I am a storyteller, through and through A childhood defined by Long afternoons spent around a kitchen table Listening Learning
A bellowing laugh Between sips of sweet tea Faded fast-food mugs In topographical hands Mountains, valleys, creases a story of their own. Age and wisdom To have both A story in itself
Receiving My own stories Before I could Decode Lines and curves Connected on a page Before I could connect A written story to my own
Once upon a time A parental loss A sick child Left to fend, to fight battles Illness and Ill will A tale of defiance and defeat
A tale of force Into my story Into my body An ink spill Permeating the pages A did cannot be undone
A mystery of madness, mania A page turner, the answer Escaping on the breeze of your exhale
An epoch of war disguised as romance An era of fear disguised as family An age of harm disguised as home
The reveal The rise The run for your life The strengthening The escape
The heartache of another More painful than my own History repeats itself Every fairy tale Begins with tragedy
The hero’s journey Metamorphosed Metaphorical mountains to climb Led to literal Landscapes of grandeur
The epilogue is written spoken painted in technicolor shades of a post-storm sunrise Illuminating a new day
Never-normal, always-honest lifestyle blogger chronicling worldwide adventures, goal chasing, DIYs, and being the youngest mom on the block.
View all posts by Kelsie Oreta