<![CDATA[Elyzabreath Deepening]]>https://whollyelyzabreath.substack.comhttps://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/$s_!OFVz!,w_256,c_limit,f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2F54255ec2-ffbf-4958-a3db-60eca31b1f01_645x645.jpegElyzabreath Deepeninghttps://whollyelyzabreath.substack.comSubstackThu, 03 Sep 2026 14:11:09 GMT<![CDATA[August Poems]]>https://whollyelyzabreath.substack.com/p/august-poemshttps://whollyelyzabreath.substack.com/p/august-poemsSat, 29 Aug 2026 21:48:34 GMTI.
It is a soft sound, this hum
I notice in the air. It waits
at the edge of my ears,
circling them like a bee
it’s flower. What of the hum
once it dares to dip inside
my ears & taste the nectar
within? It grows richer, fuller,
sweeter here. Here it is
safe to be nurtured. Here
it is safe to be held.

II.
I reach into time like it is a tree
laden with ripe fruit, bursting
with the sweetness of nostalgia.
I pluck a childhood memory
from the nearest branch,
bite into the crisp, juicy flesh
of a summer afternoon
in the ocean, kissed by salt-
water & laughter, until
the sun calls me into the slow
burning of my skin & the sated
desire for adventure.

III.
At this table of tiredness,
I lay my body down. I trace
the grain with my fingers,
gather the dust of dismay
at yet another awake hour
on my fingertips & eyelashes.

I hear the house of my body
creak & groan in the night,
attuned to the breeze
& the hooting of a lone owl.

Thank you, , for facilitating another wonderful writing circle!

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]]><![CDATA[A peek at my process]]>https://whollyelyzabreath.substack.com/p/a-peek-at-my-processhttps://whollyelyzabreath.substack.com/p/a-peek-at-my-processSat, 25 Jul 2026 17:36:54 GMTI.
You have come into the world to see
with the infinite eyes of your soul.
You’ll stray from the path
you’ve wandered down
during many sleepless nights,
know the echo of humility
in the hollow of your bones.

Too late for shadow keeping,
the crone whispers.
Tear off the edge of night
with your mouth, swallow the stars,
let the moon reflect its glow in your gut.

II.
My heart: that steel drum, hammered
relentlessly by rain & your hands.
My heart: that precious gem, cut over & over
until it refracts brilliant rainbow light.
My heart: that worn oak at the end
of the lane, still standing after countless
storms, lightning scarred & sacred
in the burning & breaking.

III.
I am not your idea of a good woman.
There is no keeping score with your lips
lacing their truths shut on my back.
My mouth opens to another truth
screaming from the canyon of my throat.

It rips its skin on the jagged rocks of my fear,
staggers bloody & bruised from my mouth,
gasping in gratitude for the caress
of clean air like mercy.

Just thought I’d share these drafts written during a generative writing session led by . I appreciate you reading!

Elyzabreath Deepening is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.

]]><![CDATA[Dark Forest Poems]]>https://whollyelyzabreath.substack.com/p/dark-forest-poemshttps://whollyelyzabreath.substack.com/p/dark-forest-poemsSat, 30 May 2026 20:43:42 GMTI.
I want to tap into the ancient forest
of rage in my chest, lose myself again
to its potent vibrations pouring
from my body like sap.

Instead, I lose myself
in the liminal spaces,
my mind like cool spring mud,
puddles of rain. I lose myself
to the shifting seasons of light
& shadow ushering me
into yet another dance
with my ever-stubborn,
sprouting dreams.

II.
Perhaps I am the wolf,
claws buried in the damp earth
like prayers, or singing
through the bark of a tree
in search of a sharper feeling
to pierce my heart.

Perhaps I am wild as moonlight,
a bright howl against the dark
creeping into the sacred
rooms of my heart like ivy.

Perhaps my breath is empty
of everything but the slender hope
born of having dared to bite
the ripe fruit of this moment:
tender & pulsing, vitally alive.

I wrote these during ’s latest writing workshop and thought I’d share. Thank you for holding such a warm, encouraging space, Alix!

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]]><![CDATA[Three Poems]]>https://whollyelyzabreath.substack.com/p/three-poemshttps://whollyelyzabreath.substack.com/p/three-poemsMon, 27 Apr 2026 13:03:25 GMTI.
Birds scatter into the cool air,
their wings slice their own language
into the ripening sky. Dawn is emerging
as the victor in the battle of hard-won
mercies splaying themselves open
like wounds ready for healing,
like mouths kissing divinity
back into my being, until I am
breathless with wonder & gratitude.

I remain pressed against the window to my heart,
my ardent fingers slowly tracing the shape
of my longing into the morning’s soft hands.

II.
This is a love born of bloom & thunder,
of lightning laced to spine. This is a love
I hold in the nest of my heart like a robin’s egg,
that sacred testimony in teal, cradled
in the sovereign ache
of my own blessed becoming.

III.
I wish I could speak the love language
of the Earth back to her. I wish I could
mycelium my breath & root my touch
into her tender body, bosom heaving
its great sigh of surrender to the soil’s
ancient wisdom. I wish I could inhale
the sighs of seedlings slowly sprouting,
waving their green leaves like prayer flags.

Just thought I’d share these pieces I wrote during ’s latest writing session. Thank you for reading!

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]]><![CDATA[Spring Poems]]>https://whollyelyzabreath.substack.com/p/spring-poemshttps://whollyelyzabreath.substack.com/p/spring-poemsSat, 11 Apr 2026 19:58:48 GMTI.
Dear future, I am calling to you
with a voice as thin & green
as spring grass, breath as wild
with wishes as blown dandelions.

I do not shrink back from the edge
of my own blooming. I pick the soft
secret from between the gently unfurling
petals of my becoming. I hear you
whisper in the folds of dawn mist.

You are a sparkling dream
winking in the sunlight
as waves of promise
eternally kiss the shore
of my imagination.

II.
Hope is the thing I’ve borrowed
from every breath of flower & tree,
from every gentle rainfall. It lands
in my body with all the fragile gravity
of mist suspended in light, knows
the sanctuary of my lungs as sacred.

It shadows my heart like a ghost,
haunts my weary bones past memories
of ache. Yes, hope is the thing I’ll follow
in the darkest times, a living root
I’ll cling to as it tenderly threads
through the rich soil of my sorrows.

Many thanks to for holding such a supportive writing circle during which I started these drafts. While they still don’t feel done to me, I felt like sharing what came through during (and a little after) the session.

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]]><![CDATA[Messages From My Body ~ a poem]]>https://whollyelyzabreath.substack.com/p/this-honest-body-a-poemhttps://whollyelyzabreath.substack.com/p/this-honest-body-a-poemWed, 11 Feb 2026 15:30:57 GMTToday my body refuses to pretend
that it is not honest. It will not hide
any sacrifice or scar. No pain is
forgotten by my arthritic hip bones.
In each sharp crack, a doorway widens,
the threshold to their truth beckons me
to return to the splendor of my body.

It asks me to listen with more
than the curved shells of my ears
to the vast ocean of my presence.
It asks me to see each flare of pain
as awe inspiring as a shooting star
in the constellations of my nervous
system. It asks me to honor its
gravity, the ache a holy reminder
of communion with life.

Here, I will stand in its tide.
Not resisting. Not trembling
from fear. I will allow the secret
wisdom of my suffering to emerge,
a pearl held among the grit. I will be
a shell held open to the mystery
& miracle, wearing my cracks
without shame, whole in the glow
of my own hard-won grace.
©️E.B.B.

This poem was written for ’s prompt this past Saturday. Much thanks to her and all of you for reading!

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]]><![CDATA[Questions for Chickens ~ a poem]]>https://whollyelyzabreath.substack.com/p/questions-for-chickens-a-poemhttps://whollyelyzabreath.substack.com/p/questions-for-chickens-a-poemSun, 08 Feb 2026 14:10:46 GMTI cannot hear the white chickens
clucking on the side of the road
because I am in a moving vehicle,
but I wonder: are you gossiping
about winter’s slow seeding of cold,
how it persistently roots into bones?

Could you tell me
about faith & how to lift it
like the feathers on your wings
to yet another gray morning
as snow falls like ash
from a secret fire?

Could you remind me
about the courage it takes
to cross the cold pavement
when cars compete for space?
Do you cluck softly in prayer
to the unforgiving road,
the wide altar of the sky?

Will you all make it to the other side
of the road, each step still singing
with its own glowing embers
of gratitude & relief? Will you
raise your voices in a joyful hymn,
your resilience turned holy
communion aside layers
of snow & soil?

Do you search those infinite
layers like pages of scripture
for the promise of life? Do you
scratch annotations in the dirt
that speak of your secrets?

Will you bury them
like seeds, witness
them whisper & sprout
their wisdom into
the ever patient,
resonant earth?

©️E.B.B.

Thanks to for the prompt! Fun fact: this poem was originally all statements, but I couldn’t think of a title…so I turned all the statements into questions!

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]]><![CDATA[Writer's Block Haiku: VII-XII]]>https://whollyelyzabreath.substack.com/p/writers-block-haiku-vii-xiihttps://whollyelyzabreath.substack.com/p/writers-block-haiku-vii-xiiMon, 02 Feb 2026 17:48:29 GMTVII.
I release pressure
to create. After winter,
flowers bloom again.

VIII.
Here, there are no words,
but the words of my body
making now holy.

IX.
In this void, breath
rises in my belly: hymn
in a cathedral.

X.
My breath becomes verse,
a prayer of gratitude
for life poured through me.

XI.
Perhaps a poem
pours through that silent prayer,
precious as snowflakes.

XII.
Perhaps my presence
is poem enough, inscribed
ode of soul and heart.

©️E.B.B.

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]]><![CDATA[Writer's Block Haiku: I-VI]]>https://whollyelyzabreath.substack.com/p/writers-block-haiku-i-vihttps://whollyelyzabreath.substack.com/p/writers-block-haiku-i-viThu, 29 Jan 2026 22:01:17 GMTI.
Breathe with resistance.
Become the river flowing,
allow a new path.

II.
Nothing inspires.
I retreat within: a bird
nesting in spirit.

III.
In the void, root self
to Earth’s possibility
blooming from shadow.

IV.
My mind: fallow field.
I burrow into soil,
find a fertile peace.

V.
When words won’t gather,
I feel the pulse of promise,
mercy in each breath.

VI.
I listen beneath
thoughts: a static waterfall,
drench myself in trust.
©️E.B.B.

I’d been posting these as individual notes but wanted to put them all in one post! V and VI were typed just now. I appreciate you reading!

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]]><![CDATA[Questions for Winter ~ a poem]]>https://whollyelyzabreath.substack.com/p/questions-for-winter-a-poemhttps://whollyelyzabreath.substack.com/p/questions-for-winter-a-poemSun, 25 Jan 2026 16:17:27 GMTOh harbinger of hibernation,
can you teach me how to burrow
into the den of my heart? Can you
teach me how to meet the feral
creatures of rage, grief, & shame
inside with reverence for their wildness?

Can you teach me not to tame them,
to allow their growling & howling maws?
Would you show me how to feed them
the seeds of my compassion,
how to store them long enough to last
through seasons of my shadows?

Can you show me how to bear
the frost of my fear with grace,
how to let my misgivings melt?
Can you show me how to bear
the heaviness of all the lonely years
on my body like patient soil beneath
firm feet of snow? Would you reveal
how to be present to my body
with the gentleness of bird wings
fluttering open to yet another dawn?

Will you show me how to be open
to love the way the clouded sky
is open to thousands of tender
snowflakes falling through it?
Will you show me how to let love
land in my body like those snowflakes
land on the Earth, each one reverently
kneeling & softly kissing it awake?
©️E.B.B.

This is the third Mary Oliver inspired poem prompted by . The Mary Oliver poem was Some Questions You Might Ask. I’ve decided to post this draft as a challenge to my sense of perfectionism…thank you so much for reading!

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]]><![CDATA[Maybe Death Isn't Darkness ~ a poem]]>https://whollyelyzabreath.substack.com/p/maybe-death-isnt-darkness-a-poemhttps://whollyelyzabreath.substack.com/p/maybe-death-isnt-darkness-a-poemFri, 23 Jan 2026 15:02:30 GMTMaybe Death isn’t Darkness,
after all, for the ocean wave
comes crashing against the shore
only to return to the infinite flow.

Maybe love is the gravity
that pulls us onto the infinite,
cosmic shore & Death the wave
that rides it. Maybe Death is
an energetic tide rising
& rising to meet the sacred
breath of the universe.

Maybe it is what meets us
at our deepest depth,
an interminable silence
illuminating the body
from within, until we rise
like sunlight sparkling
on the water.
©️E.B.B

I thought I’d share the second Mary Oliver inspired poem I wrote for ’ weekly prompt offerings! The Mary Oliver poem for that week was WHITE OWL FLIES INTO AND OUT OF THE FIELD, with the prompt being the line “Maybe Death isn’t Darkness, after all.” I appreciate you reading!

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]]><![CDATA[Make of Yourself a Light ~ a poem]]>https://whollyelyzabreath.substack.com/p/make-of-yourself-a-light-a-poemhttps://whollyelyzabreath.substack.com/p/make-of-yourself-a-light-a-poemTue, 20 Jan 2026 14:54:36 GMT
"Make of yourself a light,"
said the Buddha before he died.
I imagine myself a lighthouse,
my spirit the shining light scanning
the horizon of my heart for my own
mercy, while my body is the tower
of stone standing stoically in the face
of chaotic storms of pain & suffering. 

How does the ocean of life around me 
bear those powerful storms upon its back, 
breaking into the wholeness of its own 
surrender again & again? How does it 
allow the dawn of compassion to place
its tender hands upon it, not to soothe,
but to honor life’s shadow in holy witness?
 
How does that ocean breathe
with that dawn, making each swell
a testament to gravity’s silent devotion?
 
How are life’s shadows reborn
in the sacredness of their own
ache to be defined & held
by the light? How can I make
of myself a light brave & gentle
enough to hold & honor
those shadows? How can I be
serene with the knowing that
they offer me their own kind
of complete presence?
©️E.B.B

This poem was inspired by Mary Oliver’s poem, The Buddha’s Last Instruction and prompted by a few weeks ago as part of her series of weekly poem prompts inspired by a Mary Oliver poem. Thought I’d share what I wrote with all of you, as well!

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]]><![CDATA[Thank You, Cerebral Palsy ~ a poem]]>https://whollyelyzabreath.substack.com/p/thank-you-cerebral-palsy-a-poemhttps://whollyelyzabreath.substack.com/p/thank-you-cerebral-palsy-a-poemSat, 17 Jan 2026 14:43:47 GMT
You humble me, remind me 
that I am not in control 
of my body, this sacred vessel 
life pours through like water. 
You, bonfire raging in the night 
of my nervous system, intense 
with muscle spasms that leap like sparks. 

When I feel angry I cannot leap 
over you to escape your existence, 
thank you for teaching me I can 
withstand the discomfort 
your heat causes, that 
I can witness your wildness 
without being burned. 

Sometimes panic claws at my heart 
and I feel trapped by your presence.
Sometimes, I want to howl like a wolf 
in rage and grief at God steadily shining 
on me like the moon. Sometimes, I want 
to claw at the muscles and bones holding 
my body together, disassemble them to feed
the earth something it would appreciate
without judgement. When I judge you 
as unworthy of acceptance, thank you 
for showing me that your flickering flames
reach for the fullness of life as much as I do.

Thank you for showing me that I can 
befriend you, instead of viewing 
you as a barrier to my desired life. 
Thank you for reminding me 
that you, too, are a blessing, 
inextricable from the blessing 
of my being alive. I will celebrate 
you, let my heart dance in 
gratitude for your presence.  
©️E.B.B.

That is the second draft of a poem I wrote years ago…it’s definitely not done, but I felt like letting go of perfectionism and exposing something more honest about how I’ve felt in my body. Here, too, is a bonus poem that seems like it would fit with that one:

Ode to Cerebral Palsy

My muscles spasm like butterflies
trying to break free from their cocoons.
Bless this lifelong struggle to be seen
by the world as something beautiful,
something worth unapologetically taking up space.
 
Do not pity their constant wrestling
with movement. This is how I discover
how deep my well of determination runs.

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]]><![CDATA[Ode to My Left Arm ~ a poem]]>https://whollyelyzabreath.substack.com/p/ode-to-my-left-arm-a-poemhttps://whollyelyzabreath.substack.com/p/ode-to-my-left-arm-a-poemWed, 14 Jan 2026 13:03:29 GMT
You were never the 'bad' one, 
just misunderstood: rebel against 
the tame stillness of a body beholden, 
conductor of a symphony to my vibrant 
energy. You bounce on invisible 
trampolines; I marvel at your beautiful 
wildness. A wing against my side, 
you flap free of regret, while my fist 
bangs my hip in search of the beat 
of a drum. 
            You've always known there's 
music in me, even when I’m in pain. 
I’m sorry for the times I wished you 
were gone — closed hand, a sleeping 
flower, elegant fingers gently curled. 
They delight in their arch, beckon 
for the perfect fit. Your palm holds 
hundreds of pearls of sweat. Thank you 
for your caress, the forgiveness
of a wild joy I criticized. Thank you 
for daring to love life passionately, 
even when it didn't love you back.

This was the first poem of mine that was published. It originally appeared online in 2012’s Issue 23 of Wordgathering: A Journal of Disability Poetry and Literature.

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]]><![CDATA[What Blooms from Something Resembling Love ~ 3 poems]]>https://whollyelyzabreath.substack.com/p/what-blooms-from-something-resemblinghttps://whollyelyzabreath.substack.com/p/what-blooms-from-something-resemblingSat, 10 Jan 2026 20:06:16 GMT
I.
I waited so long for love 
& here it is, full & ripe
in my lungs: this inhale.

It hangs there for a few
simple moments, ready 
& waiting for me to pluck it 
with my attention.
 
I am the harvester who respects
the weather of this tender
breath during all seasons, moving 
softly, sweetly through my body. 

Can I feed it to myself 
with both hands, wide
& hungry as the sky? 
Can I know the thick 
pleasure of it & the way
the open ache breathes, too?

II.
I do not know what it is about you
that has me so entranced, eyes  
lit by the glow of a screen 
& a fire I do not name. 

I am listening 
to the near silent echo 
of a long drawn-out song
of passion in my heart 
that refuses to slip slowly
toward its end. The sound 
remains, stubborn note
by stubborn note: a call
toward the kind of beauty
that keeps my heart alive.

A fragile, softly beating thing,
it sits like an animal cautiously
waiting for the food of love, 
like a dropped acorn, a seed, 
to gently usher it home.

III.
This morning, I fell in love
with an apple & its rounded
readiness to surrender 
to my mouth. I fell in love
with its striking scarlet color,
a siren to my eyes & I was lost
in such rich depths. 

Tell me, have you ever loved a color
so boldly you wanted to paint it
into your own skin with your tongue?

Have you ever loved a taste so sweetly
you wanted to kiss it into your veins?

My warm thanks to the lovely for providing this space to connect & write every month!

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]]><![CDATA[Something Honest ~ a poem]]>https://whollyelyzabreath.substack.com/p/something-honest-a-poemhttps://whollyelyzabreath.substack.com/p/something-honest-a-poemThu, 08 Jan 2026 17:20:55 GMT
My mind grabs a poem 
like it will save me: 
a garment it & my heart 
can wear to keep grief,
like the Winter chill, at bay. 

“Write something honest!” 
chirp my thoughts like birds
that scatter if my awareness
gets too close. I sprinkle little
truths like breadcrumbs into
my poems in the hope that this
will sate them. Their calls grow
louder, more demanding. They want
honesty from my blood, my marrow.

They want to know what keeps me
awake at night, what echoes in
the silence like a half-remembered
dream. They want to know what 
I’ve stored in the arthritic ache 
in my hips, what else screams
to be heard before I cut it off 
to choked gasps with a proud smile. 

This is the weapon the good girl 
wields when she becomes a woman 
who refused to outgrow her armor. 
To be proud of being silent because 
what I have to say sometimes isn’t nice 
or pretty. Sometimes, my words have teeth 
that have gnawed my heart & throat 
so much, staying silent feels like mercy 
in my mouth. Sometimes, I taste regret 
at not having spoken like bitter ash 
on my tongue, still warm from 
the fire of my sharp refusal. 

Those thoughts still circle around 
my mind, like scavenger birds now. 
They want my dead & decaying parts, 
the sides of myself I’ve let wither.
Can I turn those parts over to my mind,
let them be devoured by my thoughts,
composted by the soil of my wisdom?

Can I allow this to quell those birds,
until they become quiet, not with 
satisfaction, but with patient
surrender? Can I allow their silence
to soften every aching, trembling desire
within me to remain armored & resiliently 
awake to the traumas lurking in my body?

I wrote this poem after I caught myself about to reach for a poem in order to escape the depths of my feelings. This was my attempt to capture in words that fleeting moment my “I’m fine” mask slipped...and to delve into my darker aspects underneath. It felt incredibly liberating to write.

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]]><![CDATA[After Never Ever Again ~ a poem]]>https://whollyelyzabreath.substack.com/p/after-never-ever-again-a-poemhttps://whollyelyzabreath.substack.com/p/after-never-ever-again-a-poemSun, 04 Jan 2026 22:31:42 GMT
Come quietly through the window
of my heart, your lovelight the one
breath naming me sacred to the dark.
 
Remember the way our lovelights
tangled together throughout 
time’s tender, patient embrace? 
Remember how the distant dream 
of our embrace unfurled in the slow 
blooming of the cosmos? Remember 
how it entered us again & again 
like the sweet seductive scent of jasmine, 
winding around our wounds like ivy?
 
Can you hear the hushed song
of our love spread like a rumor
between our ribs, as the ache
of this moment lingers
in the silence? Can you feel
the ache in your own throat,
as unspoken words gather
like mourners around
the burning candleflames
of regrets you’ll never snuff?
 
Can you forgive my own silence
as my words rise then crash
along the shore of my shame?
Can you forgive my vow
never to speak them becoming
its own shore of forever?

This was a mirror poem written after ’s poem Never Ever Again.

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]]><![CDATA[Lesson of The Sunflower ~ a poem]]>https://whollyelyzabreath.substack.com/p/lesson-of-the-sunflower-a-poemhttps://whollyelyzabreath.substack.com/p/lesson-of-the-sunflower-a-poemTue, 30 Dec 2025 15:59:04 GMT
You have chosen my fate, 
oh Sunflower. Here, 
in the last delicate hour 
of dusk, you doom me
to search for the sun
of my soul over the vast 
horizon of my heart. 

You compel me to go 
on a journey within 
to find the new dawn 
of love rising & spreading 
throughout my being 
with a grace that belies
the honest struggle to shift 
into the magnificent sky 
of my own mercy. 

This self-forgiveness reaches 
its warm, slender hand 
toward my tender wounds 
not to bandage, but to press 
softly against them. Compassion 
is an affectionate animal 
keeping them company 
in the quiet Winter 
of my desolation 
determinedly taken root 
in my body. I shake 
my limbs to pry 
old seasons of sadness 
loose, to return to the soil 
of peace fertilizing 
my body with each breath.

I wish to be empty 
except for this 
sacred bond growing 
tendrils of its own tenuous 
tomorrow in each exhale. 

I wish to surrender
to the valley of wild 
wonderment waiting 
in the fullness of this 
flowered moment 
for my frantic footsteps 
to slow down 
& call it home.

©️Elyza-Breath Blooming

Inspired by the poem Poppies’ Land in the book Hidden Relics by .

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]]><![CDATA[Love Lifted Me ~ a poem]]>https://whollyelyzabreath.substack.com/p/love-lifted-me-a-poemhttps://whollyelyzabreath.substack.com/p/love-lifted-me-a-poemTue, 23 Dec 2025 16:14:20 GMT
Love lifted me past daily confusion, 
past the bog of misery mooring me 
to my suffering. It flew me over 
the monsoon of depression 
I was drowning in, allowed me 
to see the self-destruction 
it wrought through the light 
of a clear dawn. 

                      In this light, 
old scars are illuminated, 
their stitches to pain and sorrow 
undone and removed. Their tissue 
regenerates, healing with the promise 
of freedom. 

The way forward beckons 
and with some hesitation, I follow, 
deciding to trust the footprints of love 
in my heart. I witness love walk slowly 
through my body, occasionally pausing 
to deeply kiss where its presence is 
most needed to be felt. These kisses 
dissolve any last desire of the pain 
to protect itself and they become 
one in the bliss. 
         
My body rejoices, rings 
wellness throughout its cells 
like wedding bells. Now, I know 
myself as one with that love, 
taking our first dance together 
in deep service to life.

©️Elyza-Breath Blooming

This poem is one year old today! I wrote it in attempt to write my way into more self-love & wellness. While I was tempted to rewrite or expand some parts, I decided just to make minor edits in order to honor where my writing was one year ago…and to celebrate its growth since.

Thank you so much for reading!

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]]><![CDATA[The Multifaceted Face of God ~ 3 poems]]>https://whollyelyzabreath.substack.com/p/the-multifaceted-face-of-god-3-poemshttps://whollyelyzabreath.substack.com/p/the-multifaceted-face-of-god-3-poemsMon, 22 Dec 2025 16:24:20 GMT
I.
In the mirror, my gaze
is shadowed & heavy
with forgetting the ripples
of love my eyes spread
with every kind word
dropped into conversation
like smooth stones in a lake.
 
The mirror is the only one
that sees & knows the truth
of my depression haunting
my face like fog in that lake.
I wear my smile like the ghost 
of my gratitude forgot my name 
& those of my family & friends. 

I do not know who still sings 
my name in the dark when 
it sits like a stubborn stone
in my own mouth, jagged 
even with the river of words 
flowing over & around it.
 
Who still prays to God
for my salvation from sin
& struggle when I cannot speak
a single holy truth & let it face me
like the mirror without flinching?
 
The mirror holds the stark truth
of my being without apology,
without breaking. She is the bold
blue water rising to meet me,
not to drown, but to mark
the measure of my melancholy
against the dock of my body,
a patient witness to its slowly
splintering & sagging wood.

II.
If I reach down 
into the well of my own 
gaze in the mirror, sending ripples 
of love through its sacred depths, 
what will I pull out? Will I recognize 
the soulful wisdom gathered within, 
shining like handfuls of gold coins? 

Can I make a wish 
on the wonder of my being, 
toss it back into my body 
with delight? Can I recognize 
the Presence that reaches back out 
to me in celebration and praise 
as that of the Divine, one 
with my eternal essence? 

Can I feel it bless me 
with adoration, witness 
that Presence caress my body 
with silent awe at its resilience, 
its constant inspiration?

III.
I re-membered myself to life today,
while drinking deeply of the gaze 
from the mirror. What vibrancy! 
Like sparkling cider, vitality pours
forth from the fluted glass of my soul
& out of my eyes. I toast to life in thanks
with every heartbeat I acknowledge as a gift,
making a miracle of the moment. 

I know I am fruited of the universe, 
belonging to those miracles stretching 
like tree branches across an infinite sky.

©️Elyza-Breath Blooming

These three poems were written during three separate months in the past year! I didn’t realize they worked well together until last night when the still, small voice inside said, “behold the multifaceted face of God glimmering on & through the ring of you!” in reference to my poem When God Proposes that I posted yesterday.

I typed the last one in July of 2024 when I felt really depressed and needed to remember that I am powerful beyond circumstance, thought, or emotion. I looked into my own eyes in the mirror & repeated the phrase “remember who you are” until the first line struck my mind like lightning. Typing the poem was such a joyful experience! Almost ecstatic. I laughed the entire time. I’m laughing right now, amazed at that the flow has led me here.

I typed the first one this past Saturday in answer to a prompt by . I realized it was time to go back to July of 2024 & write about what I felt before that shift. I feel very grateful that I had the capacity to do so! I feel very grateful for all of you!

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