Passion is not just reserved for the
bedroom or even your
This piece of art is passion in
This poem is passion in
word and intent.
Passion is flow, where
time becomes illusion and
your genius creates
something from nothing.
Passion is your birthright.
Passion is your soul on fire.
Passion is when you
realize you’re made of
© Hilary Clark ~ 5/8/19
See the art here.
Wretched unhappiness spirals up and out of the
heart, pooling on the floor, a deep eddy of
sorrow and depression. “Woe is me,”
she thinks. She believes.
A bright, piercing gash of anguish scrapes her
soul raw, leaving her convinced (feeling)
woeful is her new normal.
It doesn’t have to be.
Normal is only normal if you let it.
Woe is only woe if you wallow.
What if she feeds on thoughts of joy instead?
A steady diet filled with zesty distractions and
platters of contradictions that reveal what she
believes is true and woeful is false.
One day, she wakes to discover
she has shed the weight of woe.
© Hilary Clark ~ 3/4/19
See the art here
Stop thinking so hard.
Seriously. Turn your mind off for a minute.
Instead, act. Follow your instincts.
Follow the urge.
Feel the impulse.
Do a somersault.
Don’t walk – dance down the sidewalk.
Sing “Bohemian Rhapsody” in the produce section of Whole Foods.
Turn right when Siri tells you to turn left.
Paint your bathroom walls purple.
Paint your front door red.
Embrace your inner child.
Don’t let fear stand in your way.
Play drums on the kitchen counter with wooden spoons while making dinner.
If your family gives you the side eye, hand them a spoon and invite them to jam.
Share the impulse.
Share the fun.
Feel impulsive and act.
© Hilary Clark ~ 11/8/18
See the art here