I'm a NorCal mom working tech, raising young children, navigating marriage and divorce, life, work, and the emotions around it all. This blog grew out of my IG account where I share poetry, prose, and other posts that I hope speak to the soul. This blog primarily features my poetic musings and other writing. I hope you find something that speaks to you while you're here.
I spent too much time curled into myself in the dark Screaming into nothingness "Please SEE me!" Staring at my own reflection Struggling to be my own witness Watering my seeds of worthiness With bitter, hopeless tears Whispering "You matter" at soulless silvered glass While my hollow reflection stared blankly back Unmoved
I was looking for the focus of the blind Begging for the acknowledgment of Narcissus Looking for shelter under a tree that offered no shade Trapped in a circle of salt crusting my eyes Unable to find a patch of sunlight in winter Shackled starving sacrifice Ignorant I held the key in my hand To the shackles I forged and fitted myself
When I was thoroughly cried out Starved so long I felt sated I chipped away the concretion obscuring my vision To discover I was surrounded by pinpoints of light Lanterns bobbing at the edges of my shadows I turned the key and let the shackles fall away Pressed my fingers to the tally marks I carved in the leafless tree And crawled toward those hopeful orbs As I got closer they began to coalesce Becoming a chorus of light
From that light came strong and gentle hands Lifting me to my feet Embracing me Murmuring words of love and encouragement Safety and serenity Pride and comfort They fed and watered me Cared for me tenderly And reminded me how to do the same for myself They shined their warm light upon me They sang and celebrated me
I experienced the blood without feeling Without feeling the wound To heal the wound I must feel the pain Then do the work To clean it away There is no healing Without feeling
It's Saturday in the mid 1980s Fashion Island Mall is hopping I am at the ice rink My happy place Skating circles while the beeps and boops of video games, The clatter of quarters dropping into the tray of change machines Spills out of The Gold Mine arcade across the way Movie goers in neon and Aqua Net buying tickets for Risky Business Ferris Bueller's Day Off Ladyhawke Teen Wolf or Mannequin At the DJ booth a 17 year old white boy Wearing a black sequined windbreaker and a single white sequined glove Introduces himself as Hollywood Hans Where he spins vinyl into a vibrant soundtrack featuring The Bangles Culture Club Michael Jackson Madonna Eurythmics and Wham I am in the midst of it Skating laps and laps Avoiding the teen hockey skaters with their scary sharp blades and recklessness The kids and teens begging Hans to play their favorite songs: "Play Thriller, Hans!" "I want Eye of the Tiger!" "Wake Me Up Before You Go Go!!" "You got Everybody Wants To Rule The World?" "It would be rad if you play Like A Virgin!" "Dude! Play Broken Wings!" "Like, totally play Love Is A Battlefield" "Walk Like An Egyptian would be bitchin'!" You might find me throwing quarters down the gullet of Dig Doug Pole Position or Donkey Kong While the Zamboni resurfaces the ice once an hour Or, begging my mom for one of Sbarro's signature giant slices of New York style pizza A food court staple Bonus prizes if she throws in an Orange Julius Aspiring figure skaters owning center ice Spinning and jumping dramatically Kristi Yamaguchi among them I'd later learn I am here to glide in endless circles to the music Flying fast and free Occasionally spinning or trying to Shoot the Duck With mixed results Singing along to all of the songs Always sad when Hans calls the last skate of the session Reluctantly drying my blades Pulling on my skate guards Following my mom out of the mall to the car Exhausted and happy Already dreaming of the scratch of blades on smooth resurfaced ice The rhythms of the 80s Taking my broken wings and helping me to fly again Time after time A holiday For a girl that just wants to have fun
These poems are a journey That began in the light of hope and love Then slowly meandered through increasing darkness They dare to expose the skeletons and demons Barely hidden behind my front door for too long The narration begins in the middle After darkness had well fallen And documents my struggle to breathe My desperate journey to find myself again
And for those who live with horrors who wear human faces If I found my way free I know you can too Let these poems serve as proof That though it is not easy Freedom can be won You can take your life back Write the story exactly as YOU wish it to be
Sometimes the dragon burns down the world As long as you’re standing No matter how wounded You can slay that dragon You ARE the hero of your story YOU get to say when the story is over YOU get to decide how the new book starts YOU get to do whatever the hell YOU want Take my story and forge it into your sword of courage SLAY
The wanderer in me craves to shoot our arrow at the stars and let them drag us away from the responsibilities and hardships of our mundane life toward the horizon of dreams and the freedom of possibilities
I fucking hate homework And projects And assemblies And parent-teacher conferences It’s a gauntlet of pushing and pulling Begging and beguiling Praying and pleading I have to pretend I know what I’m doing Convince teachers I’m a capable parent When I feel like the absolute worst I’ve used all the gas in my emotional tank Before my children walk back in the door “What’s for dinner, Mom?” “I ripped my pants, Mom.” “I have a field trip, Mom.” “I have a project due on Monday, Mom.” There are more moments than I am proud of Where I mourn my party of one days Then one of my sons says “I love you, Mama.” Points to my chest and asks “Are you ok in there, Mama?” Takes my phone and tucks me in and says “You’re sick, Mama. You need to rest.” I start feeling like less of a fuck up Like I might be getting something right Like we all might just be alright
In the days of old Storytellers traveled far and wide Plying their trade at hearth and square Sharing tales true and mythical Of heroes and villains Triumph and tragedy Honing the sharpness of their wordplay Weaving captivating tales for coin Where are the bards of today Spinning tales for the eager
I host a phantasmagoria of storytellers Tucked neatly into my pocket Poised to share hours of narration For an audience of one A tap a screen whisks me away Into a plethora of elaborate worlds Thousands of hours of storycraft Read by hosts of skilled modern bards Memoirs and poetry Worlds fictional and factual Could the traveling rhapsodist In their pre-modern world Dare dream of such wonders As the miraculous audiobook
To any who my words reach In a time and place I will never see I hope the world is kind And if such things as kindness Still prove fleeting I charge you with performing Defiant acts of kindness That your efforts might fall Like seeds upon fallow fields And grow like wildflowers In the hearts of those you touch
Words Wishes and Wisdom 