Men + Myself + God

What We’ve Forgotten…

by P. Braithwaite

I’ve forgotten what it means to write for myself. So much of my writing journey has been about longing: longing for my father to respect my craft, yearning to be paid for my work, yearning for more readers and recognition. The longing was palpable, it would keep me up at night or force tears from my eyes, but the irony was that the longing was an incubator. The yearning was safer than the achievement of my goals. Though I wanted more (and still do), I was content being ignored. There is a freedom that comes with no one to disappoint.

There’s something pure about the ability to easily please yourself.

I’ve forgotten what it means to write for myself. I’ve forgotten that, at the core, I am a kid with a stutter who uses letters to articulate the sounds she can’t pronounce. I’ve forgotten that writing is my safe space, and if there is anything that life has taught me it’s that we must be fierce about protecting the places we feel safest.

The world is large and challenging. People are holograms disintegrating and reorganizing before our eyes. Our communities are unstable, and it’s not going to mellow out anytime soon. We must protect the ports we find within our storm. We must anchor ourselves to the things that help us through. We must never forget our own gratification because the paradox is this: the more we indulge ourselves, the more helpful we are in the world.

I don’t know if I believe in religion. I don’t know if I will ever find a path, but what I know is that if you have a pathway to your inner temple it’s time to make the pilgrimage, and if you know where the altar is: be it within yourself, your yoga mat, your journal or your blunt, kneel before it in supplication.

Reverence is never a bad thing. All things are spiritual and filled with joy making potential.

I’ve forgotten what it means to write for myself.

Luckily, I’m beginning to remember…


Where’s your safe space?

A Prayer for Earthbound Women

by P. Braithwaite


I have a hard time being firm in my convictions. I have a hard time being upset enough to act. I have a hard time believing in systems, institutions, opportunities, and ideals….things made of vapor masquerading as solid mass.

I’m here, but so much of me lives elsewhere.

If I had my way, I’d shake lose of all conventions. I’d burn down my obligations and float away on a rain cloud. I’d cover myself with mud and learn the language of the night. I’d find doorways to other places and walk through them…backwards, eyes closed, heart and palms facing the sky.

I have trouble remembering my own name.

This is a rant, a ramble, and a prayer, that you trust your own tether and explore your deepest parts. The insanity is part of the wisdom. The anchor keeps you safe amidst the fog.

Quickie: question your assumptions

by P. Braithwaite

“Whatever you think, be sure it is what you think; whatever you want, be sure that is what you want; whatever you feel, be sure that is what you feel.” -TS Eliot

AKA: do whatever makes you feel right…and own it.

Photo Cred: Ryan McGuire, Bells Design


Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 333 other followers