Living in the End Times is rough. Societal collapse, with rising prices and stagnant wages and an unthinkable wealth gap, is exhausting. Mass shooting after mass shooting. Scandal on top of scandal. The floor keeps sinking in the race to the bottom and the climate crisis is here and the tipping point four years out.Continue reading “Existential Crisis and Love (and Poetry)”
Tag Archives: Poetry
When your Daughter is Beautiful
It’s Strange When Your Daughter is BeautifulTo see it but dare not say it,Not wanting to define her by her beauty. I hear it, and stumble my response.Thanks feels inappropriate, “I know” feels wrong too. It’s Strange when your Daughter is BeautifulAnd she looks like you too. You see it,You hear it,You wonder if it’sContinue reading “When your Daughter is Beautiful”
Tiny Mushroom
A mushroom grows out of the railing of my deck. Tiny, insignificant, complete. I envy its defiance, its confidence, it knows It is a mushroom and will grow where it can.
Seeking Freedom
I cannot imagine throwing my daughter into the flames,I would never invite her into the fire. And yet, here I stand, engulfed in itKnowing full well she will run to wherever I am. I must escape the fireOr extinguish it somehow, Before it consumes us all.
Saturday Insight
I used to despair at what I could not do.The things I could Not Change.I would rage and weep and thrash and exhaust. Now I practice acknowledgment. I see it and grieve it. Mourn and move onTo what I Can Do.
Caged, Curious, or Free
I have lived my life in a cage built of rules, close quarters with a lot of requirements.I yearn to raise a free daughter, I imagine what that would look like. I encourage curiousity, letting her wonder and wander,Saying yes more than no because after all, why not? I ask her to notice and sheContinue reading “Caged, Curious, or Free”
My Mother, the activist
My mother would never describe herself as an activist,But I do. She never allowed Nestle in the house,She vetoed Carl’s Jr on every road trip,And never participated in Black Friday. My mother was an activist, in her way. With three kids to raise, a husband, and a job to juggle, She protested with her purse,RefusingContinue reading “My Mother, the activist”
Pens
Pens are like bobby pins, I either have a hundred or one.They’re never in between, but either everywhere or nowhere to be found. I’ve bought more bobby pins than pens if I’m honest,which means I’m a low-key thief. An honest thief, a misanthropic humanitarian. With either head full of bobby pins and pens, or lookingContinue reading “Pens”
Post-Its
I need more post-its. I use them for everything, jot down thoughts becauseSo often I go from room to room and thought to thought and get lost on the way to do something… But what was it? I need more post-its and pens.
Pretty Good Ugly 