gory details of my childhood unsolicited. His side remark punched me in the gut and I felt embarrassed and ashamed.

An aunt who joined our cousin beach retreat stepped in to comfort the family member who shamed me. “If you want to talk about it, for some perspective,” she said, concerned. She ignored me standing there in the kitchen. Standing there in disbelief. Everyone else quiet, eyes down at their breakfast.

I wanted to scream at the top of my lungs that day. It hurt me deeply. Instead, I’ve only screamed in dreams. Vivid dreams where I screamed everything I never knew I wanted and needed to say. Just writing this – the pain is there still.

Family Shame

Remembering that moment at breakfast with my cousin, whom I love, still makes my heart ache. It chokes me up. How could he not understand? How could he blame me? Why would he shame me by scolding me like that?

It wasn’t his fault. My aunt shielded him from the truth.  A family of enablers protecting the wrong people. In doing so, many of my family members had the wrong information. Can’t fault them for that. 

Still, it hurts.  No family member outside my immediate family (except for one aunt who sent a text message) expressed compassion for what happened to me.  No sympathy or empathy. Only judgment, questions, and now, separation and exclusion.  No invites to Thanksgiving dinner.  

And I buried it. For the past few years, I have replaced disappointment and hurt with anger and no shits given

I’ve spoken of the beach house incident twice to family members. Or tried to.  Always, it came out in this feverish, don’t-know-how-to-say-it way. I searched earnestly for an understanding response. A sign of support. Both times, it left me feeling worse than I did before. Sorry, it was inappropriate of me to bring it up.

Now, I save this topic, in any capacity, for my entrusted circle. It consists of few people. They know who they are. (My sisters, especially. I love you!)

This is my first time writing about it. My vague it. Because I still don’t like to call it what it is.

The reason I share now, with you…

Because Thanksgiving is a time for reflection. My grandfather just died and my brain is on my family. As death does, it claws reality up to the harsh surface and forces you to face it.

My whole life, people preached grace and forgiveness to me. “Forgiveness sets you free.” “Forgiveness is for you, not for them.” My small, developing brain hard-wired itself to silence. As a child, the only way I could forgive was to pretend it never happened at all. “Forgiveness” is an enabler’s favorite tool. It’s evil’s favorite control device.

Not to say forgiveness has no place. However, if someone violates you, forgiveness is a default expectation. It should not be. We should not force forgiveness down throats of little girls and women, young or old. It’s confusing. It is harmful.

Thanksgiving 2019 – Empowerment

This Thanksgiving I’m taking back my power. Yes, it’s cliché, but dammit, it’s a good cliché!

I’m thankful for the family I have that supports and loves me unconditionally. My brothers and sisters. Mother and stepmother. My husband and children. They know my truth and never judged or shamed me for it.

I believe in forgiveness.  This Thanksgiving I forgive myself. The little girl who silenced herself to survive. 

I forgive the young woman that broke her silence, changing the dynamics of her family forever. I forgive the single mother who believed she failed her children time and time again.  A mother who wasn’t always emotionally or mentally present in the months and years following divorce. 

My forgiveness of self won’t happen overnight.  I type this and share it with you to make myself accountable. I have much healing to do and it won’t be easy. Not with the ease in which I fall back into the bury-it-and-forget-it mode.  Not with the small hurts that occur from extended family who open up old wounds.  My wounds require serious naturopathic therapy.  Deep cleansing and flushing out of toxins.

Forgive yourself this Thanksgiving.

Now that I’ve shared personal information in vague detail, I hope to inspire you to contemplate forgiveness and what it means for you. 

This Thanksgiving, I implore you to focus on YOU.  To those who experienced abuse, for those who suffer in silent guilt, it’s not your job to forgive your offender.  It’s our life’s work to forgive ourselves.  To reclaim our power.  Erase the stigma we have of ourselves. Practice true self-love.  It’s the only way we can be free. And the only way we can truly give love to those around us who deserve it. 

This Thanksgiving I’m thankful for you. Thank you for reading my words and my truth. Thank you for your support and love. xoxo, Deanna

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Love in 5D

Love in 5D

Love in 5D by Ariana Iverson

My problem with love is 
I’ve been looking for the visual package.

Someone who looks like this long list of standards
That I made up in my head.

Physical attributes that don’t even matter.

I’ve been searching for love in all the wrong places
Hoping that when I see him 
I would know he was the one

But now I’m understanding 
it’s not what I see
But what I feel

Someone who makes me feel
like he understands me
We fit together like puzzle pieces 

We create a picture that shows what love is supposed to be
A connection with someone who holds my mind, 
protects my heart,
and wants to create with me

Mind Body and Spirit

We allow ourselves to get lost in the oneness of each other
We accept discovering love beyond the physical

We create a love that is 5th dimensional

Meet Ariana

<strong>Ariana Iverson </strong>
Ariana Iverson

My name is Ariana Iverson and I am from Los Angeles, CA.  I’m a counselor and therapeutic art life coach turned entertainment business manager focusing on working with various artists, musicians and other creatives.  I help them find a balance in their personal and professional careers through creative entrepreneurship. 

Creative writing is my personal safe-haven where I write scripts, novels and poetry. I self-published my first poetry book “Poems to a King: Can I get you High” and released it June 17, 2019 on Amazon. Currently, I’m working on my 2nd book, “Poems for Freedom and The Pursuit of Happiness”, coming in 2020.  My other interests include yoga, magic and self-care. 

Instagram @hiighoffarii

As an Amazon Associate, I earn from qualifying purchases at no extra cost to you. This site contains affiliate links to products. We may receive a commission for purchases made through these links. For more information, see my disclosures here. 

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