Your hands are cold.
Your chest some sort of gracious cave
With you, the seasons collide,
and I'm not sure why..

The Poets are writing poems against the war.
They stand in the storm, 
Raising their small, thin voices,
Ignored in the din of raucous, thoughtless shouting.

It's so easy to trip into darkness-especially when it's available after you feel you've exercised all of your options and efforts. But climbing out of that dark hole...is far more testing and challenging once you're in there than you known. Fight hard to stay away from it please. Don't give up. Don't assume you are worth nothing and no on sees you-even if no one sees you.

I am a moo from behind a Beryllium oak.
I am a knock on wood for luck.
I am only one of 63 personalities that I hide.
Moving fast, faster than a mustang.

50 months of infertility
Never thought I’d see the day
50 months of trying
No baby on the way

Proper Grip

I run my fingers over the edges and dips of the knife in my pocket. 

It is 6:30am and it is November. The sun has yet to offer peace of mind and the street lamp timers still believe the sun rises at 6am. 

There is power in the woman who fights..
whether cut, bruised, or sore...
she continues
She fights for the sake of herself-for a peace within-
She fights to live and be free instead of solely exist
For dreams, for family, or whatever it may be, 
she continues...

To reconcile the divide between
hope, and reality.
The tension between
wanting, and having.
To experience enough, 
to get lost
in contentment,
and still keep growing.

I found the sun in the middle of winter,
and a rose in the middle of a storm
Shelter when hail fell from the sky,
and though Life's wind chill was bitter, I was warm

Burst
Stutter
Stop.

My heart is always on the go
I’ve often tried to slow it down
Or even catch up with it
But I’ve yet to make that happen

After emerging from the shower
She looks in the mirror and states:
“I still have lipstick on.”
And the memories of last night flood in
The dancing, the joy, the laughter.
And for the first time in a while
The sense of belonging – finally.

Acceptance and I
are embroiled
in a bitter battle.

"It feels as if I am holding
an ocean in my chest.
 

And then you said

My sweet slumber has seduced my senses.
The silence is a stolen spring day.
 

I’m not the girl who looks like she stepped out of a magazine. I’m not tan, my hair isn’t long and blonde, my teeth aren’t sparkling white, and I’m not what you would consider “skinny.”

How many times have I dreamed of a Daddy?
A man with a plan, a love of his family,
A man who would care; a father who’s there,
Who would guide me and love me, maybe even hug me
Who’d share his drink, teach me to think

You do not have to be good.

Keep that in mind when you’re out in the world.

You do not have to do what the world says
or follow rules that are archaic and foreign.