Wherever I am, I dress with intention. These two poems— one outward, one inward—celebrate color, spirit, and the sacredness of self, from Vallarta’s streets to the soul’s sanctuary. E.Z.
Dressing For God
I wake up slow
Not because I am tired
But because the world is about
to become a canvas.
I step to the closet like a painter
Before a masterpiece,
Fingers tracing the fabric like
Brushstrokes waiting for color
Red for passion, blue for peace
Gold for the fire in my bones
Today, I wear the sun
I dress up for God
Not the one in the sky, wagging a finger
But the one in the flowers, in the waves
In the laughter of a child
Spinning wild in a summer storm
I dress up for the God who paints sunsets,
just to see if I’ll notice
The God who whispers in the wind
“You are art too”
So I button up Joy
I wrap myself in wonder
I step into my shoes,
like they are carrying something holy-
Because they are
They are taking me to faces and places
That need to remember color
That need to remember that playfulness is prayer
That imagination is a hymn
That beauty is a birthright, not a privilege
I don’t dress for approval, for mirrors, for whispers, for trends
I dress because life is a celebration
And I refuse to show up in dullness
I refuse to dress down
I will not let the world forget that Love is Loud
That Joy is flamboyant
That Spirit is an artist
I am a reflection of creation itself
And when they ask,
“Why so bright
Why so bold?
Why do you dress like a festival, like a firework, like a sunrise
I’ll smile
Because they don’t know…
They don’t know
I dress up for God
The House I Am
…a sacred architecture of She
I am the House I Am—
not made with hands,
but shaped by time,
lit from within,
sculpted by storms and starlight alike.
My bones remember the thunder,
my beams bend with song.
Each season lays a new foundation—
I creak, I dance, I shelter, I shine.
I have been wing and root,
balcony and basement,
glass shattering and stained—
an altar of memory,
a fireplace of becoming.
Each wall is a witness.
Each crack, a scripture.
Each threshold, a choice
to rise or remain.
I was once all window—
now I am more door.
Even the locked ones
hold their own sacred music.
There is a room in me called Grace,
where silence paints in gold.
There is a hallway of Voices
where my younger selves still sing.
The roof leaks poetry.
The floors hum forgiveness.
The garden out back
is wild on purpose.
And yes—
I am still under renovation.
The blueprints keep changing
as I remember what I truly am.
I am a masterpiece in the making—
each scar, a brushstroke.
Each breath, a new hue.
Each letting go,
a necessary chisel to the stone.
Each room a canvas,
each wound a kiln,
each joy a gilded frame
that says: She lived here, wildly.
She is not finished.
She is framed in becoming.
A gallery of Soul work,
an evolving installation of the Divine.
The House I Am—
not broken, not small—
but vast with vision,
bearing centuries of wisdom
in beams made soft by grace.
I am where God moved in
and forgot to leave.
I am the sacred shelter
of the She within.
