I. We are limited in our vision of what is because of the hope of what could be.
We are fantastic dreamers, painting others in that likeness with expert skill, only to find ourselves with messy hands and soiled clothes when the violence of life wears away at the paint.
You were a gargoyle I busted out of the stone So you could fly again Remembering your Angelic origins.
I pulled out your grey To give you back Your burnt oranges And aquatic blues And stone Would become flesh.
II. A painful birth Can make an enemy Of the midwife. Passion sacrificed On the altar of healing Makes room for growth With an offering of blood.
I was a warrior Who forgot I used to dance. I lay down the plight For my own kind of flight.
I’m a soul in transit, documenting the inner and outer terrain, often through poetry and prose, sometimes through songs, and occasionally through photos, essays, confessionals, and other mediums. This is how I breathe.
I wrote my first story when I was a wee girl of three, followed by my first poem when I was eight. I’ve been writing ever since as a way to cope with life. This practice evolved with learning in both structured settings and through the practice, itself. In my own healing crisis, I found a process I affectionately refer to as Poetic Alchemy. Now on the journey of getting my life back, I do this not only for myself but for you.
Creature Speak 