Relationship Status

I see you there, watching and rewatching those videos
of women catching their men staring at the booties of Instagram,
confronting him all ready for a fight-
slapping him even- girl wtf?

What are you doing?

We go in hot and ready to pick a fight,
but honestly? Girl, you’re hurting bad.

You don’t trust men to be loyal to you,
to respect you, to listen to you,
to value you… and you see
those other girls as competition…

Wild Series Sneak Peek: Daisy's Dreams

The man had seen them, it was only a matter of time now. He wanted Morty and he would not be far behind.

We have to get to Daisy, the thought pounded in Claire’s mind to the tune of her feet upon the desert earth. God, I hope she’s real. She shuddered at the thought that it was only a dream.

They scrambled on for miles until their run was barely more than a crawl, still using every ounce of strength to push themselves further.

“Claire, I ca- a- an’t,” Lila whimpered, falling to her knees. Claire fell into the dust beside her, clutching Morty closer. Claire scooped her tired sister into her lap, kissing the seven-year-old’s mohagany hair that now reeked of sweat and grease. Tears stung at Claire’s eyes as she looked around, hopeless.

They were in the middle of the desert and she had no water for them, no milk for little Morty. He’d fallen asleep as Claire’s pace slowed to a gentle rock for him, he’d be famished when he woke again. Claire shook the guilty thoughts away.

Ollie, Ollie Officer

“Stop, Police!” Officer Ollie shrieked with a quick hop.

Bewildered, the cyclist removed his helmet revealing curly brown locks. He looked around frantically for the source of the crime before resting his eyes on the tiny officer in his crinkled blue uniform, with a police cap crooked on his egg-shaped head and a comically stern look on his face.

“What’s the problem, Officer,” the cyclist suppressed a smile, “has my bike been vandalized?”

“YOU are the problem, sir!” The officer’s small body squirmed with rage, “You’ve littered and contributed to the trash vandalism of this beautiful city you ride through,” Officer Ollie’s voice squeaked, too high with the last few words.

“What? I nev-”

The cyclist stopped short as his eyes fell upon a single strand of blue thread; he’d pulled it from his jacket and tossed it into the breeze moments before, hardly thinking.

He rolled his eyes in anguish, hanging his head.

“That’s right,” Officer Ollie chided. “Now you see, don’t you?”

The cyclist thew up his hands with a groan, glowering back down at the string like a school boy caught on his way out the door to an adventure. “What’s the fine, officer?” he muttered.

“Fine?” Office Ollie chuckled. “Fine?! Sir, pick up your trash and, if you’re a decent fellow, remove the next three pieces of trash you see in the street as well. Take your string, and be on your way now.”

And with that, the officer tipped his crooked hat, straightened his wrinkled shirt, and spun on his heel in haste, determined to put an end to crime in this town he cherished.

Author note: this is the start of playing with a new style and the beginning of a new series I may someday turn into comics.

For my husband.
Future Good Cop.

Self Love & Sealing Wax

On the shelf under my books and herbs
is a rose gold stick of wax.

It’s a special sparkling wax I use
to seal love letters with,

each seal is stamped with a bee who
(I hope) translates

The love and softness I can’t quite put
to words for my beloved on the other end.

Some days I don’t feel heard…
and no matter how fiercely I write,

the words come out all jumbled,
muted, vague, and broken down.

I wonder why it never occurred to me to send
a little pink champagne bee to myself on days like these.

Seventy Times Seven Times

The following is a revision of an essay I wrote at 16 years old. It is now the beginning of my latest work: Wildflower which I hope to publish in 2019.

Seventy Times Seven Times

I got home from school to find him storming about the house, drunk again. My baby brother sat in his bouncer wearing a diaper that leaked down his legs. I saw her there, his soul was black and blue. He cried for food while being bellowed at to "shut the hell up!" I crept closer to my brother, cringing away from his breath while attempting to ignore his rage. I took the baby to the bedroom to feed him, change him, and protect him... I heard my sister march in the door and listened to him tell her how useless she was, swearing and spitting in her face. She got to the room trembling, more from anger than fear, I think. She was always the brave one. Once Mom finally came home from "work," I carried the baby to her, only to discover that she was drunk too. She shrieked at me and I fled with the baby back to our safe place. We weren't getting dinner that evening. Once again, I wouldn't be allowed to do my breathing treatment. This was my daily routine. It was wrong, but I was used to it. This is where my journey to love and forgiveness began. 

Pondering Ego

And as far as wisdom goes, I know that I don't possess it. This isn't a work of wisdom, it's a pondering of ego and inner peace. Maybe sometimes wisdom graces me with insight or compassion, but I certainly don't hold wisdom in my every thought and word. What I believe is only as important as I am, no more, and I am no more important than anyone else, just as nobody else is more important than me. We are all just people trying to figure it out, trying to live another moment, to feel a little deeper, climb a little higher, catch our breath. We are all the same. 

Weeping in the Willows

To the angel weeping in the willows, I've got a message just for you. Take it to heart, if you like, because I've carefully formed each and every line as a gift for your sweet soul. If it doesn't tickle your fancy, that's okay too. Just leave this letter knowing that you are loved. You are important in this world. Know that these words were written with kind intentions, wishing you well and promising you deserve it. 

It is arrogant, and maybe even gross, to tell someone what they are or aren't, but sometimes it's worth the risk. Sometimes, when done with the right intentions and a heart bursting with love, it can be a treasure to the told. So I'm taking a chance; I hope you don't misunderstand. You may know yourself better than I, but when I was where you are, I didn't have someone to tell me this. So forgive me if I'm wrong, and don't feel you owe me any thanks if I am right. Truthfully, I'm addressing my own past in this letter as much as yours, and what is true for me might be only partly true for you. Take whatever you like from this and know that you are loved. 

For the Little Fighter: Permission to Find Your Peace

Letting go of what’s been done to me isn’t the same as letting go of the people still going through hard times. I adore you. I’m here for you. I’ll do my best to share love and happiness, with the hope that it can brighten these difficult times for you and give you hope for your own future, because this hard time really won’t last forever. 

For Ren

Adults outside of my immediate family always told me to "just be a kid for a while" and it drove me fucking insane because I didn't feel like I had that luxury. I had siblings to protect, not to mention my own little heart needed careful guarding sometimes. You know the reasons why... and you were brave enough to face that too, so thank you again. 

I have to tell you about this one memory that sent my ex-stepdad over the edge, okay? You're going to snort, so swallow that sip of coffee before reading on.