Three couplets I wrote today (February 16, 2015):
One:
In solving a riddle, this you may find:
How to be still, should you be so inclined.
Two:
A pictured beauty forever unknown.
For out of the window, I shall not be thrown.
Three:
Your word given as a sure token, yes.
But I could not foresee the brokenness.
Edit:
Here's two more. The last one's dedicated to my quadmates, though I haven't had the chance to use it yet:
I am at home with four people today.
I counted myself as the fourth, OK?
Will one or both of you go for a walk?
I promise this time there won't be a fox.
Stephanie Sophia
Monday, February 16, 2015
Monday, February 9, 2015
I am the Sea // Un Jeu du Patience
I write to keep a distance,
If I write in poetry.
But I recognize that I am
the only one with my exact story,
with my exact struggles,
with my exact eyes.
It may be the only one
I know enough to write.
So rather than taking my pen to escape,
I think I’ll use it to paint.
According to some physical law,
the more space, the less time;
the more time, the less space;
and time is relative.
I am relatively content that
My time in this space
Comes to its close.
People have been my puzzle;
Myself a piece and a puzzle within -
I prefer the French term: Casse-tête.
But unlike a hobby,
I can’t break for a week,
or even a day.
The best I can do is just get by myself.
I tell myself I will be content.
“I commit myself to contentment.”
But it’s a most difficult commitment,
When my cortisol rises.
“I will not run;
I will not rage.”
Still -
still,
still,
still...
It gets restless in here.
What do you expect of me?
I would hope for you to find refreshment here,
Rather than a murky March mess.
Oh, what do you see in me?
Am I a prism?
Or a plain glass pane?
I hope you see me -
But if you don’t, I will show you.
A dance between guilt and gospel,
A dance between together and solitude,
Between today and tomorrow,
Between fullness and brokenness,
Between discontent and self-control,
Between song and quiet,
Between together and near insanity.
Between you and me -
I love you.
And I hope you can accept that I am the sea.
For you are my peace.
Written by Stephanie Sophia
February 9, 2015
If I write in poetry.
But I recognize that I am
the only one with my exact story,
with my exact struggles,
with my exact eyes.
It may be the only one
I know enough to write.
So rather than taking my pen to escape,
I think I’ll use it to paint.
According to some physical law,
the more space, the less time;
the more time, the less space;
and time is relative.
I am relatively content that
My time in this space
Comes to its close.
People have been my puzzle;
Myself a piece and a puzzle within -
I prefer the French term: Casse-tête.
But unlike a hobby,
I can’t break for a week,
or even a day.
The best I can do is just get by myself.
I tell myself I will be content.
“I commit myself to contentment.”
But it’s a most difficult commitment,
When my cortisol rises.
“I will not run;
I will not rage.”
Still -
still,
still,
still...
It gets restless in here.
What do you expect of me?
I would hope for you to find refreshment here,
Rather than a murky March mess.
Oh, what do you see in me?
Am I a prism?
Or a plain glass pane?
I hope you see me -
But if you don’t, I will show you.
A dance between guilt and gospel,
A dance between together and solitude,
Between today and tomorrow,
Between fullness and brokenness,
Between discontent and self-control,
Between song and quiet,
Between together and near insanity.
Between you and me -
I love you.
And I hope you can accept that I am the sea.
For you are my peace.
Written by Stephanie Sophia
February 9, 2015
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