Author: Simona A. Brinson
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The Smell of Orange Orange smells like citrusbursting from a freshly peeled orange,tiny drops of juice sparkling in the airbefore the first sweet bite.It smells like pumpkinsresting in autumn fields,their earthy scent mixingwith cool October breezesand crunchy leaves beneath your feet.Orange is the smellof cinnamon and clovesswirling through warm pumpkin pie,of toasted marshmallowsand glowing campfireson…
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The Smell of Red Red smells like strawberrieswarming beneath the summer sun,their sweet fragrance floating through the gardenwhile bees hum from flower to flower.It smells like crisp applesfresh from the orchard,their cool, juicy scentbursting with every bite.Red is the smell of roses,soft petals opening at dawn,their perfume drifting on the breezelike a quiet song.It smells…
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The Smell of Yellow Yellow smells like sunshinewarming a quiet field,where wildflowers lift their facesand sway in the summer breeze.It smells like the first slice of lemon,bright and fresh,its citrus scent filling the airbefore the juice reaches your tongue.Yellow is buttermelting across warm toast,honey dripping slowly from the comb,sweet with the fragranceof a thousand tiny…
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My Joy My joy begins where the first light slips through the longleaf pines of North Florida, painting the forest floor in ribbons of gold. Before the roads awaken and the world remembers its hurry, I find peace in the hush of creation—in the rustle of palmettos, the chorus of songbirds, and the gentle breeze…
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A Flower of Radiant Beauty She rises where the quiet light is born,not asking permission from the morning sky,but opening anyway—petal by petal,as if the world itselfhad called her name.The wind moves around her gently,as though it rememberssomething sacred it once forgot.Even time slows here,hesitating at the edge of colortoo vivid to pass without notice.She…
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Mending A heart can break from death,from the empty chair at the table,from a voice you still expect to hearwhen morning enters the room.It can break from rejection,from hands that let go too easily,from being almost chosen,almost loved, almost enough.It can break from loss,from dreams packed away in silence,from names you no longer saybecause they…
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Gravitational Pull We are all broken in oneway or another, though some of uswon’t admit it, and we gravitatetowards the brokenness in others.We gravitate to those people, placesor things in which we see pieces ofourselves.A cracked laugh.A tired smile.A silence that sounds like home.We recognize the achebefore anyone names it,feel the pull before we understandthat…
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Even Seeds Split Stone You ever feel so smallThat even a mustard seed appears mountainous,and no one noticeshow hard you are fighting just to stand?Like the floor has swallowed your shadow,like your voice has folded itselfinto the corner of your chest,too tired to ask for room.You smile because people expect sunrise,but inside, clouds keep gathering,heavy…
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Mercy in a Bottle He raised the glasslike a prayerno church could hear.The whiskey burned,but for a momentit quietedthe names of old regrets.At the bottom of the bottle,he searched for forgiveness,mistaking numbnessfor peace.Morning came,and mercy was gone—leaving onlyan empty bottleand a thirstit could never satisfy.Tomorrow,he will lift the same glass,chase the same ghost,and call it…
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Independence is spoken as if it is finishedas if it arrived in a single yearand stayed whole ever since.But freedom does not settle evenly.It gathers in certain streets, certain voices, certain nameswhile others remain rehearsed in cautionlearning the shape of being watched.A celebration can light the skyand still leave shadows on the ground.Fireworks do not…
My Life In Word 