On Perspective | You’re well arranged stardust [Poem]

Perhaps perspective isn’t what we think.

Perhaps it’s a telescope that we’ve been looking through from the wrong end
and we’ve been pointing it to the ground instead of up into the heavens
wondering why the starts can’t see us.

Or perhaps the only truth is this –

that perspective is;
knowing you’re well arranged stardust,
animated by imaginary voices,
on a giant rock
floating through space.

For more short form poetry visit @missbethcan

For lengthier poetic musings visit my poetry archive.

On creating your life | The Creator [Poem]

Do you know what it’s like to be a god?

You should.

Because that’s what you are.

You are the creator of your universe.

You’ve already met your maker 1000 times over – just by looking in the mirror.

You’re the master of the ship you choose to sail and you’re every iceberg.

You’re everything.

But you’re also nothing.

You’re nothing more than this second, this moment, this breath.

You don’t exist in the past or the present because those things don’t exist either – they’re the imaginings of a wayward mind.

And the imaginings in your head are only for you. No one else can ever experience them.

In that – you’re completely alone.

Maybe you’re lonely too, but that’s not a prerequisite of being alone – that’s a choice as well.

You’ve created it all – the chaos, the karma, the lonely and the love.

So tell me – doesn’t that make you a god?

I very strongly believe in the power we have as individuals to create and control our destinies.

You, and you alone, are responsible for creating your life.

Whether you believe in a higher force or believe in absolutely nothing, you should at least – I can’t believe I’m going to fucking say this – believe in yourself.

You are the cause, the conflict and the cure for every part of your life.

If you can just learn to take a modicum of responsibility for that you will be amazed at the new course you can chart.

You choose your thoughts and your actions – in fact this is all you choose. Everything else is utterly irrelevant in that it is completely out of your control.

So are you willing to become the creator of your own damn life?

Tell me how you’re creating your life at hello@missbethcan.com.

For more short form poetry visit @missbethcan

For lengthier poetic musings visit my poetry archive.

On shallow relationships | Ancient Oceans [Poem]

Finding depth

Oceans are one of Mother Natures more terrifying and awe inspiring creations.

Sometimes I wonder how lonely she is. For no-one can ever really know her, in all her expansiveness and depth.

She has so many mysteries it would surely be impossible.

I’ve felt that way before – I think we all have. Misunderstood, as though you’re a sea no-one could ever cross, oceans no-one could ever truly know..

Ancient Oceans

I’ve got the depths of an ancient ocean inside my soul

You caught a glimpse of me just below the surface

I tarried too long in the waves

I forgot how the ocean floor felt

See my lungs don’t need air like yours do

I sing in salty water

I dance through shipwrecks

And currents I can’t control drag my heart around the deep

You love the beauty of my shoreline

But you can’t possibly love the rest of me without drowning

For I’ve got depths of an ancient ocean inside my soul

And you, brave sailor, were only ever meant to ride the waves

For more short form poetry visit @missbethcan

For lengthier poetic musings visit my poetry archive.

Minimalism | You need less shit than you think

Small but space craving

The house I occupy is small. One bedroom, one bathroom and a small living space.  It’s no mansion, but it’s big enough for a Beth. The possibility that the blank walls and empty space invites, does nothing for me. Because I’m a devotee of a new religion – called minimalism.

Despite the plentiful legroom I enjoy on pubic transport and air planes, I still crave space. Not just the physical kind though – I crave the mental and emotional expansiveness that comes with it, the space that brings me calm, peace and quiet.

I suppose that’s a pretty good summary of what minimalism means to me.

What does minimalism mean?

Before you assume I sleep on a mat on a concrete floor, let me explain what minimalism actually looks like in my life. My bedroom, for all its size and capacity has 2 items of furniture in it:

  1. A king bed
  2. A teak bedside table
The bedside table has a candle, a stack of books I’m currently reading and writing in and a dangling charger cord for my phone (hey, I’m minimalist, not perfect).

Every now and again I’ll add a vase of fresh flowers for a pop of colour against the plain white of my walls and sheets.

My bed doesn’t have a frame and instead rests on 9 wooden slats.

I’ve got a wardrobe that’s the entire length of the room but that’s only half full – because I’ve spent the last year cutting it’s contents down from over 300 pieces (of clothing, shoes and accessories) to ~100.

Inside it I also have a shelf that houses 3 Kikki.K folders full of documents important for adult-ing and a few rows of books.

Boiled down – the entire contents of my life fit (very comfortably) into this decent sized room.

And I could fit a lot more in here if I wanted.

I could add a mass of shelves, a giant TV, a desk, pictures, knick-knack’s, decorative pillows, plants, shoes… but I don’t want to.

Because I crave the space.

But more than the physical space, I crave the mental space to think and feel with ease and clarity without the weight of all the stuff I used to hold onto.

The stuff that I barely used or wore or looked at.

The stuff that simply took up space – precious space that I now use to move my body and create weird and wonderful things in my mind.

Because despite what you might think, practising minimalism isn’t about restricting yourself. It’s about freeing yourself from the things that restrict you.

And I’m more free now than I ever have been.

If you want more practical info on how to bring minimalism into your life you should definitely check out The Minimalists!

On finding your star | Brighter Star [Poem]

Brighter Star

We thought we were twin souls, destined for each other since the first atom EXPLODED.
But we were only ever destined to implode.
Now there’s a crater in my chest.
And he was a black hole – deformed and undefined.
I crossed our event horizon.
I hopped, skipped and jumped over it, so sure that he was my star.
Instead there was nothing.
No one.
He was just a p a s s i n g moment.
A memory I must remember to forget.
The light tricked me you see –
But it was from a time long past.
From a star long gone.

So I set out to create my own cosmos
I corralled the planets that still loved me
And I spun a galaxy out of the diamonds I found living on my lashes
It was only after I stopped looking
so many years later
that I found him
in the middle of the world I’d made
– My Bright Star.

For more short form poetry visit @missbethcan

For lengthier poetic musings visit my poetry archive.

Why I want to be the wind | The Travelling Wind [Poem]

The Travelling Wind

I want to be the wind.

Not the sun, gazing upon the earth, omniscient and all seeing. He is forever watching but fixed, set in his ways and in his place.

Not the rain or hail or thunder or lightning – or even the rainbow after it all. They’re too fleeting, too momentary, gone too soon.

Not the clouds – the impressionable clouds that go where they’re told and are so easily destroyed by the sun’s rays or a light breeze.

No, I want to be the wind. The wind is the enforcer. The wind is the true master of the sky. Calling the shots, travelling where I please, taking the hapless clouds with me, giving them direction and dimension. Across the sea I’d travel to places I’ve never seen.

I’d whistle through the iron beams of the Eiffel Tower.

I’d curl around the copper lady that looks over New York City.

I’d bound across the curved blue roofs that dot the Santorini cliffs.

I’d stream up and down the giants of Giza after racing across the Nile.

I’d gather the snow filled clouds above the Himalayas.

I’d stretch myself across Uluru then rest with the Doctor in Fremantle Port, home at last after circumnavigating the globe.

How beautiful the world is. No waiting for lost baggage, a late bus, the next flight. Instead all I wait for is a moment of inspiration to decide where I want to go next. There’s no wondering, no wishing.

For I am the wind. I go where I please.

For more short form poetry visit @missbethcan

For lengthier poetic musings visit my poetry archive.

Jump, even when you don’t know what lies beyond the ledge

You’re standing at the edge of a cliff.

‘I’ve got you. It’s all going to be OK,’ said a voice on the wind. Or maybe it was your heart?

You’ve climbed so far to get here.

Some days you were dragged up – the wind pushed you, the rain beat you forward. On good days the path cleared just a little – to remind you that you are, in fact, going the right way.

You can remember how it felt to touch the clouds. At least you thought that’s what you could feel between your fingertips. You detoured off the path and climbed onto the roof of a broken house that you could never call home. When the doors stayed shut and the windows boarded up you realised – you had to keep climbing.

And now you’re here.

It’s loud.

The wind won’t stop. It carries the whispers of the past, opinions and ideas, suggestions and warnings, from everyone you’ve met on your ascent so far. They all know something you don’t, they all would do it differently. But they aren’t you. You have to do this all on your own.

It’s not the kind of mountain you can climb down. That’s not how life works. There’s only one way forward and it’s straight over the edge. You think you know what’s over there. But what if you’re wrong? You hope you’re going to land in the clouds – for real this time. But what if there are jagged rocks or deep, deep water that will never let you see the surface again?

You want to be sure and you want to be safe. But there’s no safe, there’s no sure. There’s no crystal ball and there are no guarantees.

There’s just the edge.

And you’re all on your own up here. Sure, you can phone a friend but they can’t do it for you. This is your life. And the next hour, the next day, the next month – the next ten years – will be guided by what you do next. And that’s the truly terrifying part. This is the flap of a butterfly’s wing. This is the chaos theory in full effect. What you do next will echo through the rest of your life, for all your years to come. It will set the tone and the standard, the course and the coast. Are you ready for it? Can you handle the pressure?

You’ve already survived so much worse. Your heels are scabbed, your back aches, you’re sunburnt and wind-whipped, there’s sand in your eyes and under your fingernails. You’re so fucking done. And you’ve done so fucking much. And now you have to leave it all behind.

You have to let it all go. All the hurt and pain. You have to finally move on, tackle the next mountain (or molehill) of your life. You have to let go.


It’s for your own good really.

Are you ready for it? Are you ready to jump? You can’t hold on to anything once you do it. You have to forget the whispers and the people they came from. You have to forgive the people who hurt you. You have to forgive yourself. Can you do that?

It’s nearly time to jump. To fall. To fly. Whatever happens, you have to move. You have to keep going.

Don’t look back. You’re not going that way.

Cry first if you have to. Feel sorry for yourself. Feel every ounce of hurt and pain that’s been inflicted on you and that you have undoubtedly inflicted. Sob your little heart out for the mistakes and the misunderstandings of the past. Be sad. Be sorry.

Then jump. Do it with your whole body and all of your spirit.

This isn’t the kind of thing you can fake or half-ass.

Throw yourself into the future. Embrace it. Enjoy it.

Remember that life happens for you not too you. You just have to know the difference and know that perspective is everything.



… Tell me what happens when you do?

For more short form poetry visit @missbethcan

For lengthier poetic musings visit my poetry archive.

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