Ikigai, the book that I found,
Guided me to my purpose, and helped me unbound
From the doubts that held me back,
And gave me the courage to attack
The challenges that came my way,
With a newfound strength, I could sway
Towards my passions, and what I love,
And find my place in the world above.
Ikigai, the book that changed my life,
Showed me how to find balance and strive
For a purpose that brings me joy,
And to never settle for a mere employ.
It taught me to follow my heart,
And to make a brand new start
With a sense of direction and a clear way,
Ikigai, the book that helps me today.
So let us all find our Ikigai,
Our purpose in life, our reason to stay
And live each day with passion and drive,
For that is how we truly thrive.
About the Creator
Dolly
just started living my life, and poems are my partner, make sure to like follow and help me grow.
Scary holiday house shenanigans
The year was 2016, I believe, and it was September. My family - my parents, our family dog, and I - went to France for a vacation. My mother had booked a holiday home near the French city of Obernai that looked nice in the photos. When we arrived, the landlady greeted us, though communication was difficult since she spoke little English or French while my parents and I, just 12 years old at the time, knew even less. I remember how she seemed nervous explaining that we must activate the alarm system each night and lock the doors to the lounge/winter garden with a large metal shutter that reminded me of blast doors.
By spooky session6 days ago in Poets
Clinging to Childhood
The playground is empty, as it should be past sundown. There is a warm breeze, and I can see everything despite the late hour. What time is it, anyway? It could very well be past midnight. I can never keep track of time, especially in the summer. A prickly piece of popcorn hides like a stowaway in the left cup of my padded training bra. I stuffed the tissue in last minute— a decision I’m beginning to regret, based on the events that are unfolding rapidly before me. To my left, laying non-chalantly on his back, is my date for the evening. He is two years older, could probably grow facial hair if he wanted to, and drives a secondhand Honda. He may as well be a Man. I, on the other hand, feel like a fraud with my too-short short-shorts, sparkly lip gloss, and makeshift push-up bra. I keep my arms pinned to my sides as I feel the dreaded circles of sweat beginning to manifest on my brand new Abercrombie top. I cup my elbows with my hands and stare down at my hint of cleavage, praying that the tissue doesn’t pop out like a white flag surrendouring my lack of womanhood.
By Marti Maley5 days ago in Fiction
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