addiction, Art, ascension, change, Children, Community, Connection, life, Messages, musings, parenting, philosophy, Poetry, rebirth, relationships, Revolution, spirituality, Trauma, Uncategorized

WHAT IF THEY SEE WHAT WE SEE.

WHAT IF THEY SEE WHAT WE SEE.

Should we hold a guard up.

Chase unavailable men.

Plan our life to perfection.

Re-Write words over and over again.

Should we do a spell check.

Oh wow there, he’s the one.

He’ll fix us inside.

We’ll do everything wrong.

What if they find us out.

We’re not perfect.

Oh, “that is so wrong.”

Here is a label.

Now there is somewhere “we belong.”

How can we prove oneself.

Get some results.

Agree with the masses.

This is real love!

Maybe run from a Partner.

Pretend its not time yet.

I need space.

She can’t see I’m imperfect.

Hey everyone, check out my CV.

It’s dripping in accolades.

Everyone wants part of me.

If they only knew our denied truths.

Dark, squashed deep inside.

They’d run a mile.

We’d be a recluse.

Dear Diary;

I’m digging you out.

The darkness is explosive.

There’s only one way out.

Denial of true essence.

Cannot take it, no more.

We’re not like the Jones’s.

No lies, no more.

We’re not very spiritual.

We get angry and sad.

I thought if I was honest.

I’d be labelled, bad!

Our bodies show stretch marks, cellulite and wobbly bits.

We don’t own a fit bit and frankly don’t give a shit.

There are scars from birth.

“You chose the easy way.”

What a lie that was.

They don’t see this though, hey.

There’s scars on my arms from years gone by.

I mutilated myself for being told I was bad.

The shame ate my insides.

The blame looped the outside lessons.

Old lovers say,

“Oh them, watch them they’re mad!”

They don’t see the destruction.

Of life through a filtered lens.

Just an opportunity to shine.

Cheese, smile, action.

Press send.

Poetry and artwork – Bec Hart.

addiction, Art, ascension, change, Children, Community, Connection, Inner child, Intuitive, life, musings, rebirth, relationships, Revolution, spirituality, Trauma

PAIN AS MIRRORS – TO HEAL, TO FEEL.

PAIN AS MIRRORS – TO HEAL, TO FEEL.

You reached out to me I think.
Although I’m not sure.
Back then a blur.
Lost in my head.
I thought you cared.
I felt so much love for you.
You stood there yet you fled.
You wouldn’t take the time to hear me, see me, get to know me.
Mind games, playing with my head.
You stood as a brick wall.
I could feel your anger inside.
I was picking at your wounds too.
Projecting energetically, trying to fix my head.
There’s nothing wrong with me.
My insides bled.
I felt hurt, rejected, angry, betrayed.
I ran to you, to fix, to fix, to fix.
The bad girl I thought I was as a child.
Distraught, alone, heartbroken.
Unrequited love.
What can I do instead.

So many messages.
So many texts.
Calls when I say “NO.”
Please give it a rest.
They say, I know you can help me.
I love you.
What have I done wrong.
You’ve done nothing.
It’s my shame, blame and guilt.
They’re all singing an ear deafening song.
Nails on a chalkboard.
Skin crawling around.
I scream please give it a rest.
They don’t hear a sound.
I think leave me alone.
I’m not your Mother.
I’m not your home.
Nor am I your lover.
Your life does not lie within my hands.
The same responsibilities fed to me.
As childhood demands.
Anger boiling.
Here, me, now.
You don’t even see me.
I let the tears flow.
Rage screams.
I’m not a bad person.
Nor are you.
I hear me now.
I hear your screams too.

Mirror number thirty something….ninety five.
Why do I keep attracting this.
Am I evil inside.
How many more mirrors till you see.
Stop trying to flee will you.
The loud voice trying to speak inside of me.
There’s nowhere to run.
The darkness hits painfully.
Sexual advances.
Sensations as flames through my body.
Burning, intrusive.
Shaking profusely.
Vomit rising.
Memories haunting.
I tried to run, numb, avoid.
You didn’t hear my “NO.”
Daggers to my stomach,
Piercing, protruding.
Sexual advances.
Pornographic pictures.
It felt so abusive.
My sexual armour.
Induced this.
Thoughts;
What’s wrong with me.
I’ll never have a healthy relationship.
How’s this non-conducive.

Don’t run nor hide.
Come out to play.
It’s happening for you not to you.
Intimacy heals.
Feel, scream, release.
Feel all.
You can meet demons face to face.
Enter the pain.
It’s the only way.
I declare – no longer will this consume me.
I see they are in pain too.
Bringing feeling to each other’s wounds.
The dance we avoid.
This dance of wounding between two.

I decided to feel it all.
No need to run, numb nor hide.
I’m grateful to all those people.
The wounds they picked to show.
I needed to feel.
To say “NO.”
To heal.
To know my limits.
To truly love.
To truly see, feel and hear.
I’m not an object and nor are you.
A saint I’m not nor a sinner too.
I’ve played all roles,
This I cannot deny.
I’m not on a pedestal higher than high.
Just trying to be, day by day.
To grow.
To be love.
In my own unique way.

Bec Hart.

addiction, Art, ascension, change, Children, Community, Connection, fun, Inner child, Intuitive, life, MOVEMENT, musings, parenting, philosophy, Poetry, rebirth, relationships, Revolution, spirituality, Trauma

HINDER CALLED HELP – BREAKING BORN.

HINDER CALLED HELP – BREAKING BORN.

What when we strip it all away.
Working with no payment in sight.
Unconditionally sharing creation for passions wake.
Righteousness washed away.
What when we let go that old fairytale that others need us.
Knowing the truth, it is they whom need themselves.
Everyone is exactly where they need to be.
The universe guides all, not our ego self.
When we let go of our hidden trauma tendencies.
Lay our desperate helping hands on another shelf.
Our own dormant yet revolving health.
Fixing our mighty old reflection in the form of another, calling it help.
A need to assist a humanity who is far from broken.
To feel needed, wanted, good in a world – let us crack this fallacy open.
What when we admit our polarization causes pain not peace.
Attracts disaster, poverty, shame.
What if we lose our validation.
Our right to claim.
What is left.
Who are you.
Who remains.
A selfless act, a surrender to God.
God your highest self.
Whom sees everything is in perfect order.
Steps back into life’s creative corner.
Seen as selfish to others yet is this a service to all.
Had we been blindly fooled.
Mutters that they need you now more than ever.
Eyes see truth, go within rather than trying to “fix” another.
To glue together your perfect view.
What hope remains, in this old stale tale.
If we all committed to caring for ourselves.
What would our lives look like.
Would we be hidden on a shelf.
What if we stripped ourselves of everything we knew.
The absolute appeared.
Raw, awake, shaking, dripping with life.
No accolades in sight.
A true being of unconditional love.
A sight that shall blind.
Undeniably you.
Of pure life, love and truth.

Bec Hart.

addiction, ascension, change, Children, Community, Connection, life, musings, parenting, philosophy, relationships, Revolution, Trauma

TO THE MOTHERS THAT I WAS.

TO THE MOTHERS THAT I WAS.

You are enough.
There is no perfection.
Drop the perfection.
The comparison.
The disappointment that you feel you are.
This was a lie sold to you.
You cannot and need not fix anyone or anything.
Nor can anyone fix you.
There’s no thing to fix.

There is no need for you to do and be everything and some more.
Release the pressure.
This pressure will cause collapse.
Destruction.
A lack of life.
A desire to flee from life itself.
Yet it is not life you desired to flee from.
It was the incessant demands placed upon yourself, by yourself or submisively accepted and adorned by yourself as a jewel of love.
The No’s you said Yes too.
The love you threw, drenched, drowned to and in all but oneself.

Yes, you’ve really made epic mistakes.
Who hasn’t.
This is how we learn.
This is how we grow.
This is how we break old, mouldy patterns from multiplying into the hearts of our children.
Yes you really taught your awake children to sleep.
You didn’t listen.
You didn’t hear.
You didn’t know.
You did all you could do.
That was enough.
That is enough.
You are enough.
Listen.

Look at you now.
Look at you guiding the way.
From your mistakes.
Which where never yours.
Yet you took them on as wildfire.
Allowing the destruction.
To lead you.
Onto a new path.
A new way.
A new existence.
A new reality.
For others to follow, if they so choose to.

There’s nothing to forgive.
No shame to bare.
No guilt to grasp onto.
No wasp to sting.
No blame to throw around as the stuffing at the centre of a Christmas meal.
Those conditions stripped.
The lies bled.
Life exposed.
Into body, out of head.
Into heart.
One, intuitive, mind.

Be at peace dear one.
Hold yourself.
Get to know yourself.
The truth of you.
Love yourself.
Accept yourself.
You are enough.
You are worthy.
Life is worthwhile.
This is the end.
This is also the beginning.

Bec Hart.

addiction, ascension, change, Community, Connection, Inner child, Intuitive, life, MOVEMENT, musings, parenting, philosophy, Poetry, rebirth, relationships, Revolution, spirituality, Trauma

WE ARE ENOUGH.

I AM ENOUGH.

That deep down core validation.
Deeply deprived.
Unheard.
Unseen.
Not just a dent in the pride.

A soft subtle child.
Yearning for love.
Needing your care.
Feeling they weren’t enough.

The older they grew.
The more invisible they became.
Chewed up, spat out.
Riddled in shame.

Blame a pre cursor.
Before the event.
I need you.
I need you.
A dark dissent.

How could we see you.
We couldn’t see ourselves.
All our dreams on a dust ridden shelf.
We loved you all we could.
In our pain and strife.

We’re so sorry dear one.
There’s no need to fight.

You were always enough.
We didn’t know what to do.
Just one thing we want you to know.
It was never about you.

Bec Hart.

addiction, ascension, change, Connection, Inner child, life, musings, philosophy, Poetry, rebirth, relationships, Revolution, spirituality, Trauma

COMMUNICATE WITH YOURSELF.

COMMUNICATE WITH YOURSELF.

Seek someone or don’t seek someone.

Seek something or don’t seek something.

Nobody or nothing will ever be enough until you are enough.

Always seeking more.

Always feeling like there’s something wrong.

Looking for the next best thing.

A saviour.

A relationship.

Food.

Alcohol.

Drugs.

Busyness.

Shopping.

A fix.

Healer.

Healing.

New job.

New home.

Holiday.

New life.

Look in the mirror does your heart burst at the sight of your reflection.

If not.

Dig deeper and deeper still.

Until you are so filled even in the emptiness that all you need is to hold yourself more.

In the silence in the still.

There is not a thing wrong with you.

You just lost your connection.

To you.

Only you are worthy enough to fill that void.

With your breath.

Bathe in your deep love and forgiveness.

With your unlimited nectar drenched presence.

You are enough.

It’s time somebody told you.

I am not that one.

That one and only.

Is and always has been you.

Bec Hart.

addiction, ascension, change, Community, Connection, Intuitive, life, MOVEMENT, musings, philosophy, Poetry, rebirth, relationships, Revolution, spirituality, Trauma

LOVE IS NOT A GAME.

LOVE IS NOT A GAME.

I like many have been taught love was a transaction.
Feeding a loss of self to gain the nurturing love needed in childhood.
Not heard.
Not seen.
Not met.
Punished.
Rewarded.
Used as a weapon.
A war with and sometimes without words.

I took this love into adult relationships.
I taught my children this love.
Nobody to blame.
A pattern passed down family lines like Nanna’s trusted knitting magazine.
Seeking and fixing, losing and finding.
Raging blood boiling.
Jealousy rising.
Submissive demands.
No need met.
Control, manipulation
Victim.
Perpetrators.
Where we play both roles.
Sex used as a weapon.
Demons wild in this role.

Let me affirm.
This may be what you are used to.
Enduring.
Allowing.
Gripping onto.
Running away from.
Always two dancing the tango yet tangling.

This is not love!

This is war!

A bleed through of wounding.
Where two halves actually create a hole.
Not the whole we were sold.

I craved the attention of those that couldn’t meet my needs.
I sought and sought and destroyed myself feeling I was not enough, they were not enough.
Life itself became unbearable, not enough.
At times I tried to take my life.
A pattern failed by self but seen so successfully in others.
I saw it as I was even a failure in that.
However I could always harm myself, that became second nature.

Years ago I made the decision to choose me, my crying children within and without.
I chose to live, I chose life.
However it’s not a quick fix.
An instant recovery.
One discovery and my life was different.
Oh no, no.
I’ve run when I needed to stay.
I’ve stayed when I needed to run.
I held on so tight that I not only lost myself, separated myself, I totally destroyed my true self and all of my inner joy.
What is joy, it’s been so long dear friend I’m ready to meet again.
In this now.

I rejected my own wants and needs for those who rejected me.
Those who also felt rejected or Maybe even smothered at times.
Met with apathy.
I projecting desperation.
Yes to no’s.
No to yes’s.
Boundaries with no lines.

Neither of us wrong.
Yet neither of us right.
Just two broken children recreating childhood needs.
Abandoning themselves for the love they feel is sought, earned, gained.
Never met, reached, touched.
Always touched by addictions and distractions though.
Catch 22.
Where you are the ball.
Pinball.
A free game with unlimited plays.

To my self, children, ex partners.
I am deeply sorry.
You would never have been able to meet my needs as I couldn’t meet my needs.
Just as I couldn’t meet yours.

Abandoned by a whole family yearning love yet not truly knowing what it was.
Carrying so much unnecessary guilt, grief, shame, pain, self loathing.
I see now.
I hear now.
Love is not a craving.
It’s my essence.
I choose to meet me.
All of me.
In time.
I will meet he who can also meet himself.
Who desires to evolve and rise.
Learning as we consciously face our inner needs seperately yet together.
Unconditionally yet not without presence.
Putting our own needs first.
Speaking our truth without fear.
Allowing our differences.
Being ok with that.

There is no rush.
There is no reward.
There is no fight.
There is no war.
There is no guilt.
I invite my inner child.
To come out and play.
Where she once knocked on locked doors, abandoned houses to gain a friend.
She now answers the knocking on her door.
Her heartbeat.
Her call.

Yes, I have needs.
I deserve to be met.
In the middle.
First I needed to honour this fully.
Ending the game of hide and seek.
The approval of my parents.
Intimacy I am.
Into me I now see.
I am sorry to you.
I am sorry to me.
Today marks the end of this game.
I’ve gone back to the beginning at the end.
I’ve set myself free.

Bec Hart.