A bad thing happens.
Instinctively, I run to my well of self-pity.
I see that it has run dry.
I have learned to create instead of surrender.
(Mar. 2022)
A bad thing happens.
Instinctively, I run to my well of self-pity.
I see that it has run dry.
I have learned to create instead of surrender.
(Mar. 2022)
Gather around, ladies.
Let’s say this together, in unison:
I am not “too much” for having emotions and opinions.
I am not “too much” for having emotions and opinions.
I AM NOT “TOO MUCH” FOR HAVING EMOTIONS AND OPINIONS.
(Nov. 2021)
Today,
I can listen to the same songs
about toxic relationships
that used to trigger
an ache of recognition
and only feel
a remembrance of that ache,
a compassion for my past self.
It is in these small moments
(which really aren’t small at all)
that I see how far
I’ve come.
I finally see the mean inner voices for what they are:
part of the family.
I’m never going to eradicate them.
Fear,
self-doubt,
self-criticism,
and depression
will always be in the car
in the road trip of my life–
a month from now,
a year from now,
ten years from now.
And that’s okay.
They can be here–
as long as they know their place.
They sit in the back.
They sit shotgun.
They are not the driver.
I repeat:
They are not the driver.
*Credit where credit is due: this poem is a paraphrase of a part of Big Magic, by Elizabeth Gilbert.*
Sometimes,
I don’t want to write about my darkness–
as if acknowledging it
gives it power.
But this is a lie.
Throughout my life,
I have learned and re-learned
that nothing emboldens darkness
more than
silence.
You said I’d be sexy
if I wore my hair down
if I plucked my eyebrows
if I unbuttoned the top few buttons of my shirt.
I laugh at how much you’re missing,
at how completely you misunderstand me.
It is my mind, my heart,
my soul, my very essence that makes me sexy–
not any of those things.
(written spring 2019)
I used to think
forgiveness
meant giving my power
away.
I was wrong.
Forgiveness
IS
my power.