I doodled a smiley face on the breakfast tracker sheet half an hour before life gave me a reason to google the biological processes of death. I wanted to know how long he’d been there like that before I found him. I’m now in a vicious staring contest with grief; the pulsing risk of my vocation, more of a guarantee than a risk, really.

Much of this journey has been about slowing down, and completing tasks in small, incremental steps. It is driving me nuts. My baseline is a hyper one. I want what I want when I want it. But cultivating the earth doesn't work that way, so like I said, I wasn’t going to plant a garden this year, and then I watched Zach Galifianakis’ gardening show on Netflix and now I’m here to tell you about my peas.

To be pulled out of my head straight into wildness a hop, skip and jump from where I slumber is 1) a fact of life my inner child is so curiously perplexed about being blessed with and 2) essential to my wellbeing.

We will work on an honor-based system and are going for blackout, baby. So no need to prove each space you complete, however, if you want to share stories or photos of your bingo card experiences, I'd love to hear them, and would love to share my experiences with you!

A prayer for National Poetry Writing Month. "Awaken our emotions and senses. Align our writing hands with our hearts and minds - our holy trinity - so we may pour poetry onto the page."

Sometimes our uncomfortable feelings are not entirely the fallout of a trauma trigger, but righteous anger caused by injustice.

I ache for something unknown, and now, with this kind community member’s recognition, the ache calls for acknowledgement: In the hustle of parenting and education/career development to whiteknuckle my fiercely beloved small posse out of poverty and the exhausting complications of multifaceted trauma recovery that accompanied, an entire section of my heart/spirit has been mostly unacknowledged.

What I know for certain is that stillness can heal.

let’s focus a sweet, silly, somewhat salty moment on that which brings me joy:

When the panic attacks started, I felt betrayed by my almost 40 yr old body for remembering so vividly how panicked my 20 yr old body felt.

This might seem odd to you, but it makes sense to me.

a new habit has appeared in my weekends: a casual saunter downtown, sunshine on skin, breeze through hair, weight of the week dispersing.

I don't intend this to become a free for all in bashing religion, even though expressions of my hurt will likely come off as salty.

That I have to consistently put food & water in my body to survive is my biggest peeve of being human.

my third poetry collection, goosesong, is now available for purchase

Our cities are all uniquely shaped by what we experience in them. This is my version of a city tour:

Stream of consciousness: sometime in the time after I hit my head real hard, I promised myself to be unhinged as often as possible.

Can I really earn passive income from organizations that contribute to social injustice? The truth is uncomfortable.

a poetic telling of my latest holiday

here is my heart, beating in your sweaty palms. what will you do with it, I wonder, while you beat your own heart numb