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Relationships are hard, and as a dear friend once counseled me, they are two-way. This poem says it all. Underneath all the love I have Is a sea of questions I never asked I was afraid to peel back my layers And let you see the dark thoughts in my heart. I still fear I
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The monotony of my life is crushing There is no reprieve from my chores And my responsibilities never cease. My workplace is full of dismissal Coworkers who disregard my value and my expertise. These people take advantage of me Use my kindness for their own purposes And gossip behind my back. I am spread thin
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My mom’s parents lived in a big old farmhouse just outside Sturgis, MI when I was little. We visited a few times a year, and always spent a week there together in the summer. It was a magical place, and my longing for it returns sometimes unbidden. My grandpa hung a wooden swing with chain
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As an empath, I feel all the things. It can be overwhelming. I don’t know how not to feel things, even if they start to consume me. Making things helps. Being creative helps. Writing helps. This poem is one of the outpourings of the healing process. The dark hours are the worst They are long
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As an empath, I feel all the things. It can be overwhelming. I don’t know how not to feel things, even if they start to consume me. Making things helps. Being creative helps. Writing helps. This poem is one of the outpourings of the healing process. When there are sleepless nights And your life seems
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As an empath, I feel all the things. It can be overwhelming. I don’t know how not to feel things, even if they start to consume me. Making things helps. Being creative helps. Writing helps. This poem is one of the outpourings of the healing process. There’s a hollow place inside me That nothing seems
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As an empath, I feel all the things. It can be overwhelming. I don’t know how not to feel things, even if they start to consume me. Making things helps. Being creative helps. Writing helps. This poem is one of the outpourings of the healing process. There is no point In wishing For a shatter
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Short poems sometimes say everything that needs to be said. All that ink on your heart pulls me towards you I dip into you. I put you on a page, stretch you thin. A bursting bubble in my throat, a song about to break Using every piece of you you ever gave me Every thought
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There is much more to this story than is recorded here. Maybe one day I’ll tell it all. Or not. It’s not really that great of a story. It’s full of pain and doubt. The phone was ringing and I didn’t want to answer it. He hadn’t called me for over a year; why should
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This is one of those ideas that may never go anywhere. If you’re wondering why it’s so raw, it’s because I’ve been this woman before. I know what she’s like. She wakes up long before the alarm has gone off. She doesn’t fall back asleep. She stares at the ceiling, thinking of nothing, thinking
The Quick and the Dead
Short stories. Creative experiments. Ideas that might not pan out.
The Quick and the Dead 