A poem

a whispering part of me
i tried to delete
speaks in the wind.
she speaks in prayers of poetry
she shimmers
comes and goes
and perfumes my being
with her presence.

is her essence.
she is ethereal
neither here nor there
but deeply felt
when she takes hold
like breath in thirsty lungs
she is enchantment, she is lace, she is electric —
please don’t forget about me again, she says.
just because i am see-through and tender like fresh flower petals doesn’t mean i am weak. don’t underestimate me, she says.

A poem of pain and possibility

i know that smile
the one hiding tears
sadness beneath the surface
anger swirls
i know how you walk around
with the weight of a thousand words
on your shoulders, behind your lips
because of the wounds —
betrayal, abuse, racism, rape
confusion, grief, oppression
it aches
deep in your bones.

meanwhile, society tells us to be perfect
not to feel
and produce more
tangled in the arms of technology
trying to be okay, to be great, to be something
but so many of us
are walking around wounded
the pain is palpable
when we slow down
to feel.
it floods us
but only for a moment.

A poem

listening deeper
where quiet rains
from the sky
i can taste silence
feed it to me like sapphires
i feel you
next to me
your breath glazed onto my skin like honey
my eyes fill with daises
wonder pulses through my whole body
from the petal sweetness of your gaze.

i need this.
who are you?

i am sent here to love you
like never before
i am here to love you
when you don’t feel strong enough to love yourself
i am here to remind you that you aren’t broken beyond repair
i am here to say —

Time shatters

I gently bite your lip
And look at you —
There is only you
And me
And this moment.
We embrace
Not in the fantasy of candlelight
But in the truth of daybreak, at naked midnight
On tough, shitty afternoons
And clear sapphire skies
In the rain that life pours
Because sometimes it just hurts
To be human.
A fragile kaleidoscope
Of pain and joy and loss and beauty.

It’s so tender, isn’t it, my love?
I like what you said
The other day —
We don’t have to cry alone anymore.
We don’t have to hold burdens
In tightly locked palms
Or carry…

A poem

open up
tap the bottle down
and see what feelings
pour out

so human
beneath the amor
fresh petals of softness unearthed
between my ribs
old layers peel off in big, jagged strips
like 1920’s wallpaper
too yellowed, too stale, too not me

and what i see
beneath it all
beneath forced smiles and awkward moments
and all the snapshots of things i thought i should be —
a kaleidoscope of colors
swirling like paint
a sunset drips down my back
and the only thing to do
is this:

set it down.

the expectations
the fears
the things that block our instincts

roses, gardenia, and lavender
i drink them in
scents drift
dispersing through the breeze
subtle like dew
perfuming my busy mind
with a sweet glaze —
s l o w
d o w n.

sensations take over
thoughts recede to the background
and i just feel
lava erupts
from the core of me.

i need this
i need to not think
i need enchantment
sips of mystery
fed by fragrant blooms
petals soft
on my restless fingertips.

i need to sit still
and not do a damn thing
except feel life’s pulse
sparks spread out like butter
and dance inside…


Self-care from the whispering mountains

There is one thing my dad taught me that I will treasure forever — an appreciation for nature.

But honestly, it is so much more than that.

It is about cultivating an active, alive, deeply intimate relationship with the earth.

It is about digging our hands into chocolate muddy dirt, eating glorious ruby strawberries, and just losing all sense of space and time and fear.

Some of my most beloved memories from childhood are woven richly in scents and sensory impressions of the majestic forest behind my house — thick vines to swing on, red clovers, the blaring chirp of…


while i was cooking dinner
everything held
tightly together
unwound in a messy pile
on the kitchen floor.
i lost it
i yelled and cried.
because as a woman
it is deeply ingrained in me
to do everything
and give everything
to everyone
at all times.
it is exhausting.

i am learning
this is not a luscious way to live
i am learning
what too much feels like
in my body
and the sacred sound
of no.

i am not superwoman. …


i always write about
how the wind
combs my hair with fierce fingers
how it whispers secrets
even the trees don’t know.

i will feel
with every cell in my body
the fresh beginnings
wide open space
and saucy banter
laced in a breeze.

oh, how the leaves shimmy in a thunderstorm
electricity everywhere
like these words
right through the power lines
of my being
like the best love making
as rain pelts, trees sway
with passion.

right now
it is still outside.
i sit waiting
for the grass to move
for branches to dance
to the raucous rhythm
of mysterious movement

Sarah L. Harvey

Writer, poet, lover of truth & nature. Elephant Journal author. Cat lady. Tender heart.

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