Dreamin’ Ain’t Just For Fools And Artists

I knew too much about life at a young age
Spent a lot of time dreaming about better days
Where money wasn’t an issue and life went on as usual
But when I voiced any of those dreams, laughter fell down upon me
Maybe they didn’t mean it, after all, they never could afford it
Because dreamin’ was for fools and artists
Neither one can pay the mortgage.
It took two more decades before I’d voice those dreams again
And this time, I had a softer place to land
Even though I couldn’t digest it, I tried again and got better at it
For those who believe, never want me to stop dreaming
It’s been tough to silence the critics, which mostly live in my attic
But I won’t let another two decades pass, listening to a bunch of asses


RamblinRandol is about finding yourself and learning to love yourself again. Life is real and raw, there’s no room for perfection here. If you’d like to join the Hot Mess Express tribe where we discuss the daily struggle and bring real life to light, come hang out in my new Facebook group, here


Be my friend on Instagram @shannahan22  

girl with cellphone image for A Thin Layer of Glass

A Thin Layer of Glass

This week’s prompt: Screen

A thin layer of glass
that’s easily cracked
A separation of worlds both
fiction and fact
Who knew we’d care so much
about what it projected
That’d it would warp our own
sense of what’s what

Not everything on social media is a reality, quit wasting your time on someone else’s fantasy.

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Copyright 2018 @ramblinrandol.com


Flawsome: Adjective

Flawesome: an individual who embraces their ‘flaws’ and knows they are awesome regardless.

I wasn’t born to be perfect. I was born to be real.

This week prompt: imperfect

Our relationship is flawed because you refuse to listen.
How many more times must I express my feelings?
For I’ve clearly stated my boundaries
yet you still manage to bulldoze straight through them.
If my words and wishes don’t matter
Then why bother, it’s over
You’ll blame me for the ending when you speak about it with friends
because you’ll be able to identify when the atmosphere between us changed.
How come you can’t see your own misactions?
I’ll never fulfill that relationship you’re craving
You need to be needed in a way I can’t give
and I’m sick of repeating it to your deaf ears
For my lips tell truths you can’t handle
So let’s stop with the charades and call a spade a spade

It’s easy to confuse boundaries with control because most boundary-less people can’t fathom why there needs to be a line.

For a long time, I thought the only relationship I had to ever worry about was between me and my husband. Apparently, life forces you to deal with a multitude of relationships you don’t necessarily want or expected.

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Seeing The Forest Through The Trees

This week’s prompt was journey. 

I thought I saw the light at the end of the tunnel
But when I got to the end of the road it had a sign that told me path walkers must turn around
Now it’s foggy and unclear
There’s no end in sight and what happens if I can’t follow my feet back to the journey meant for me
There’s a fear burrowed behind my inner voice
Pulsing its nasty jagged reminder, I’m nobody and should give up
Something quieter and located closer to my gut keeps telling that fear to shut the fuck up
So I’ll just sit here snuggling chaos like a close friend
Waiting until the light shines through and show me the forest through the trees


Do you ever feel like you’re running as fast as you can but not moving and stuck? Or, no matter how hard you fight to improve the cards are inevitably stacked against you? 

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copyright @ramblinrandol 2018

Beauty & Self Love Are Not The Same

Intro To Poetry – Prompt: Face

Plaster with foundation
Inject it with collagen
And scrub until raw.
Fret about bags
Mask pesky pimples
And wonder what people think when they see you on the street.
I confuse beauty with self-love
But the two are NOT the same.
So many faces with no names I pass on a regular basis
And never do I once criticize their face.
So what does that tell you?
I need to change the eyes looking back at me in the mirror
Because that crook in my smile and hook on my nose
It’s what makes me, me.

I’ve lived in Orange County for the past two years and the pressure to be perfect is real. It’s nothing like I’ve experienced anywhere else and it definitely promotes a different kind of body anxiety. 

A friend of mine told me if there’s no such thing as a perfect body than the best we can hope for with our own is feeling neutral when looking at it. 

What’s the solution to making sure little girls don’t grow up insecure? 

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copyright @ramblinrandol 2018
intro to poetry life saver ring image

You Are Worth It

You’re broken and without hope, but won’t take anyone’s lifeboat
Excuses, complaints, and worries about what-ifs send you straight to the deep dark pits
So dear friend, take our hand
It’ll only be as hard as you make it
Because there’s no judgment in our eyes
It’s never too late and you are worth it.

– Sj.

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It’s frustrating when someone close to your heart won’t help themselves and you understand it’s up to them to want to make a change. Feeling helpless sucks. 

copyright @ramblinrandol 2018

Washing Guilt Dry

I’m on book 3 of the #ReadWithRD for 2018 and it’s Rupi Kaur’s The Sun and Her Flowers book of poems. Reading poetry hasn’t been my thing, the last time I read anything that rhymed it was underneath the title, Where The Sidewalk Ends.

Why wasn’t I ever interested in poetry before?

Maybe I strayed away because the word seemed too feminine and had over the top emotions, corny jazz music and far out artists weaved beneath its definition. And there was no way I’d fit in there…

So imagine my surprise when I began to enjoy it, which then lead to an embarrassing amount of Google searches to gain some perspective and history on the art of poetry.

My searches led me to Blogging University’s Intro to Poetry course and on a whim, I signed up. Its follow-up email sealed  the deal by stating, “Sometimes we need a little nudge to get in touch with our creative side.”

I have my own theme I’d like to conquer by using poetry and would like to see if it helps.

This week’s prompt involved water:

Grandma’s death washed me dry
and left me without any layers.
I spoke the truth but it felt twice removed
because she kept secrets like a gypsy.
Guilt crept in and rinsed my skin
clean of any wrongdoings.
Because truth be told, none of us knew
the real J. Ruth in the beginning.

Tell me poem readers, what do you think? RamblinRandol -

copyright @ramblinrandol 2018