F*ing Emo

I scream to you “I’m different!”
But how can you really tell?
Because this heart is deeper?
Beeline to the bottom of this well.

Is it that I feel so strong
Everything that I feel?
Does that make all my emotions
Any truer or much more real?

I flail around and make a mess
Invite you to the show
That’s what makes me different
And totally f*ing emo.


No, not Elmo. lol

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manna

i prayed that God put in my mind those things that he wants me to write about and every morning, like manna, the words are waiting to find me or be found.

it is my job to gather. sometimes, i don’t have enough hours in the day or a basket big enough for his providence. my hands, fingers, pens, keys, screens, pages runneth over.

thoughts float down like sweet sticky buns from heaven. proficiency and abundance are divine.

Castles and Pie (mmmm)

Throwing castles and pie
Way up in the sky
And hoping

Throw that hat (Mary)
Everything but the cat (Berry)
And wait

Keep on hustlin’
Don’t stop jugglin’
And watch

Something’s gotta stick
Whip out your Bic
Keep writing!

Calliope Calls

Oh, wonderful writers
With your passion and fire.
Oh, winsome word-lovers,
Lay your fingers on the lyre.

Build a song without tune.
Call wild to the moon.

Change the Earth into Sea.
Set sacred Calliope free.

Words can plant an invisible field.
A book can launch a billion minds.
Poems unlock heart-shaped doors.
When the world is lost; a story finds.

Summon the magic for us now.
Flourish of cape and take a bow.

Tip of the hat, toss of a rose
For those who risk all to compose.

Not a soul can imagine
What miracles you bear.
Oh, giver of life,
Creator from air.

Woven words loom done.
Golden threads you have spun.

So think. Reach. Write. Give birth.
Thank you for sharing all of your worth.

What Hurts

Lots of things hurt.
Or I wouldn’t be a writer.

Have you met many writers?

But lots of things don’t hurt.
I am easily overwhelmed or amazed.

You like sunsets.
That sunset is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. I love sunsets. Where’s my camera??!

You like writing.
I can’t stop writing because I’ve never had a voice and this is the only chance I have to say all the things I’m feeling before I die. And if I write every day that I have left, I still won’t have said all I need to say to the world.

You had a bad day.
I had the worst day in my entire life and I have to find the will to continue.

You have issues.
I have mental illness coupled with anxiety from complex PTSD that makes good days rare and bad days merely survivable.

I feel things deeply. Maybe too much. But thank God for deep feelings. Or I wouldn’t be a writer, artist, actor, designer, photographer, caretaker, sunset-lover. Thank God for my sensitivity. Or I would be just: average. I’d rather feel too much than nothing at all.

Oh good.
You get me.
Thanks.
This isn’t a competition.
Sorry.
And if you think I’m too hard on myself?
Some people aren’t hard enough.
The truth is out there.
We just have to be willing to say it.