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
American Bison are commonly known as the American Buffalo And are the national mammal of the United States These grand beasts have evolved to adapt to the harsh North American Great Plains winters They have vast biological adaptations to allow them to thrive in the volatile environment They evolved physically optimized to survive Yet their most fascinating adaptation is behavioral Unlike nearly every other wild and domestic creature Buffalo do not flee from the sweeping brutal storms that cross the landscape They put down their massive heads and turn into the maelstrom They meet the fury and ferocity eye to eye They seem to inherently understand The only way out is through Resisting the sky is futile The sooner the storm is met The less time it has to intensify The sooner they can emerge from its dangers No wonder indigenous people hold them sacred To meet the fury of nature unflinchingly Steadfast and secure in the innate knowing Passed down through generations That buffalo are built to endure Creating their own harmony with their world Writing their own survival rules Wise teachers for us all
Oh it's you I knew you might find me again one day Minding my business Unaware and defenseless I knew you might show up on my doorstep Inviting the resurrection of my long disused heart I thought we had an agreement An understanding, perhaps You see, I have no desire to let you settle here again The soil in which I am planted is not good for your roots You salted it well long ago Do you really not remember because I still do And yet here you are Bags in hand asking if you can stay a while Looking at me with familiar enticement Dressed up in pheromones and endorphins With all the charisma of a red carpet return I have not forgotten how fickle you are How you overstayed your welcome How you left me heartbroken I don't trust you You're too good at feeling good I forget too easily how you are besties with misery Stop looking at me with eyes that want to know me Stop looking at me with eyes that want Stop attempting to pull me into your gravity I do not trust I can break free again I don't want to have to break free again Don't you understand you are not safe for me Don't you understand I need to feel safe I do not trust myself in your presence I am scared, you see You see, I am scarred So very scared So very scarred The last time I let you stay Nearly dismantled me So no Do not leave one speck of dirt on my doormat I beg you to to forget where I live I do not want your false promises I do not want you to be seen by you Your attention has cost me too much And I'm still in debt for it
I want to splash the darkening sky with rivers of fire Purples and reds and luminous oranges of sunset And the waters will abstract my painting in its dark mirror surface Making an abstract of my realism A dream of my reality
Words Wishes and Wisdom 