𝚂𝚞𝚜𝚊𝚗 𝙱. 𝚆𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚜🖋 𝐍𝐎 𝐃𝐌𝐬! 🚫
@sbwordmuse.bsky.social
𝐏𝐨𝐞𝐭/𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫.
𝐑𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐈𝐍𝐅𝐏.
𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐝 𝐖𝐨𝐤𝐞 𝐃𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐜𝐫𝐚𝐭.
𝐗 𝐑𝐞𝐟𝐮𝐠𝐞𝐞.
𝐌𝐨𝐨𝐧 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 ⏾
𝐁𝐨𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐫.
𝐈 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐬.
𝐈 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐩𝐞𝐨𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐈 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰.
𝐌𝐲 𝐏𝐨𝐞𝐭𝐫𝐲 𝐁𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐬: http://www.amazon.com/author/susanbocinecterry
𝐌𝐲 𝐏𝐨𝐞𝐭𝐫𝐲 𝐈𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐦: www.instagram.com/sbwordmuse/
𝐑𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐈𝐍𝐅𝐏.
𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐝 𝐖𝐨𝐤𝐞 𝐃𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐜𝐫𝐚𝐭.
𝐗 𝐑𝐞𝐟𝐮𝐠𝐞𝐞.
𝐌𝐨𝐨𝐧 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 ⏾
𝐁𝐨𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐫.
𝐈 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐬.
𝐈 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐩𝐞𝐨𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐈 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰.
𝐌𝐲 𝐏𝐨𝐞𝐭𝐫𝐲 𝐁𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐬: http://www.amazon.com/author/susanbocinecterry
𝐌𝐲 𝐏𝐨𝐞𝐭𝐫𝐲 𝐈𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐦: www.instagram.com/sbwordmuse/
Reposted by 𝚂𝚞𝚜𝚊𝚗 𝙱. 𝚆𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚜🖋 𝐍𝐎 𝐃𝐌𝐬! 🚫
Vibrant & chilly
November morning.
Slipping into her
walking clothes.
Her warm hat full
of memories of
happier times
& former loves.
She places around
her neck a soft scarf
holding scents of
autumns past &
hopes & dreams
inside its weave.
This day she’ll find
the magic she needs.
s.b.
November morning.
Slipping into her
walking clothes.
Her warm hat full
of memories of
happier times
& former loves.
She places around
her neck a soft scarf
holding scents of
autumns past &
hopes & dreams
inside its weave.
This day she’ll find
the magic she needs.
s.b.
November 15, 2025 at 2:04 PM
Vibrant & chilly
November morning.
Slipping into her
walking clothes.
Her warm hat full
of memories of
happier times
& former loves.
She places around
her neck a soft scarf
holding scents of
autumns past &
hopes & dreams
inside its weave.
This day she’ll find
the magic she needs.
s.b.
November morning.
Slipping into her
walking clothes.
Her warm hat full
of memories of
happier times
& former loves.
She places around
her neck a soft scarf
holding scents of
autumns past &
hopes & dreams
inside its weave.
This day she’ll find
the magic she needs.
s.b.
Vibrant & chilly
November morning.
Slipping into her
walking clothes.
Her warm hat full
of memories of
happier times
& former loves.
She places around
her neck a soft scarf
holding scents of
autumns past &
hopes & dreams
inside its weave.
This day she’ll find
the magic she needs.
s.b.
November morning.
Slipping into her
walking clothes.
Her warm hat full
of memories of
happier times
& former loves.
She places around
her neck a soft scarf
holding scents of
autumns past &
hopes & dreams
inside its weave.
This day she’ll find
the magic she needs.
s.b.
November 15, 2025 at 2:04 PM
Vibrant & chilly
November morning.
Slipping into her
walking clothes.
Her warm hat full
of memories of
happier times
& former loves.
She places around
her neck a soft scarf
holding scents of
autumns past &
hopes & dreams
inside its weave.
This day she’ll find
the magic she needs.
s.b.
November morning.
Slipping into her
walking clothes.
Her warm hat full
of memories of
happier times
& former loves.
She places around
her neck a soft scarf
holding scents of
autumns past &
hopes & dreams
inside its weave.
This day she’ll find
the magic she needs.
s.b.
Reposted by 𝚂𝚞𝚜𝚊𝚗 𝙱. 𝚆𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚜🖋 𝐍𝐎 𝐃𝐌𝐬! 🚫
Some days waking
feels like unraveling.
The world leans heavy,
but the moon remembers me.
Still—
something ancestral stirs within,
soft but stubborn.
And I go on.
—Sana
* Listen to the sound of the air.
#morningmoon #waningcrescentmoon
feels like unraveling.
The world leans heavy,
but the moon remembers me.
Still—
something ancestral stirs within,
soft but stubborn.
And I go on.
—Sana
* Listen to the sound of the air.
#morningmoon #waningcrescentmoon
November 15, 2025 at 12:03 PM
Some days waking
feels like unraveling.
The world leans heavy,
but the moon remembers me.
Still—
something ancestral stirs within,
soft but stubborn.
And I go on.
—Sana
* Listen to the sound of the air.
#morningmoon #waningcrescentmoon
feels like unraveling.
The world leans heavy,
but the moon remembers me.
Still—
something ancestral stirs within,
soft but stubborn.
And I go on.
—Sana
* Listen to the sound of the air.
#morningmoon #waningcrescentmoon
Some days waking
feels like unraveling.
The world leans heavy,
but the moon remembers me.
Still—
something ancestral stirs within,
soft but stubborn.
And I go on.
—Sana
* Listen to the sound of the air.
#morningmoon #waningcrescentmoon
feels like unraveling.
The world leans heavy,
but the moon remembers me.
Still—
something ancestral stirs within,
soft but stubborn.
And I go on.
—Sana
* Listen to the sound of the air.
#morningmoon #waningcrescentmoon
November 15, 2025 at 12:03 PM
Some days waking
feels like unraveling.
The world leans heavy,
but the moon remembers me.
Still—
something ancestral stirs within,
soft but stubborn.
And I go on.
—Sana
* Listen to the sound of the air.
#morningmoon #waningcrescentmoon
feels like unraveling.
The world leans heavy,
but the moon remembers me.
Still—
something ancestral stirs within,
soft but stubborn.
And I go on.
—Sana
* Listen to the sound of the air.
#morningmoon #waningcrescentmoon
Reposted by 𝚂𝚞𝚜𝚊𝚗 𝙱. 𝚆𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚜🖋 𝐍𝐎 𝐃𝐌𝐬! 🚫
Look at brown eyes in the sun, you won’t always notice it at first, but you’ll see that brown no longer describes them. They melt into golden rays, circling an eclipse. There’s nothing boring about brown eyes not even when the later hours encroach; they just turn into a sunset all their own.
November 14, 2025 at 9:02 PM
Look at brown eyes in the sun, you won’t always notice it at first, but you’ll see that brown no longer describes them. They melt into golden rays, circling an eclipse. There’s nothing boring about brown eyes not even when the later hours encroach; they just turn into a sunset all their own.
Reposted by 𝚂𝚞𝚜𝚊𝚗 𝙱. 𝚆𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚜🖋 𝐍𝐎 𝐃𝐌𝐬! 🚫
Long ago
I lost my way
among the
brambles of life.
I’ve been
scratched &
pricked by the
thorns of
bad decisions.
I know how to
cry in silence
& sadness
often crushes
my sleep
leaving me
with shattered
erratic dreams.
I always pick up
the pieces and
go on even if
it’s a charade. 🥀
I lost my way
among the
brambles of life.
I’ve been
scratched &
pricked by the
thorns of
bad decisions.
I know how to
cry in silence
& sadness
often crushes
my sleep
leaving me
with shattered
erratic dreams.
I always pick up
the pieces and
go on even if
it’s a charade. 🥀
December 16, 2024 at 2:32 PM
Long ago
I lost my way
among the
brambles of life.
I’ve been
scratched &
pricked by the
thorns of
bad decisions.
I know how to
cry in silence
& sadness
often crushes
my sleep
leaving me
with shattered
erratic dreams.
I always pick up
the pieces and
go on even if
it’s a charade. 🥀
I lost my way
among the
brambles of life.
I’ve been
scratched &
pricked by the
thorns of
bad decisions.
I know how to
cry in silence
& sadness
often crushes
my sleep
leaving me
with shattered
erratic dreams.
I always pick up
the pieces and
go on even if
it’s a charade. 🥀
Reposted by 𝚂𝚞𝚜𝚊𝚗 𝙱. 𝚆𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚜🖋 𝐍𝐎 𝐃𝐌𝐬! 🚫
I was once a full time genealogist. The thing that interests me about family history is the spaces between the things we think we know about our families & the realities. All those mysteries to be solved & yes, even those indiscretions. Most of our ancestors were not perfect ladies & gentlemen.
November 13, 2025 at 6:50 PM
I was once a full time genealogist. The thing that interests me about family history is the spaces between the things we think we know about our families & the realities. All those mysteries to be solved & yes, even those indiscretions. Most of our ancestors were not perfect ladies & gentlemen.
Reposted by 𝚂𝚞𝚜𝚊𝚗 𝙱. 𝚆𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚜🖋 𝐍𝐎 𝐃𝐌𝐬! 🚫
The young girl who,
since birth, felt alone
& out of place.
The young woman who
made bad choices,
but a few good ones too.
Now she finds herself
a wife & a mother,
older & wiser in the
last stretch of life.
I dance with my selves
in the shadows of
sunset leaving all
the regrets behind.
sb
since birth, felt alone
& out of place.
The young woman who
made bad choices,
but a few good ones too.
Now she finds herself
a wife & a mother,
older & wiser in the
last stretch of life.
I dance with my selves
in the shadows of
sunset leaving all
the regrets behind.
sb
November 13, 2025 at 10:42 PM
The young girl who,
since birth, felt alone
& out of place.
The young woman who
made bad choices,
but a few good ones too.
Now she finds herself
a wife & a mother,
older & wiser in the
last stretch of life.
I dance with my selves
in the shadows of
sunset leaving all
the regrets behind.
sb
since birth, felt alone
& out of place.
The young woman who
made bad choices,
but a few good ones too.
Now she finds herself
a wife & a mother,
older & wiser in the
last stretch of life.
I dance with my selves
in the shadows of
sunset leaving all
the regrets behind.
sb
Look at brown eyes in the sun, you won’t always notice it at first, but you’ll see that brown no longer describes them. They melt into golden rays, circling an eclipse. There’s nothing boring about brown eyes not even when the later hours encroach; they just turn into a sunset all their own.
November 14, 2025 at 9:02 PM
Look at brown eyes in the sun, you won’t always notice it at first, but you’ll see that brown no longer describes them. They melt into golden rays, circling an eclipse. There’s nothing boring about brown eyes not even when the later hours encroach; they just turn into a sunset all their own.
People pass through our lives and change us, tilting our orbit with their own. Sometimes, if the common gravitational center is strong enough, they return, they stay. Sometimes they travel on. But they change us all the same.
November 14, 2025 at 4:40 PM
People pass through our lives and change us, tilting our orbit with their own. Sometimes, if the common gravitational center is strong enough, they return, they stay. Sometimes they travel on. But they change us all the same.
The sky is gray, but the leaves called me out to play.
Have a nice day. 🍂
Have a nice day. 🍂
November 14, 2025 at 1:03 PM
The sky is gray, but the leaves called me out to play.
Have a nice day. 🍂
Have a nice day. 🍂
The young girl who,
since birth, felt alone
& out of place.
The young woman who
made bad choices,
but a few good ones too.
Now she finds herself
a wife & a mother,
older & wiser in the
last stretch of life.
I dance with my selves
in the shadows of
sunset leaving all
the regrets behind.
sb
since birth, felt alone
& out of place.
The young woman who
made bad choices,
but a few good ones too.
Now she finds herself
a wife & a mother,
older & wiser in the
last stretch of life.
I dance with my selves
in the shadows of
sunset leaving all
the regrets behind.
sb
November 13, 2025 at 10:42 PM
The young girl who,
since birth, felt alone
& out of place.
The young woman who
made bad choices,
but a few good ones too.
Now she finds herself
a wife & a mother,
older & wiser in the
last stretch of life.
I dance with my selves
in the shadows of
sunset leaving all
the regrets behind.
sb
since birth, felt alone
& out of place.
The young woman who
made bad choices,
but a few good ones too.
Now she finds herself
a wife & a mother,
older & wiser in the
last stretch of life.
I dance with my selves
in the shadows of
sunset leaving all
the regrets behind.
sb
I was once a full time genealogist. The thing that interests me about family history is the spaces between the things we think we know about our families & the realities. All those mysteries to be solved & yes, even those indiscretions. Most of our ancestors were not perfect ladies & gentlemen.
November 13, 2025 at 6:50 PM
I was once a full time genealogist. The thing that interests me about family history is the spaces between the things we think we know about our families & the realities. All those mysteries to be solved & yes, even those indiscretions. Most of our ancestors were not perfect ladies & gentlemen.
I just realized that my town has a Barnes and Noble.
I’m thrilled. 📚🧋
I’m thrilled. 📚🧋
November 13, 2025 at 6:18 PM
I just realized that my town has a Barnes and Noble.
I’m thrilled. 📚🧋
I’m thrilled. 📚🧋
If you want to know who your tribe is, speak your truth, then see who sticks around. Those are the ones who get a spot in your blanket fort.
November 13, 2025 at 2:57 PM
If you want to know who your tribe is, speak your truth, then see who sticks around. Those are the ones who get a spot in your blanket fort.
Good morning from my cousin in Herlíkovice, Czech Republic.
November 13, 2025 at 12:14 PM
Good morning from my cousin in Herlíkovice, Czech Republic.
I’m a beat with a belt (not often), lead paint, no car seat, no bike helmet, pickup bed riding, garden hose drinking survivor.
November 12, 2025 at 7:32 PM
I’m a beat with a belt (not often), lead paint, no car seat, no bike helmet, pickup bed riding, garden hose drinking survivor.
You know what they say, “It takes a village.”
November 12, 2025 at 5:19 PM
You know what they say, “It takes a village.”
Kill AI.
Read books.
F ⍨ck social media.
Yet here I am. 🤷🏼♀️
Read books.
F ⍨ck social media.
Yet here I am. 🤷🏼♀️
November 12, 2025 at 3:07 PM
Kill AI.
Read books.
F ⍨ck social media.
Yet here I am. 🤷🏼♀️
Read books.
F ⍨ck social media.
Yet here I am. 🤷🏼♀️
Good morning Bluesky friends.
I want it to be known that I am one of those people.
I feed the birds, crows are welcome. I also feed the squirrels.
I talk to my plants, especially when I forget to water them for too long. Not seedlings, close.
I love a good thunder storm.
I’ve got it covered.
I want it to be known that I am one of those people.
I feed the birds, crows are welcome. I also feed the squirrels.
I talk to my plants, especially when I forget to water them for too long. Not seedlings, close.
I love a good thunder storm.
I’ve got it covered.
November 12, 2025 at 12:54 PM
Good morning Bluesky friends.
I want it to be known that I am one of those people.
I feed the birds, crows are welcome. I also feed the squirrels.
I talk to my plants, especially when I forget to water them for too long. Not seedlings, close.
I love a good thunder storm.
I’ve got it covered.
I want it to be known that I am one of those people.
I feed the birds, crows are welcome. I also feed the squirrels.
I talk to my plants, especially when I forget to water them for too long. Not seedlings, close.
I love a good thunder storm.
I’ve got it covered.
And suddenly I wonder “Where is the girl that I was last year?...Two years ago? ...What would she think of me now?”
~• Sylvia Plath •~
#quote
~• Sylvia Plath •~
#quote
November 11, 2025 at 10:44 PM
And suddenly I wonder “Where is the girl that I was last year?...Two years ago? ...What would she think of me now?”
~• Sylvia Plath •~
#quote
~• Sylvia Plath •~
#quote
The world smells like cinnamon again.
November 11, 2025 at 10:05 PM
The world smells like cinnamon again.
An old bookshop. I love the smell and feel of the crisp, worn pages on my fingertips, and taking in the view of all the shelves filled with books. I feel relaxed and at peace. It is a place of knowledge and power, time travel and escape. A good bookshop is a cathedral for the human spirit.
s.b.
s.b.
November 11, 2025 at 7:27 PM
An old bookshop. I love the smell and feel of the crisp, worn pages on my fingertips, and taking in the view of all the shelves filled with books. I feel relaxed and at peace. It is a place of knowledge and power, time travel and escape. A good bookshop is a cathedral for the human spirit.
s.b.
s.b.
Now this is beautiful and that’s a real President.
Happy Veteran’s Day to all who served.
Happy Veteran’s Day to all who served.
Ahead of Veterans Day, I was honored to welcome a flight of veterans and their families as they arrived in DC.
November 11, 2025 at 7:07 PM
Now this is beautiful and that’s a real President.
Happy Veteran’s Day to all who served.
Happy Veteran’s Day to all who served.