Mental health, Buddhist teachings, and Lesbian poetry I hid in the depths of my soul for 20+ years.
Life’s full of people needing things from you,
Sometimes it’s supplying true interest in them,
Sometimes it’s comforting words when they’re lonely.
Life’s full of you needing things from people,
Sometimes it’s gifting advice to halt your mind,
Sometimes it’s holding you during a breakdown.
Continue reading “I Can’t Be Everything for Everyone”All my grandparents have left,
Yet none of them are gone.
They left behind disease,
They left behind old age,
They left behind suff’ring.
Now it all starts anew,
Every spirit’s next step.
Continue reading “Souls Don’t Die | A Poem for my Grandparents”You can feel the history,
It surrounds at ev’ry turn,
All starting with simple words,
Not a popular nickname,
Yet it truthfully remains,
As words cover The District,
Continue reading ““The City of Words””Wonder if I truly need them,
Ponder what changes due to them,
Fonder each day passes without them,
Absconder each night staring at them.
Continue reading “Medicated | Living with Bipolar 2”I know no existence without her,
She knows no other younger sister.
I was always right behind,
Endeavoring to match stride.
Continue reading “Into the Unknown with the Known”Ve saw me wading through oblivion,
Ve dragged me away from the edge,
How could someone of intrinsic value,
Be found using online classified ads?
Continue reading “I Met my Best Friend on Craigslist”“Oh no, that stanza should be over there…”
Publishing poetry changes the words,
They no longer only belong to me,
Every reader has their own impression,
Clicking publish removes it from my control.
Continue reading “Poetry Doesn’t Have to be Perfect”If only I would’ve been stupid,
It would’ve been unable to hide.
If therapists could’ve read my mind,
The diagnosis would’ve been easy.
Those 10 years of decay,
My symptoms were right there,
Finally reached the surface.
I’m not stupid,
But I was lifeless.
Continue reading “I’m Crazy, Not Stupid | Living with BPD”You can’t hear my words,
You can’t sing along to the tune,
You can’t listen for comfort in isolation.
You can’t watch my words,
You can’t view the imagery,
You can’t see descriptions as distraction.
Continue reading “What’s the Purpose of Poetry?”A mother and her youngest child:
All of my firsts were all of her lasts.
I was the final offspring she nourished,
Both inside and outside of the womb.
I was the final bird to fly the nest,
Did she notice my broken wings?
Continue reading “My Mother, My Angel”
Mindfully Messy 