Be careful with writers
They know how to let everyone taste
How you made them feel
Browsing category: Blog
Grow
I’ll wait until we’ve clipped every fruit
And ripped up the roots
Winter is here
But if you believe in Spring
We can re-grow
Venom
I’m a venomous girl
Coiled sweetly in your palm
I have a mouthful of poison
Ready to kiss your neck
The Writer
I fall asleep next to my journal every night
I breathe onto it with my head on the pillow
Because no one can comfort me
Like I’m comforted when I write
Prayer For The Universe
Here is a prayer
For the magic
Of the Universe:
Guide me
Where I am meant to go
I am listening
For the moon calls
And snake whispers
Because my spirit
Could use
A sprig of mint
New Moon
I won’t come out
And light things up for you
I’m a new moon tonight
Skin
The wind blows
And knocks me over
I see your skin
And I’m weak I’m weak I’m weak
The Revolution
One day I’ll look back on this
As a small fleck of time
And see it as
The big revolution of my soul
Our Relationship With Death
I found out this morning that some one I have known since I was a little girl has passed away. I remember going to her house. I remember her at parties that my parents took me along to. I remember her at the office everyday when I was working for my dad. I remember when I found out that she was diagnosed with lung cancer. And I will remember, today, when I found out that she passed on.
Death reaches out and touches me more and more the older I get. My cousin passed away a month ago. My last relationship ended because he couldn’t deal with a death. Last year, a woman that I worked with, who I used to see everyday, had a heart attack in her sleep. My friend from high school overdosed. Relationships die. Friendships die. Periods of our life die.
I know that I am sensitive, but I cry in the face of death. The tears come from love. They come from knowing that I will never get to be with this person or have this same experience twice. I cried when my yoga teacher training was over. The community that we had built broke itself away and our time all together was finished. Our teacher told us not to cry. Everything changes. People come and go like stars and butterflies and seasons and weather.Read More
Life of a Poet
The way musicians can see rhythm
And painters can feel colors
The thoughts I have just before bed
They are poems in my head