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Crone Song
A little bit of life remains when so much of me is dead. Most of what is left is only hanging by a thread Watching blips of time flitting about in youthful glow. How fast we lose parts of ourselves the young will never know. Taking for granted new life that blooms in the soot… Continue reading
Acceptance, Adversity, Biology, Cycles, death, depression, Earth, Endings, Essential, Grief and Loss, Intention, Philosophy, Poetry, Rhyming Poem, Self Acceptance, The Void, Transitionaging, appreciation, blessings, crone, darkness, death, fate, free will, grief, Grief and Loss, impermanence, loss, night, philosophy, poem, poetry, Temporal, The Void -
The Truth About Edges
You think you have edges but you’ve never seen a sharp one. You never cut your feet to dance upon the blade for a moment of something different. You never painted yourself crimson with your own aching blood just to revel in the outcome, to find yourself laughing in the face of the absurd emptiness… Continue reading
Adversity, conflict, Cosmos, Courage, Cycles, death, Endings, freeverse, Grief and Loss, growth, Overcoming, Philosophy, Poetry, Prose, Relationships, Self Acceptance, Shadow Work, Sky, The Void, TransformationCosmos, Courage, darkness, death, edge walker, edges, edgewalking, emptiness, grief, growth, loss, philosophy, poem, poetry, Relationships, Transformation, truth, void -
Call of Oblivion
Pieces of me fly off to the aetherswhere my heart has always livednever to be found again for they have their own lives nowmaking the best of fragmentation.The magic of a soul that doesn’t want to be whole is the seeds the pieces becomedispersed across the universeto grow worlds that makefor an exquisite fit. Each… Continue reading
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Wide Awake
Sleepless nights from mental fights and heartfelt plights. What do we do with so much? When too many colors are missing from the rainbow and we need that harmony to close our eyes and trust the coming morning view. Abysses keep on growing in the vacancies borne of the Great Erasing and there are holes… Continue reading
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What to Find at the Bottom
Lean in, my love, for there you will find the magic inside the suffering. Go all the way in and towards it. Run, if you can into the night. Vast hands will hold you even when you can’t feel them through the cold hard surface of illusions of alone. What waits at the bottom is… Continue reading
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What to Do With Walls
The wall that keeps me from the magic of my imagination is not my friend. For who can be friends with the past? Stone memories in rows lined with rocky future thoughts. Nothing here and present to get to know me. Only preconceived notions in a fight for relevance they will never win. But walls… Continue reading
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The Beauty of Bruises
Bruises are beautiful when you’ve seen enough of them to recognize the colors. Unique hues in the language of blood under your skin. Heart-whispers in reds and blues. Purple dreams dissipating and tender to the touch. These delicate darknesses tell a story; admitting that we took a chance on living, and we are still here,… Continue reading
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Cosmic Thread
My fraying seams are not what they seem. It’s my style to be rough around the edges that are typically smooth, protecting tame hearts that beatan assigned pattern. But I have a wild heart. She was ripped out and scavenged so many times, the threads holding her inside me are worn. I’m not searching for… Continue reading
Acceptance, Adversity, Cosmos, Cycles, death, Earth, Endings, freeverse, Grief and Loss, growth, Love, New Beginnings, Overcoming, Philosophy, Poetry, Prose, Self Acceptance, Sky, time, Transition, WorldApocalypse, compassion, cosmic, Cosmos, creation, Fabric of Creation, grief, Grief and Loss, growth, Heart, heartache, loss, Love, philosophy, poem, poetry, Threads, Weaver, Weavers, wild -
I Am Not Human
I am not human. I may look like it on the surface sometimes, but my face changes in certain light and I look different from every angle. Don’t be fooled by my shape: we are not the same underneath our skin. In the depths of my flesh, I am something wild and ancient, something… Continue reading
About Me
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 