Thursday, 3 August 2017


Listen to the hush 

behind the 


within your head.  

The peace. 


Stop wishing you were 


The voices that are calling,


your name,

Serve only to fill the 


and play a ruthless 


You are worth 




Than that voice will

Let you


Just look at

all you've accomplished 


ALL that you could be. 

Listen to that 


when the beast 

inside is 


The hush is a place 

to build upon 



By: T.J. Ruberto (c) 2017

Monday, 24 July 2017

The Dress

My blue dress blows through wildflower fields,
  Kissing petal tips
    collecting pollen dust.
I spread my arms wide
Oh sunshine, make me warm again
wrapped up in

My blue cotton dress.

The white hem of my blue dress
  is made of the finest lace
and there, along a picot edge, is
         single    loose  
It catches
On wildflower stems and petal tips and
the lace
   u  n  r  a  v  e  l

My blue cotton dress.

I had hoped to dance all day and
    into the
    night        in my little blue dress;
but now it is
   ruined and
am I        ?
A single fickle thread has undone the
prettiest bits of

My blue cotton dress.

I won't dance any more. Not just yet.
I'll just lay down
   right  here
in this wildflower field         in my imperfect blue dress
and rest
            just for a while
Until I'm ready
    to go
   wrapped up in

My blue cotton dress.

By: T.J. Ruberto (c) 2017

      (image from

Saturday, 20 May 2017


Today the world is a dark and dreary place.
Well not today, but perhaps just tonight.
I am overwhelmed, over stressed, and over tired.
I am under the weather, under appreciated, and misunderstood.
What I really want is to say goodbye
But I say hello instead.

Sometimes I am tired of living in a world where friendship means acquaintance;
Where favours are expected and demanded;
Where desperation isn't convenient - so suck it up;
Where difficulty coping translates to defeat;
Where insults are hurled when love would suffice;
Where love and understanding are replaced with text messages and emojis;
Where "I need you" gets a "it's too busy / too late / I'm too tired / well too bad".
Where supporting one another is a laughable past time.

Tonight, in this nightmare come to life,
I am reminded of my every failure and my every shortcoming.
"You're too emotional / too loud / in too much of a rush.
I feel less than adequate, below average, and an abysmal failure.
Is it true? In this moment, yes it is.
Will it be tomorrow? Perhaps not.
In the meantime, I want to say au revoir
But I say bonjour instead.

Right now, I am tired of living in a world where I am not enough;
Where you "like" my funny video posts, but scroll passed my art;
My soul.
I am tired of living in a world where living is so hard;
Where every day is a struggle;
Where discomfort and pain are "normal".

This darkness is an abyss suffocating my soul; extinguishing my light.
My desperate cries for help are merely whispers falling upon deaf ears.
I replay every time they've told me I am emotionally unstable, or different, or just too much.
I relive the moments they have said it is my fault ;
I set myself up to feel this way.
Like I fucking enjoy it.
What I'd like to say is adios
But I say hola instead.

I am tired of living in a world where the real me is inconvenient;
So, I medicate to bring this me to a more comfortable level
For you
So that I can say hello.

By: T.J. Ruberto (c) 2017
* As usual: don't read more into this than necessary. We all hurt sometimes. We all feel shit; some of us just choose to share it through art (of all kinds). Trust me when I say this; artists who share a piece of their soul are not looking for sympathy or retribution.  They are looking to connect with a world that, at times, seems far removed from how they are feeling. This is just part of living, this seeking connection through an outpouring of hardship, misery, and love.
I'm ok. Please don't ask. I really am.

Wednesday, 26 April 2017

Invisible Visible

 A little while ago I watched a video of Prince Harry discussing mental health and the invisible wounds we carry in our hearts. That coupled with my own experiences, inspired this new poem. 

Invisible Visible

I wear these hidden wounds
Like battle scars across my chest.
Emblazoned with a smile,
Punctuated with dry tears
    You can't see.

My heart is blistered,
Burned by the every day
Ordinary happenings;
Things you'd never get
    And can't feel.

All those events of
Long ago and yesterday
Replay like old records;
Played by a broken needle
    You can't fix.

I'm weary and aching
From holding it all together,
From picking up the pieces
Of this lonely broken soul
    I can't put back together


Bleeding hearts are bleeding
Nonetheless. Wounded minds
Broken by the ordinary...
And the extraordinary;
    Can be mended.
    Can be lifted.
If only I could let you in.

By: T.J. Ruberto (c) 2017

Monday, 24 April 2017

RESHARE: What I'd Miss - A Simple Reminder When I needed it most.

I wrote this one AGES ago, but revisited it recently to make some minor edits and repost it.
In making those grammatical edits I was reminded of how often I read this poem in my darkest hours.
Some of you may know (others most definitely do not), but there was a period of my life when things were looking pretty grim and I wasn't sure I could go on. 
Although I didn't realize it at the time, this poem kept me grounded and reminded me why I needed to hold on; even for just one more day.

I Can't Go Yet

I will miss the smell of my daughter’s hair,

    And the way she always smells like washing powder and little girl fun.

I will miss my son's squeezes,
    And the way he curls in my lap and wraps his arms around my neck like he'll never let me go. 

I will miss the feel of cold cotton sheets
    When I climb in to bed and the way the wind blows the curtains in the bedroom. 

I will miss the creek of the hardwood floors in the hall
     And the sound of closing doors.

I will miss hearing my children  
    Call out 'Mommy' and the way they pout when they start to cry. 

I will miss the taste of peanut butter
    And the way it sticks to the roof of my mouth.

I will miss hearing the birds sing
    And the feel of wet grass under my feet. 

I will miss the way the rain sounds on my roof
    And the way it trickles down the spout. 

I will miss driving in the car to the beach
    And the sound of bass coming through my car speakers.

I will miss the smell of clean laundry and the way my mum irons clothes. 
    My grandma’s cooking and the salty crackling on her roast pork. 

I will miss putting words together to make sentences
    And sentences together to make stories. 

I will miss the clicking of my keyboard
    And the chug chug of my printer. 

I will miss the smell of play-dough
    And of crayons, glue, and finger paint.

I will miss singing to my babies and making songs up as we go. 
    I will miss answering a hundred thousand questions everyday;
I will miss being a mommy.

I will even miss grocery shopping
    And the rush to get the groceries home.
I will miss banana popsicles, chocolate chips,
    fresh strawberries with cream, and banana sandwiches.

I will miss Christmas and birthdays, cake and champagne. 

I will miss reading,
    And words on a page that pull me to new heights. 

I will miss my mum and all the love that she gives.
     I will miss the smell of her perfume.

I will miss my dad and his jokes, his tractors, and his bald head. 
     I will miss my brother and my sister.

I will miss my husband and the way he says he loves me loads
    And rubs my head when I need him most.

I will miss feeling loved.
I will miss being touched.

But mostly, I will miss feeling small in such a great big world.

By T.J. Ruberto (c) 2017

Tuesday, 11 April 2017

Crowded Alone

You make me feel completely discombobulated;

Like I'm something I am 

    most definitely not. 

Around you I feel frigid, chilled, ice cold to the bone. 

But clearly this sweat 

    tells me I'm hot. 

With you in this room I feel confined and contained;

Like I'm a prisoner

    with something to hide. 

Sitting near you makes my stomach lurch nauseated;

Like I'm riding the rails,

    yet I'm not on a ride. 

Your eyes make me question my personal identity;

Who I thought I was, and am, are

    no longer set in stone. 

Standing in this crowded room I feel desolate;

Like a life boat cast out to sea,

    utterly and completely alone. 

You are my nemesis disguised as my devoted ally;

Like a monster masked by

    the face of a friend. 

You offer new beginnings, olive branches, and cures,

But all you truly dish out is a 

    shortcut to the end. 

By: T.J. Ruberto (c) 2017 

Monday, 10 April 2017

Call Out

* A quick little something I wrote while cruising along the 401 with my hubby today.  This one will need a bit of fine tuning, I think. Feel free to leave a comment; I'd love to hear your thoughts. 

Call Out 

Whisper to me 

    through the noise.

Across the distance

   send your voice. 

Call out to me 

    and sing me home. 

You've won my heart 

    It's yours alone. 


You are my shade

    and my summer sun,

You're my grown up sadness

    And my childhood fun. 

You bring me back

    when I drift away. 

Your voice calls to me

    reminds me to stay. 

Whisper to me 

    through the noise.

Across the distance

   send your voice. 

By: T.J Ruberto (c) 2017