poetry in celebration of women · i promise to love you. i promise to listen. — nisha moodley...

an invitation to intimacy

Poetry in celebration of women

for you,my sister

Freedom Devotional | © Nisha Moodley 2014

Dear Sister,

Several years ago, I heard a quote by the Dalai Lama: “The world will be saved

by the western woman.” At the time, I was running a growing business, where I

supported women in finding freedom from emotional eating. I was one of those

western women, trying to save the world.

But I was on the brink of divorce, and had just missed my grandmother’s funeral

and the wedding of one of my best friends becaus I was “too busy” to get away.

I was a workaholic, using work to avoid my feelings, working 24/7 to help

women find freedom. Ironic. Deeply embarrassed, I was also hiding my pain

from the women in my life. I swam in a deep sea of confusion that I was

desperate to conceal and “figure out” on my own. My shame kept me from

sharing, which kept me trapped in my circumstances.

One day, the sea swelled to a tidal wave, and I realized that the women who

were going to “save the world” were those who, as Gandhi said, were “being the

change”.


So here, I share with you. This book is dedicated to you, my Sister, and to the

belief that the world will be set free by women who are free, and sisterhood is

key.

I offer these whisperings of my heart, in devotion to your freedom.

Thank you for reading these words. It means more to me than you know. If they

touch you in some way, please leave a comment here. Sisterhood is the best

space to support a woman’s freedom and I look forward to being in sisterhood

with you. Thank you.

FIERCELY DEVOTED TO YOUR FREEDOM,


http://thefreedomdevotional.com

Ode to the girl that is meDear Sweet Child,

Thank you for bearing the pain of

a family that wasn’t always united.

Thank you for loving your body in a

world that says your body is wrong.

Thank you for holding visions of magic

that have inspired those who love you.

Thank you for feeling the feelings

that felt too big to understand.

Thank you for wanting good things

for the earth and her people.

My Dear Sweet Child,

I am sorry for forgetting about you.

For treating you harshly.

For being impatient with you.

For not listening.

My Dear Sweet Child,

Thank you for living on inside of me.

I promise to take care of you.

I promise to love you.

I promise to listen.

— N I S H A M O O D L E Y

S H A R E


http://nishamoodley.com/ode-to-the-girl-that-is-me/

This is your spotlight speaking.

I invite you to step boldly into me.

I invite you to bask in my light;

You reflected back to you.

I invite you to fall hard

and make mistakes

and be imperfect and messy;

I invite you to be bold.

I invite you to put one foot

ahead of the next and move.

Even if you can’t see two steps ahead,

I invite you to take the next one.

I invite you to your greatness.

Even if you think it doesn’t exist,

I invite you to see it in others’ eyes.

The world needs you so very much.

Do not deny them you.

Do not allow one more day to pass

without living your light into the world.

There is no one else that can do it.

It’s not their job, it’s yours.

Do it.

Now.

Step. Up.

Step. Up.


S H A R E


http://nishamoodley.com/step-up/

BE your being,

Your core, your essence- what was there all along.

In the beginning before the rest came into form, your light, your energy,

Your energetic thumbprint,

Your color, your shape, your texture, your movement,

Your song

Your light.

Your BE-ing-ness

What came before the doing-

The BE.

The you behind the YOU

Your witness

Your all seeing eye

Your timeless BE-ing

Your stillness,

Your deep pool of being-ness,

Your effortless-ness,

Your flow

The you that lights up the room with no words.

The you that simply by BEing transforms, heals, empowers and delights

The YOU behind all the masks,

What is left when you stop trying to BE and simply BE.

The BE-ING in you.

Your Presence is a Gift-

Who are you called to BE?

Be

— E L A Y N E K A L I L A D O U G H T Y

S H A R E


http://nishamoodley.com/be/

I want to be pressed up close to a heartbeat

like a bird who is no longer injured but stays for the healing.

dancing in the sunlight in my mind

memories of a future I once lived

sweet, shallow breaths so as not to disturb the dream.

don’t wake me. the sun is warm on my cheeks

remembering when those who passed were here forever.

ice cream soothing sad tears

and now love.

biting and washing over me. like a wool blanket.

scratchy, but once you sleep peacefully you only feel the warmth

And now love


S H A R E


http://nishamoodley.com/and-now-love/

and the beauty came in so many forms

she didn’t know where to look

mesmerized by the treasure she could only see with her heart

it was there.

and the love was so boundless she couldn’t find the end

and then the beginning was wrapped somewhere around her

like a wave that washed over her but when she stood and looked for it,

it was hiding in the ocean.

tricky waves.

The love


S H A R E


http://nishamoodley.com/the-love/

delicate

strong

like a body of water that can be impressed upon in an instant,

but calmly holds the truth deep within

the water’s self-healing mechanism is perfect

the balance of it’s surface is wisdom in it’s most subtle form

the water tells you all of life if you listen

Balance


S H A R E


http://nishamoodley.com/balance/

And at times the journey felt treacherous

And there were thorns in her skin

And her shoes were full of holes

And she knew

That if she abandoned her journey

She would never arrive

And she knew that even in the darkness of this trail

The light was guiding the way

And everything was beautiful

Her journey


S H A R E


http://nishamoodley.com/her-journey/

dancing with her eyes closed felt good,

the sweat from her forehead reaching her lips

salty smile

wet hair

her breath aligned with the beat

so did her heart

and she was in love.

she was in love with every lover she’d ever had, and not

she was in love with her problems

she was in love with her curves

and she offered the Universe something she never had before.

herself.

and the vulnerability…

oh, the vulnerability.

her love shone.

Her love shone


S H A R E


http://nishamoodley.com/her-love-shone/

and she blossomed in the summer

some said late, but the dew on her leaves said she was right on time.

and the ground had to break to let her through

and some said it would hurt her delicate form

but the light inside of her was so bright,

there was no pain.

and there was love.

the sweetest love she had ever known.

and her petals bowed in it’s presence

and she became more vivid as the love flooded her roots with life

and she was so eternally grateful.

and with each morning’s sun, she knew she was alive.

In bloom


S H A R E


http://nishamoodley.com/in-bloom/

her heart was a wanderer

and her mind, intoxicated, went along for the adventure

her heart told juicy stories

like a campfire that dances without you telling it to

her mind listened

and her dreams and fantasies and realities wove together

like the wool on momma’s loom

bumpy and imperfect and perfect

cozy

and she loved her dreams

they were windows into other dimensions of existence

that others tried to close shutters on

and she wanted to let the light in

and she was curious

and she was happy to be this child-eyed woman in a world of adults

this was freedom

her ambition was like a pair of dress-up shoes

too big maybe, yes, but glamorous and perfect all the same.

Her heart


S H A R E


http://nishamoodley.com/her-heart/

and my children called me to come to them,

be out of their way,

and for a moment i wanted to run to them!

my love for them boundless, unstoppable.

and then i paused.

and i realized that i am with them now.

and i spoke,

“hush now, my dear ones, i am here.

now is for me to prepare your home.

for where would you sleep? our time is near”

and as i listened, they became present.

and the fear of not having our time dissipated.

and the sound of our impatience silenced.

and we got to be in love now.

My children


S H A R E


http://nishamoodley.com/my-children/

gentle heart

rest quietly now

you are afraid, feeling alone

no breadcrumbs to find your way home

so rest now, be still in this space

home is now, here

i know, my dear.

it’s tender, but…

everything is still moving in this stillness

slow down and you will find your way

home.

Tender


S H A R E


http://nishamoodley.com/tender/

the cut on my hand bled forever,

reminding me that i was alive.

and every attempt to close it,

clean it up, hide it

was futile

and only left the wound more open.

obvious, painful.

so now i admire it

looking all ugly and beautiful

and i can just be with it

and watch the healing

Precious metaphor


S H A R E


http://nishamoodley.com/precious-metaphor/

on the brink of my future

calling me

and even the pinkie toe seizes up when asked to move.

so this is how it’s going to be?

the heart at odds with feet.

now, i’m no puppet master

but i know that the marionettes that are led by their chest

look more human than the ones led by their feet.

and maybe this is just my romantic musing,

but i swear i can tell the difference!

and if the Universe is in charge

and we’re all just players in the show…

i want to be the marionette that dances from the heart.

Being human


S H A R E


http://nishamoodley.com/being-human/

It’s May now:

the month of Lily of the Valley blooming in our yard,

her sweet fragrance of it reminding me of home,

of the love of my Grandmother and Mother,

of the stories of plant magic.

May.

month of my birth

month of Spring’s blossoming

month of love.

And I find myself wanting to run away

and settle down at once.

wanting to look into your still eyes

as you swim in my gaze

wanting to see something in there that

tells me not to go,

because somewhere in me I need that.

Maybe because May brings me another year,

or maybe because I imitate Spring,

I cry and want to grow.

I want to have the things I’ve been pretending to have

and celebrate in the joy of having it.

I want to fall in love with your falling in love with me.

I want to shine and feel you basking in my glow,

bowing at my feet.

It’s May


I want to surrender to you and see mercy in your

eyes.

I want to die with you and be born again.

I want to spin the magic of creation in our favor.

It’s May, again.

I want this one to grow something new with you.

I want to tend it and watch it flourish.


S H A R E


http://nishamoodley.com/its-may/

And so long I have forgotten pleasure;

forgotten that she guides me

informs me

teaches and serves me;

forgotten that she allows me

to surrender and receive

to open up

bear down and release.

And the sweet drippy ecstasy

of her offering brings tears,

laughter

birth and death

creation

celebration

and good-byes.

So on this eve of my 31st,

I invite her to whisper to me.

Yell if I am distracted.

Caressing me til I melt,

surrender,

trust…

…that she, as I, have the

right to exist.

On the eve of my 31st

— N I S H A M O O D L E YS H A R E


http://nishamoodley.com/on-the-eve-of-my-31st/

There are things that never changed,

No matter how tall and distant I got.

The Readers Digests tucked neatly away

The tea in the teapot with sugar cubes in a bowl

The Christmas candles plugged in at the window, year after year

The softness of your skin

The love in your eyes

I never fully imagined what the world would feel like without you in it.

Just as I was often shocked that you, in your simple practicality, could be a

part of this haphazard world.

And when you left there was a small sigh of relief in me,

for you going to meet Grandpa and take care of him in that way you do…

that way that leaves you feeling necessary. Busy and so loved.

But that small sigh was overshadowed by the wail in my heart.

The pounding of my being that I did not know how to exist in this world

without you.

I never had to.

On the rocking chair, my chest against yours, I knew I couldn’t.

And for the tears I saw so few times, and only for us, I knew you couldn’t

either.

We wanted to keep you. We had decided we would.

Grammy


“At least 5 more years”. “At least long enough to hold my babies”.

That last part still pains me.

In the natural order of things, we would have been together all these years.

I would have fed you cottage cheese and fruit salad under the patio umbrella.

I would have rubbed your back until we both fell asleep.

I would have sung you songs of blackbirds and pies.

But I live here. In this place that makes less sense to my island heart

sometimes.

In this place that throws gasoline on my dreams, rather than gently bringing

kindling to lay at my feet.

It is harsh, hurried and cutting here — nothing like you.

Grammy, I called on you last night in my darkness.

You found me and your hair was the brown of 1983.

Your eyes shone with the sparkle that left with Uncle Bill.

You held the cold cloth of surrender to my forehead.

Grammy, thank you..



http://nishamoodley.com/grammy/

I cried the day you were born.

Not because I would never be the ‘only child’ again (but I wouldn’t)

Not because I fell and hurt my knee (but I did)

Not because you weren’t a girl (but you aren’t)

Not because you were the cutest baby in the whole world (but you were)

I cried the day you were born

Because I fell in love with you.

And I knew, even then, that I would never be the same again.

Little Brother



http://nishamoodley.com/little-brother/

this house is built of hearts and stones and long brown hair

and all of it is woven together, painstakingly, brilliantly

and the walls are delicate, cracked and lovely

this is my home for you

this is my gift

this is everything I have to give

and even more that I never meant to have

it’s all for you, my dear

with love

and I have betrayed you and my heart

boxes of hand drawn love notes cast aside

dust-covered and waiting for spring

when the sunlight streams through bedroom windows

and shutters open

and storm windows go up

and everything is new again

the time when the inside and outside become one

and my heart sings bird songs

and I delight in hands in warm soapy water

and the feeling of knees on wet hardwood

and everything is new again

I built this home for you my dear

and I made many mistakes

but there is beauty in these imperfections

and I feel still the love that shone through my eyes

and the haphazard, childlike heart that set the first stone

This is our home


S H A R E


http://nishamoodley.com/this-is-our-home/

some say it’s a fault.

wielded well, it’s my power

that I can bend, stretch;

cry and rage in a moment

love, breathe, make space next

without.skipping.a.beat.

yes, it has been my most unfortunate mask

the one who shows the wrong feeling

the one who shapeshifts

the one who tricks

and also, the deepest of strengths

she who will slay and slaughter

she who will clean the blood

she who loves

yes,

i am elastic

I am elastic



http://nishamoodley.com/i-am-elastic/

Poetry and Prose arm wrestle some mornings.

Poetry is more refined,

of course, and has a smug self-assurance that

makes Prose uneasy, self-conscious.

Poetry despises arm wrestling.

Prose is ballsy.

No mincing words or fussing with the flower arrangement.

Prose just drops those suckers in and halfheartedly hopes they live.

Prose despises Poetry’s pomp.

It’s often unclear who wins.

Sometimes there’s a draw and no one gets the paper.

And even now, as muscles weaken and fists waver,

Poetry is certain he’s won.

Rupert Murdoch has already called the match and

everyone’s assumed that Poetry came out on top.

But Prose, the underdog of underdogs, the oft-dreaded truth-seeker,

has something to say. And he’s ready to play dirty if he has to.

This is going to be a long morning.

The match



http://nishamoodley.com/the-match/

Every time I hear your voice, I melt.

My heart quickens pace, eager to race my body.

But quickly, everyone pulls out the white flags.

…and we melt…

You own me.

Oh, you own me.

And my rebellious feminist rebels,

but her mouth is gagged and she’s on her knees,

because being more requires less than I once thought.

There is already enough in these walls.

There’s nothing more to prove. To show.

Yes, oh yes, make no mistake…

I could live in your eyes for a lifetime.

I could live in your eyes for a lifetime



http://nishamoodley.com/i-could-live-in-your-eyes-for-a-lifetime/

Think less, feel more, my dear.

This world is more wondrous than your mind can bear;

more gorgeous and painful and excruciatingly delightful

than your sweet and brilliant mind can comprehend.

I lay my body down. I lay it down for you.

Swim in this vast ocean, get lost.

Throw your compass overboard

and forget how you got here

and swim.

Swim your fucking heart out,

sideways and wrong

like a rabid creature,

bloodthirsty and hungry for an antidote.

Hungry for love.

Hungry to live.

And you will see, my dear,

that this body is full of the Universe.

That all you seek to know is nothing

and everything to discover is here.

Meet me here,

and teach me how to use your compass.

Think less, feel more



http://nishamoodley.com/think-less-feel-more/

I want to sing, to shout, to cry;

to let every breath drip heavy and dewy,

full of my joys and sorrows.

But I must. Be. Patient.

Patient with my heart.

Patient with my people.

Patient, even, with my tethers.

I want to sing, to shout, to cry.

But I must. Be. Patient.

Excruciating patience



http://nishamoodley.com/excruciating-patience/

Love is dripping off of me.

The soundtrack is on replay,

and still,

every song feels exciting and new.

You are brilliant.

I look at you from this distance

and I fall to my knees.

There is awe here.

I am grateful.

And loving the woman I am discovering.

Where my life once held chaos,

waters are calm.

Still. And so very alive.

This love is dripping off of me.

And it’s thrilling, my dear.

Love is dripping off of me



http://nishamoodley.com/love-is-dripping-off-of-me/

The waves lift me to my sky

So the sun may soak me in.

We dance.

And I wonder, where have I been?

When did I forget that we co-create?

And the moon is my mother

And my sister

And I came for this moment.

Now I may face the waves

My womb illuminating the journey

Each stroke a declaration of freedom.

Each wave carrying me home.

Learning to swim



http://nishamoodley.com/learning-to-swim/

My bones ache with your pain

The love and hurt so deep that

Only the ocean and all its tears

can comprehend.

The raging fire is only quelled by

this sea of sadness.

A well of love gone wrong.

And now after the storm’s passed

I am left again with spring

And the blossoms in my heart are

at once confusing and comforting.

This love has no end.

It refuses to die.

I just want to love you.

I just want to love you.

I just want you to know.

And I will try to be more like my

teacher, the wind.

The one who lingers only when it

has a job to fulfill,

and leaves when leaves have all turned.

No need to stay and stir.

I love you

and you will see it in the whispers

of my undying love for me.

My bones ache for you


S H A R E


http://nishamoodley.com/my-bones-ache-for-you/

The moment of my truth

is here.

She never disappeared.

Instead, I played a game

of hide and seek,

only to find that

there is no end to it.

So, exhausted and full

I step forth into the light

and allow myself to be found

by her.

The moment of my truth


S H A R E


http://nishamoodley.com/the-moment-of-my-truth/

I might talk tough

but my heart aches

Trying to stay afloat

as I drown in this pain

Soothing tears with

dreams

of being in love,

only to wake alone,

down here.

Biting my tears back

Begging. Praying.

My glass heart

like the plate now.

Left out, forgotten

on wrong flames.

Nothing to mend it back

to before the fire.

Even in repair,

the damage is done.

Fighting the light at the

end, for fear of what may

be revealed.

Rather remember walking

alone in low tide with grandpa;

Watching grandmas hair grey

in the sunlight;

Days when dad looked young;

Moments when you saw love

in my eyes.

Now there is too much pain

and

I

can’t

take

any

more.

Heartbreak


S H A R E


http://nishamoodley.com/heartbreak/

How does one rectify in their soul

the distance between family and

daily life?

How do we achieve a feeling of completeness

when so far from those who take up the

largest real estate of our heart?

Who do children run to when grandmothers are gone?

And most of all, do I want these answers?

The island in my soul


S H A R E


http://nishamoodley.com/the-island-in-my-soul/

I watched you while you slept this morning.

I watched you wrestle with your thoughts,

trying to make peace with things at odds.

I watched while you revealed your darkest anxieties.

And in those grimaces, I saw your heart,

and we were together.

Sleeping awake


S H A R E


http://nishamoodley.com/sleeping-awake/

I remember the taste of love

dripping from your brow

back arched

hopelessly entranced.

And the flavor lingers in memories,

beckoning,

casting mesmerizing eyes,

offering unattached invitation

for more delicious surrender.

And my mind is at odds.

Wanting to do the accounting,

ensuring that all is first fair,

that no bodies betray hearts.

But my body knows.

She brought her grandmother wisdom,

her satchel of tears and magic,

her light.

And she tells me with gentle force,

“Follow me, my darling.

I will lead you back to love”

On love, lust, trust


S H A R E


http://nishamoodley.com/love-lust-trust/

There was never a time that

I didn’t make it. I always did.

It’s amazing what it takes for a

heart to break.

Unbreakable


S H A R E


http://nishamoodley.com/unbreakable/

Finally.

To have my gaze met and kept.

The contours of my face lavished with curiosity.

My ribs squeezed, compressed then freed.

To be felt.

And it challenges my mind and shuts me up.

It finds all of my hidden rigidity and rips its clothes off.

It allows fantasy to breathe and die in an instant.

It tastes good.

And I am reminded of the woman I am.

And this time I will stay in here.

I will remain fiercely loyal to she who breathes life.

I will honor those who honor me.

And I will enjoy.

I will swim in a sea of appreciation

And I will enjoy.

Finally


S H A R E


http://nishamoodley.com/finally/

Building bridges

For my heart to travel

Stronger now

Willing to battle

Like Arjuna on the field

Some may be sacrificed

Fear not that I will die

Peace is mine

This heart will win this time

One line at a time


S H A R E


http://nishamoodley.com/one-line-at-a-time/

War torn hearts

Beating for a new start

Breath unaware of things sacred

Painful blend of gluttony & scarcity

Scared to replace fragile things

Keep the china packed in boxes now

Craving tea with spoons of sunlight

Beating hearts and sweaty sheets

Where does my content heart belong?

War torn hearts


S H A R E


http://nishamoodley.com/war-torn-hearts/

To lay with my love and say goodbye

past expiration

and still too soon

My heart breaks and bleeds

like rains of Spring

unrelenting outpour

messy and necessary

And I wonder why struggle feels better

easier to explain and make sense of

a band-aid to rip off

And all of these cobwebs must go

feeling my knees already on damp hardwood

watching myself cry at first buds,

alone and so missing my love

And yet, today,

he is right here in front of me

and already gone

Still too soon


S H A R E


http://nishamoodley.com/still-too-soon/

I rode Charlie’s Horse last night

I told a lie

And danced around it for a while

And then the door opened

I thought I was invisible

Charlie didn’t tell me it was like this

I kissed the pain and cried

Some pity for me

Please?

Oh but oh

I would suffer alone

But the love was still there

Everywhere

I rode Charlie’s Horse last night

This morning, the ache in my muscles felt good

Yes, I was still alive

I rode Charlie’s Horse


S H A R E


http://nishamoodley.com/i-rode-charlies-horse/

When you flew home

The nest was filled with all the best things.

I made it that way for you.

There was no right way to talk to you.

The eggshells broke beneath my feet,

much as I tried to tread softly.

Yes, I feel owned.

Owned by my circumstances.

Owned by my choices.

Owned by your well of sorrows.

And in this bed, with spines eye-to-eye,

this nest feels so alone.

And I wonder where to fly to find home.

When you flew home


S H A R E


http://nishamoodley.com/when-you-flew-home/

And the salty tears of brokenhearted women everywhere flowed through me

And I wanted to throw my limp body at his feet

And I wanted to throw it at the wind

And I felt so lost

I’ve never felt so lost.

And my grip was too tight

And yet too loose to hang on

And why can’t I find the air

And why do I feel broken

And why do I love his body beside mine

And why does it melt me to see his face

And why do I want him by my side so much

And why does this hurt so much

Why?

Salty tears


S H A R E


http://nishamoodley.com/salty-tears/

My mother wrote me a letter on a white peony today.

She told me to close my eyes and feel her.

That her twill suit and soft skin would come to me.

That her blue eyes and wet cheeks would soothe me.

That her voice would heal me.

That her body would catch me.

She told me that my family lived here.

That they curled in my hair and listened for me.

That my home was on my back.

But I still felt homeless.

Alone.

Far and lost.

And I keep wondering in my darkest places why I am not there?

When these years will never return.

When, one day, there will be no soft mother.

Only now, sharp clouds between us.

White peony


S H A R E


http://nishamoodley.com/white-peony/

I wanted a sip.

I was parched.

But my greedy mouth drowned my already wounded heart.

And the drink left me heady.

And I didn’t care that I was dry inside.

At least the thirst was gone!

But the dehydration was uncomfortable to see.

So I pretended.

I carried a cup everywhere.

Of course it was always full.

But I knew that my well concealed cup was empty.

And I left you there, thirsty.

And the cup I used to feed you with

Broke.

I wanted a sip


S H A R E


http://nishamoodley.com/i-wanted-a-sip/

And there was no beginning

And there was no end

The love circled round

And round

And wrapped me up in his arms

And the curves of his face reminded me of a past we once shared

And our grandmothers conspired for this moment

And the love was like wow

And his kiss had my knees tremble under the incredible strength of his love

And everyone knew I was prone to fantasy

So I learned to love it

And own it

And trust it, even

And my children called me here

And whispered in my ear to be present

And to not get in their way.

And I don’t know why I’m here

but I know they are my teachers

So I listen

And this man

He found the bird in my heart

And she sings!

And yes, she sings for him.

Birdsong


S H A R E


http://nishamoodley.com/birdsong/

Opening

mouth

Parting

river

Spreading

thighs

Why ask why

Rise

And begin

And let it out

Release

And offer

And bow

Opening


S H A R E


http://nishamoodley.com/opening/

And then the time came

And she fell in love with what was in front of her all along

And the connection was full and deep

And she felt her hips again

And she breathed like new

And it was all feathers and sequins

And it was the season’s first beets

And she wanted to laugh hard

And she swam in eyes again

And the love was so strong it overwhelmed

And she did it in her own time

And she knew she didn’t arrive

She just opened the door

And she was ready.

And then the time came


S H A R E


http://nishamoodley.com/and-then-the-time-came/

Under your body, I melt.

I quake.

I breathe.

And each of my breaths

intertwines with yours.

And although we feel one,

I know we are three.

And your artistry,

your gifts,

are yours.

And I want for you to

breathe life into your ideas,

to realize them.

I want you to be as

expansive as you are.

And when you tire,

when you need solace,

come home.

I will be here,

happily waiting for you,

my love.

Come home


S H A R E


http://nishamoodley.com/come-home/

When poetry falls out of my body, I listen

And as the words form,

I am overcome

and delighted.

And you do this to me.

But mostly I do it to myself.

Or, should I say, I allow it.

And when I do,

it’s like an exhale after holding my breath,

only I did not know it was bated until it escaped,

It’s like a bowl of greens after pastries,

a glass of water in the morning sun,

lying with you after weeks apart.

You bring me peace

and poetry

when I allow it.

Welcome, my sweet love.

I’ll keep the door open for you.

When I allow it


S H A R E


http://nishamoodley.com/when-i-allow-it/

I will build you a nest.

It will be the most intimate, safe and sturdy nest you’ve ever felt.

It will be your home.

Unbreakable.

Imagine a place where my breast falls gently beneath your weary head;

where hearts gets melted into the world’s finest chocolate

that we may drink by the fire at the end of long days.

Imagine a nest so powerful that its branches rage against intruders,

yet so gentle that you would never know it from the stillness inside.

Imagine a home where your biggest ambitions grow wings

so they may soar long after we’re gone from this earth.

And when you tire of seeing and conquering the challenges of the world,

come home to me, my love.

Your nest is already all ready.

I will build you a nest


S H A R E


http://nishamoodley.com/i-will-build-you-a-nest/

You always hold my hand.

And my hand, in your hand, hears your heart.

When you’re anxious, the tiny repetitive

squeezes tell me to smile softly upon you.

When you’re excited, your hand is stiff and

electric. My chest buzzes with yours.

When you’re soft, your hand melts into mine,

feeling for the tiniest moment as if mine

is the stronger one.

Your hand gives me the most incredible

feeling of solidity, safety and strength.

You would kill men and break branches

to save me. With that hand. I know this.

You always hold my hand.

I always hold your heart.

You always hold my hand


S H A R E


http://nishamoodley.com/you-always-hold-my-hand/

I used to loathe her.

Her desire to make up stories,

when the truth felt too harsh.

Her desire to play with the girls,

who didn’t want to play.

Her desire to have harmony,

when her family felt broken.

Her desire to feel whole,

when she felt wholly hollow.

Her desire to eat more,

when her body felt stuffed.

Her desire to fit in,

when she was too brown and white.

Her desire to escape,

when staying felt too much.

Her desire to buy,

when the accounts were drained.

I loathed her desire for things

she thought she couldn’t have.

I never loathed her.

I used to loathe her


S H A R E


http://nishamoodley.com/i-used-to-loathe-her/

unfolding, unfolding, into me.

I yield to you, unfold myself,

becoming your invitation.

unfolding, unfolding, into you.

you rule me, bow to me,

contain and set me free.

unfolding, unfolding, into us.

unfolding, unfolding


S H A R E


http://nishamoodley.com/unfolding/

If I could be with you right now, forever, today,

I would build you a home made of wood

and warmth.

I would stoke the fire and make bone broth soup.

Wipe your head with my apron. Kiss you.

I would invite you to bathe when I see your brow furrow.

Wash your worries into a basin of love. Hold you.

We’d adventure and live and love and play,

If I could be with you right now, forever, today.

Right now, forever, today


S H A R E


http://nishamoodley.com/right-now/

there’s a song in her heart that she wants him to hear,

but every time he comes near he’s too far away.

she whispers it through pleading glances,

but as her mouth opens the song disappears,

distorts,

held hostage by fears.

her song says something like

baby I love you

will you be mine for all

of the time we have left?

but sometimes she can’t even hear her own song;

losing the words before they fall out,

stumbling through her expression

in an attempt to be right.

okay.

good enough.

there’s a song in her heart that she wants him to hear;

a song that is more beautiful than he has ever heard

if only he had the ears

and she had the voice.

There’s a song in her heart


S H A R E


http://nishamoodley.com/theres-a-song-in-her-heart/

I want to play with you.

I want to laugh in the sunshine

while jumping off curbs and steps,

bouncing into your embrace,

smiling into a kiss.


I want to feed you chocolate

as it melts between my fingertips,

watch you close your eyes and savor,

loving this precious moment.


I want to listen to stand-up

while we drive to our weekend

adventure,

laughing deep belly laughs,

happy to be in love with my best friend.


I want to lie beneath you

as you kiss my neck and breasts,

offering myself to you always,

opening to you.

I want to play with you




I want a simple night at home

with dinner and a movie,

my body at home next to yours,

in love.


Always, in every way.


Loving you like you’ve

always wanted to be loved.

S H A R E


http://nishamoodley.com/i-want-to-play-with-you/

Dear Lover,

In your gaze, I expand,

opening to the love

of the universe.

In your gaze, I inhale

more deeply,

exhale

more fully.

In your gaze, I rise

to be the woman

you see.

In your gaze, I give

every drop

of my joy.

In your gaze, I recognize

the woman

I am.

In your gaze,

I see me.

For my beloved


S H A R E


http://nishamoodley.com/for-my-beloved/

My heart,

my heart,

unfolding,

open.

Thank you.

I love you.

Thank you.

My heart


S H A R E


http://nishamoodley.com/my-heart/

In the cracks I am falling through your words.

In the cracks I am the hardness of your bicep where my head rests, has

always known.

In the cracks I am inside your endless disregard of my zenith of awakening.

In the cracks I am the quiet kiss that the beep affirms, that plays with my

pleasure – insatiable

for your notice.

In the cracks I am your spirit lover, the one who impinged your feelings…the

ones that my

wings would soon set free.

In the cracks -your cracks-I am fucked-up, hands together over the place

that holds breath

my breath- and I want my reflection back.

In the cracks I am your one time longing, feather falling, the one that swims

through pulsing

white rocks filling space of emptiness.

In the cracks I am young art, folded in wrapped scarves. Draping my belly

from sight.

In the cracks I am the opening of my secrecy, my floating eyes, the clench

of a pelvis searching

for breath.

In the cracks I am slipping in each, in each, in each.

In the cracks I am falling through words.

Falling

— H A N N A H M A R C O T T I

S H A R E


http://nishamoodley.com/falling/

“What is it?” the boy wondered curiously. “Is it some kind of lioness?”

The man replied unable to take his eyes off her, “That, my boy, is a wild poetess on the

loose!”

“Should we catch her and put her in a cage so she’ll never leave us?”

“Oh no, son. That would be our own suicide.”

The man and the boy watched the wild poetess in awe for she kept changing before their

eyes… each time a stunning revelation, discovering her beauty as if for the very first time.

“There are many wild poetesses, my son, and they have been caged far too long, but I’ve

heard

rumors they are on the loose in droves once again.”

“Oh goodie! Can we get more of whatever sets them free and plant fields of it so this never

happens again? Please, dad, we have to!”

“Just take notice of how each one loves to be loved. Then simply love her and she’ll free

herself.”

“Oh. I’ll need training in that.” said the boy.

The man sighed and smiled proudly, squeezing the boy close and feeling hopeful again.

Wild poetess on the loose

— S T A C E Y M O R G E N S T E R N

S H A R E


http://nishamoodley.com/wild-poetess-on-the-loose/

The sages say longing

is the most sacred emotion.

It is the soul’s desire

to be reunited

with its true state,

nothing.

I lay in my bed, every night

experiencing the sacred. Consumed

by this peculiar desire

to be obliterated, licked

head to toe by its

blue flame.

I wonder how many have lain here

like me, under peeling ceilings,

thatched roofs, comets and

bright stars. Centuries of longing

like threads weaving together the palms

of all of these empty hands.

The saints and mystics had ecstasy.

I am almost certain this is the same.

Here is the impossible union.

Baptismal waters that give birth to this

exhilarated pain. Here among the whirling

planets is my religion,

all aflame.

Baptism

— L I S A F A B R E G A

S H A R E


http://nishamoodley.com/baptism/

There is a sound

a flower makes

slipcracking

deep

larynx

grasp

new life

levels

split tender

finely fierce

she bears

the beauty of reflection

she cries

does what must be done

recedes to more

only quiet and unknown thus far

destined for greatness

The beginning of self-expression

— D A N I E L L E L A P O R T E

S H A R E


http://nishamoodley.com/the-beginning-of-self-expression/

We have weathered much together.

Painful moments,

Unbearable pleasure,

Vacancy.

And I have watched you grow and change,

adopting characteristics I love

– a softening of the eyes & stomach –

and a few that, as you know,

have been harder to stomach.

And, I love you.

And each day I am finding new appreciation for small things…

A fresh gray hair,

The lines at the corner of my lips that will never leave,

Your whispers.

And with all of these discoveries I am reminded

of our journey, and I feel a deepening

adoration of this landscape.

Dearest body of mine,


S H A R E


http://nishamoodley.com/dearest-body-of-mine/

I am a woman.

I love deeply and feel a lot. Sometimes I feel several emotions that seem to be at

odds, all at the same time. Sometimes they come in waves, one clearing the path

for the next to roll in. I am learning to feel love, for others and for myself, when I

am feeling hurt or angry. I am even learning to love the hurt and anger.

I keep learning how to hurt and love, and love hurt, to heal the planet. Yes, I feel

to heal the planet…because I want a world where people know that they are

loved for being and that they can create anything they want. And to give that, I

have to be that. I’m willing to walk through the fire to learn, even though

sometimes it appears to be lonelier and more challenging than watching crappy

television and staying at a job you hate, saving the enjoyment of life for the

weekends. Yes, that life seems more simple, but I can’t go back. Instead, I’m

willing to walk through this fire sometimes, to experience being alive all the time,

so I can give the gift of life.

I am a woman. Don’t try to understand me too much, because as soon as you

think you understand, I’ve already become new again. Instead, feel me. I am an

ocean, and I know an ocean is a lot to feel, but when you swim in my waters you

will see that life is rich here, and that feelings aren’t so scary after all.

I am a woman


S H A R E


http://nishamoodley.com/i-am-a-woman/

When words fall out,

I have to stop everything and allow them

to arrive. Nothing else must matter.

It’s a tricky dance.

Too much waiting and they get pissed off.

Too much coaxing and they retreat.

They’re fussy, words.

They’re fussy because they’re attached

to emotions and the emotions are tied

to wildly bobbing ships on the ocean

and the ocean is married to a moon

who’s seen her share of excitement.

The storm is intense. Violent. Who knows

where the ships will flail next. Or perhaps

the clouds will part and the entire watery

landscape will flatten, leaving the ships

suspended on glass.

The stillness looks pleasant. Pristine.

But it’s the storms that beckon the words.

When words fall out


S H A R E


http://nishamoodley.com/when-words-fall-out-2/

These bird wings.

Beautiful and busy and oft set in wrong directions.

These wings have created storms to traverse,

Seeking the thrill of dramatic flight.

But now,

But now,

I soar.

Soar


S H A R E


http://nishamoodley.com/soar/

With deep gratitude.

I bow in gratitude to my teachers...

The awe-inspiring women in my Freedom Mastermind

Every woman I’ve coached.

My family.

My friends.

My man.

My coaches.

Children.

Addiction.

Travel.

Flowers.

Special shout-out to the contributors...

Elayne Kalila Doughty

Lisa Fabrega

Danielle LaPorte

Hannah Marcotti

Stacey Morgenstern


http://thefreedommastermind.comhttp://www.elaynedoughty.com/http://lisafabrega.comhttp://daniellelaporte.comhttp://hannahmarcotti.comhttp://holisticmba.com

In honor of sisterhood

Let’s stay connected!

If this collection of poems has touched you in some way, please leave a

comment here.

If you want to explore an expansion of your freedom, I also invite you to

download my free TAKE FLIGHT action guide here.

Sisterhood is the best space to support a woman’s freedom, and I look

forward to being in sisterhood with you. Thank you.

If you enjoyed this, please share it!

If you know women who’d enjoy this, please spread the love. You can use

the social buttons below, or send your sisters to download the FREEDOM

DEVOTIONAL here. Please do not forward along this copy, as it is just for you,

my dear Sister. Thank you.

IN FREEDOM & SISTERHOOD,

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poetry in celebration of women · i promise to love you. i promise to listen. — nisha moodley...

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