Home

She stepped cautiously along her path, the slippery slope of her worth

The summer sun melting remnant childlike curiosity, evaporating her last droplets of glimmer and shine

A balance of steps between logic and hope

A wish for belonging, self-preservation, quenching love and solace

She reminded herself that her thirst will be her assured slip, the last bump to a bottom she already knows

In her caution she stopped and questioned

Why is she entertaining less than love, when worth is her only home

Metamorphosis

 

butterfly

Natural causes, supernatural destiny

the birth of beauty in its truest form

pain staking discomfort, transformation

giving up, letting go, stepping in to isolation and darkness, powerless to natures chosen path

resignation that this body, this perceived dwelling of self no-longer serves that but the hungry bird, just a morsel for hungry souls

in the damp, unknown and unfamiliar

Metamorphosis

Upon birth the butterfly is simply waiting to be born

-Alisa Hutton

 

The Middle

middle

Standing in the eye of the storm

In the middle of natures polarity

A fierce grey splash to remind you of your current home

The intense feelings; freeze or flee and pray for pass

The eye of the storm, the only way out

Leave your comfort and fear and walk into the unknown

By Alisa Hutton

Perfectly

tea

The dance between dusty thoughts and childlike giggles

Dark skies while sipping on my pain

Simplicity is savored in a porcelain tea cup, it’s a Bergamot kind of day

Paralyzing grief served on Friday’s plate

Numbed by uninhibited dancing on Saturday with a random fake

The day will dawn

The night will darken

Who I am in this moment

With just one sentence

Is perfectly forgotten

By Alisa Hutton

Untouchable

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Peeling glances, thick with the deep churn of her buried unspoken

The sharp will notice, the simple will be her safety but so easily forgotten 

She will tell you ,her words must be followed

You should nod your head and always listen but take note of her eyes, for that is the path she hasn’t spoken

She will beautifully float with the most feminine poise and grace 

Then seemingly without notice she will leave you covered with ice in her politely distant way

She is full of dimension and rivers that run deep to places we would all be so fortunate to see

Almost untouchable, she will inevitably make you travel the long road to her tender heart

The greatest fortune of your life?

She only falls in love with the uniquely attentive and charmingly sharp

Don’t kid yourself, it is only by her choosing and when her time is right

By Alisa Hutton

Tell Me

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When did scarcity roll over you, wilting you timid and fearful?

What darkened childhood tale shadowed your lightness and spirit, giving away your bold?

Who changed you so short that your worth became socially outsourced to the new and unknown?

When the sun rises it reminds us with furious beauty that moments are spectacular. Well thought plans, penned goals and shiny thoughts trivial pursuits of those who will never grow.

The rain that drenched you with indignation, coming unannounced on a summer day? The universes way of tapping you awake to all you never will control.

What happened between the first moments your eyes opened to the universe to where you stand today? Unable to muster the courage to stutter the words your heart desires, I miss you, I love you, please don’t go.

Our heart and our soul intuitively tells us when we are home.

An unspoken settled place is our being, a warmth, a person who undoubtedly many lifetimes we have known.

Tell me, when did scarcity roll over you?

Leaving you all alone.

~Alisa Hutton

Scent

newmoon

The lingering embers of sweet grass on cold October nights

Dew on the morning honeysuckle that warmly wrapped us in July

Star-dust trailing across a seemingly never-ending August sky

September rains, the forest and full moon tide

Tiny breathes in December as snowfall blankets outside

Opening blooms and light announcing May has arrived

Sipping a warm latte while bundled on the beach, moments in April’s time

Laughter and glances, Shiraz, the scent of March for you and I

You asked what your scent was

It is the softness and perfection of taste, memory and time

~Alisa Hutton

Inconsequential

pressed

Sprinkled thoughts and sleepless nights

Tossing dreams that roll with words unkind

Hearts and hopes furiously left undone, once escaped, forever gone

Such curiously fragile those pressed memories we carry in our minds

What was real and what was not?

Inconsequential stories of the breath of love and when it is lost

~Alisa Hutton