addiction, Art, ascension, change, life, Messages, rebirth, spirituality, Trauma


I don’t wish to know how much you forgive them.
I want you to truly sit at the edge of that pit of despair and truly see.
I want you to feel what happened.
How you felt, what really goes through your mind, is it truly how kind they were.
The sickening abuse, the denial, the projections aimed at you, did you really deserve it.
Held inward, our little secret.
We get on with life.
Hidden within the body of a lie.
The rage hidden, simmering under a brick wall in the gut.
The hate you project at yourself.
So kind to others though.
Why is that.

Feel, swear, break free.
If they judge, so what.
Be true to you.
The you you’ve never met yet.
Lost in who you thought you was.
They’ve gone, no going back now.

Break yourself to feel and fall.
Run, swear, kick, scream, allow.
Be untamed.
Lose control.
You are safe.

Be wild.
Wild without fear.
Wild without destruction.
Wild without abandonment.
You are going inwards not backwards, allow.
Don’t fear what you feel.
There is no wrong.
That story was once told by someone who didn’t feel.
Hidden by a blanket of suppressed denial.
“I’m ok, be happy.”
Abandon the world’s ideal.
Lose the envelope.
Pull out the letter.
Tear it up.
Cry, scream, rage, pour.

When you’ve felt all you can.
Fall into the earth.
Released from the prison of unheard screams.
No longer enslaved by emotion.
The prison has past.
Breathe. Know. You are pure.

Written by Helen Rebecca Hart.

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



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



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.
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



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



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.
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.

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.