Heart of a Gypsy

The price of being a gypsy woman comes at a high cost. She is the embodiment of a free spirit; restlessness is her middle name, and her last is freedom. As soon as contentment stroke her soul, the embers began to steer her in a new direction. If she was to ignore their powerful pings at her heart;  surely those embers would blaze her passions into a raging inferno.

Licking at her curiousity of what could be just around the bend. The price of being a gypsy woman came at a high cost. She could not bring along those she loved for they had their hearts set on contentment. Maybe they had their own paths to travel, yet she couldn’t help but feel the loss of love found in their meetings. She wished to have them all alongside of her living free embarking on a journey of  abandonment.
There, in the open meadow she lied. The sun gleamed off of her skin, and warmed her instead of a friend. A gust of wind aroused; wheatgrass met her legs, tickling her, as she grinned. She would never truly be alone for she was in the hearts of those she met along her way. She would carry a piece of those she encountered into old age. There, they could live forever together in each others hearts and this brought her peace.

Here she was, in a new place, traveling down an unfamiliar road with different enchantments, new faces, new feelings, and new hopes.
Yes, there it is again. That feeling of falling down a portal of bliss. Those childlike wide-eyed and all-accepting pupils gazed around at everything, it was ever so pristine, everything was shining with potential. She knew the feeling from which it came, she was falling madly deeply in love with everything.

But, the price of being a gypsy woman comes at a high cost. The thought danced across her mind, And for a moment the music stopped. Ever so optimistic and hopeful she dismissed it as quickly as it came. Now, it was time to dance with the faeries, mythical beings, and be apart of the magickal pristine journey she just started to embark down. Leaving the worries of what may be at stake for a tomorrow that might or might not come.

Crinthia Runyon


Throne of Desire

I am authentically spellbound to be profound. To fight fire with fire for that of which I desire.

Fallacies do not appease me nor does simple praise. Pretty words do not entice me to be locked upon your gaze.

Even if I engaged in the throes of desire. Infuation fueled wanting would surely transpire. Laid to waste by my waist or like a flower plucked and placed in a vase.

Only for the eyes to see and not the soul to feel. Only for your fingers to trace every vertabre on my spine never touching what is truly divine.

What a waste of a woman.


I was dancing merrily in a meadow to the beat of my own drum. Suddenly, a man approached, he rounded a tree and told me that I must stop dancing. “No!” I declared. He replied, “you’ll regret this soon enough!” I went away from him continuously dancing. He grabbed his gun from his waist, lined up the barrel taret locked, clinched his eye and then he shot half of my face off. I immediately fell to the ground in painful wonderment.

I laid there weeping, I noticed he was approaching me. He knelt down on one knee; swept my hair away from the remaining side of my face,   with his lips barely touching my ear and said “please forgive me, beautiful. You must do what I say, you’re mine”.

–love letters from my dreamscapes

Mount Everest

Like a volcano I was ready to explode, Destroying everything around me without remorse or bias. I was naturally inclined to set bridges on fire so their was no way to return. Places that were once reminiscent of towns and valleys now lay in decrepit. There in the pathways were bodies turned to ash and dust.

There was nothing that could be forgiven, This was natural; it would follow due course. After the explosion of molten lava, everything laying to waste, everything would eventually cool down and transform the landscape. The wild ways of the earth would replant the seed and eventually things would grow.

Once where their was beauty taken for granted, their would be hope for anew. Where they had pulled at the strings until their were none, trying to sway the very essence of time itself, their would be a wild flower growing from a crack in the molten lava.

The power of love

A friend of mine recently said “to love is be vulnerable”. I really liked that but to be honest with myself, I believe true love is safe. Someone who truly loves you will not play upon your insecurities; they will never cast you in doubt, they will never make you guess where their intent lies.

Sure, things might become tough, things might become hard. However, if they truly love you than they will never leave you guessing. They will recognize what you have to offer and fear to lose it. Not because they are afraid to be alone or because they need to suffice loneliness, but because they realize what your essence brings to their life.

True love conquers all battles that try to divide it. Whether it is physical or emotional, people who truly love each other face these things together. No matter the cost.

Do you agree or disagree? Why?

Definition of love

Art by Patricia Anders

If you really love me..

If you really loved me….

You would earn it.

If you really love me..

If you really loved me..

You would deserve it.

If you really love me…

If you really loved me..

There would be no other.

If you loved me then why did you want to leave me? Why do you say you need me? Why is a question that I don’t care to ask. Why? I don’t know, maybe I don’t care for an answer.


Wallflower Whimsy

Flower of Life, by Frida Kahlo Flower of Life, by Frida Kahlo


When I looked

at her

how often

I saw the coffin,

how often

she lay

with a stillness

so lovely

I knew her fate

as clearly as

the sun and moon’s.

With a stillness

so lovely as

she lay in satin,

her youth

suspended the

time all around us.

How often

I’d rehearsed

her funeral

when flowers

willfully planted

and sweetly tended

were ripped

from young roots,

left to wither on

hardening ground

in the place

where mirrors

see out

and rain boils

to steam in

blue-hot starlight

before reaching

a thirsty earth.

Her flowers withered

and grew,

withered and grew,

comforting lies

convinced the

dedicated that

she’d always

grow back.

She’d always be there


withering and growing,

smiling a kind of smile

that gives you

something to

believe in,

dancing a dance

that makes you

feel free

just watching,

singing a…

View original post 105 more words

I pushed you away subconsciously. Amplified everything that could ever get you in a frenzy, this is me. Everything, why? I don’t know. I guess I want to show you the worst of me. To see if you could love me on my bad days. To see if you could really appreciate my all. It’s probably not a good strategy. It probably wouldn’t ever work but to be loved is to be vulnerable.

I felt the change in you.. I couldn’t take it. The perspective got a little bleak and so I became a little needy. I hated that. I really don’t like to need anyone. But I wanted you. I wanted you forever in a moment. Maybe for eternity. I guess that’s the life of a heart broken romantic.