Breaking.

what’s broken now. what’s breaking.
is the silence.

what breaks are the edges
of my fingers as i bite
and tear at cuticles.

i worry my body endlessly
when i cannot see beyond
the soft grey haze of this.

first cuticles, then diet,
then the mobility that brings
my limbs to life
that moves my heart
to frantic motion
pushes me out
toward the sun.

after my body
comes my drive.
it takes me four days
to make an edit
that should take moments.
my blog lays silent
still
as any grave
entries scattered
like headstones
bare
and beckoning.

i hang
suspended
in the grey.

i spend a Saturday
still and quiet
on my couch
pouring my eyes
into screens.

a voice in my head
that my therapist
always condemns
calls me lazy
a waste
tells me
sweet lies
to confirm
it’s diagnosis
of my indolence

i know that voice is broken
but it breaks me


Photo credit for header image goes here.


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NoMo Challenge – Winding Down

This month has been a whirlwind with moving and everything. I’m pretty proud of myself that I managed to do the NoMo Challenge and write a blog entry every day. Admittedly, each one wasn’t a golden nugget of amazingness, particularly just before, during, and after the move, but at least I made my goal! Or will have made it once I do tomorrow’s entry.

I’m super happy with my success in the NoMo challenge this year. Next year I will do a few things differently. Here’s my advice for succeeding at writing a blog a day and feeling good about what you put out and also not burning out.

  1. Write and schedule posts ahead of time. When you have the time and the inspiration, doing this will mean that you can take whole days off for yourself. During November, when the holidays start kicking up, this can be especially helpful.
  2. Carve out time to write. Whether it’s 30 minutes or 2 hours, cutting out a part of your day and reserving it for writing in an atmosphere that is conducive to your process will up your chances for successfully writing things that you feel good about.
  3. Record your ideas. Whenever you think of a topic that you think would make a good blog entry or article or what have you, make a note of it. There’s nothing better than sitting down to write and leisurely looking through a list of pre-generated topics.

Those are my notes to myself and all of you for NoMo next year. I hope they’re helpful if you want to do the challenge in 2016. Here’s hoping I remember them when the time comes to buckle down!

Going forward, I would like to take the momentum that I have gained this month and put it into writing every day. Not necessarily here in the blog, but generally. I have so many little projects that I have started and not finished. And with where I am at my job, 1000 words a day would not be hard to do while sitting at my desk.

This coming month will also feature heavily a paid writing gig. And I would like to pitch for some paid articles with larger publications in the coming month. One or two a week would make me feel as though I was doing my best in that area as a new writer.

Onward and upward!

The War Room

the war room
the bomb was dropped
at dinner
feta lingering between my teeth and tongue
never learned to love it
expanding in my chest
this hot presence
somehow managing to remove myself from me
leaving her a shell

        simple statistics
        they tell you one in three will have it
        and you barely believe
        until your mothers turn inside out
        or your sisters
        and you know

remember being seven
maybe younger…
watching it on the tv
sneak-peeked it
foreign and familiar
something lascivious and lingering
black pleather and podiums
spreading warmth and something
aching

the bomb sat between us on the table
my mother’s bomb
words turned into something palpable
larger than that wooden expanse
star space spread and separating
twisting her away

back to that mushroom cloud
the heat of a nuclear reaction
near my nucleus

i am cowardly of truth
so i washed the feta from my teeth
and smiled

The tyranny of the blank page: a movement in 8 acts.

Act 1: The beginning.

I should write a thing. I always feel better when I write. And I have this idea to write about this stuff I care about.

Stop staring at me like that, page! I know I haven’t written anything yet. My words are a terrible mishmash in my head and they won’t come out.

Act 2: Rising action.

Seriously! Stop staring at me, page. I have written and deleted the same sentence worded 12 different ways. This is hard and terrible.

Don’t you judge me. You jerk.

Act 3: Procrastination.

I’m gonna have a glass of water. Then I’ll be back to deal with you.

Act 4: Determination.

You see me cracking my knuckles? That’s because I’m going to knock this whole writing thing right out of the park.

Act 5: Denial.

How long has it been since I started writing? I must have been at this for hours.

20 MINUTES?

Guhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh I will never have a thought or idea AGAIN.

Act 6: Procrastination deux.

Well. Now that the laundry is done and my kitchen is clean and I’ve dusted all my shelves, I can really get this writing out of the way!

Act 7: Overwhelming the enemy.

I’m just going to keep writing whatever comes to mind until I get to my writing goal for today. You can’t stop me, page! You don’t even have any arms!

Act 8: End game.

Not blank anymore, are you, page? How do you like that? Ha!

I’m gonna go make a sandwich.


Cover image found here.

Pitching and writing and impostor syndrome, oh my!

How pitching an article works.

Step 1: Have a thought.

Oh! That would make a really good blog entry or article or something. Let me make a note of that to myself for later.

Step 2: Evaluate that thought.

What’s this note? Huh. I thought that was a good idea? I guess it’s OK. I’ll come back to it.

Step 3: Research.

Didn’t someone else write a thing about this? Let me check. Quick! To the Googlemobile!

Step 4: Outline? Maybe? Mostly just sitting on it.

I should start off talking about the beginning. Or maybe I’ll just play a video game. Yea, let’s do that.

Step 5: Fight with impostor syndrome.

Ugh. What was I thinking? This idea is terrible. Everyone else has better thoughts and words and ideas and notions than I do. What made me think that I could get anyone to read this? What a boob I was back one or two days ago. Ughhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.

Step 6: Pitch work somewhere while impostor syndrome is distracted.

Fuck you, impostor syndrome. This idea is pretty great and I just emailed it out! Muahaha! Take that!

Step 7: Become overcome with impostor syndrome once again.

It’s like it somehow knows that I snuck an idea out past it. The uncertainty! The suffering! Ughhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.

Step 8a: Pitch accepted.

Oh. I guess I was right. It was a pretty great idea.

Step 8b: Pitch rejected.

Resume process from step 5.

Next time: The tyranny of the blank page.

a galaxy that’s full of dust and light

a galaxy that’s full of dust and light
whole worlds concocted from another’s detritus
and man, so small, eyes closed against the night

a collapsing star, a chasm built in space
bodies far bigger than the mind can hold
a galaxy that’s full of dust and light

the solemn edge of routine morning coffee
an afternoon commute, traffics frustration
and man, so small, eyes closed against the night

the footprints of ancient giants, gods almighty,
crafting universal causeways with a gesture
a galaxy that’s full of dust and light.

the incessant, tender buzz of summer insects,
the long awaited smile of a friend,
and man, so small, eyes closed against the night.

the pure attraction of a sheltering sky
its depth, an inescapable allure
a galaxy that’s full of dust and light
and man, so small, eyes closed against the night

Winter Moon

She mounts the heavens nightly in the cold.
In her curving orbit stately, ancient grace.
She eradicates the day, brings forth the night.

I never feel so loved as in the night.
Surrounded by her light, her gaze so cold,
the stars surrounding her with twinkling grace.

No lovers could compare to her in grace,
the way she carves out pathways in the night
and bathes me in her nimbent light, so cold.

Cold and full of grace, the moon appears
and guides me gently through each winter night.


Featured image found here.

On the Revisiting of Feelings

Every once in a while, someone from my past will creep up into my mind and I will find myself scouring the internet for references to them.

Where are you working now?

Who are you loving?

The question that I always want to answer is a simple one.

Did I matter?

I find myself poring over the faces of people they have chosen in the years intervening. In the parenthetical space between knowing and unknowing. In the time it takes for a person to become emotional research rather than emotional expenditure.

There is a dusty old feeling to this motion. This knee jerk response. Something in my emotional DNA. Like whales migrating, I walk the pattern that is the cyclical absence and return of thoughts and feelings.

You come to mind.

I Google you.

I look at old pictures that show up. Sometimes I’m in them. I reflect on whatever masochism drew me to do this to myself.

I think about who I was when I was with you. I wonder who the people you are surrounded by are. What they are like. I wonder about the person you are loving the most. How they shift and change themselves to fit into the nooks and crannies of you that always need filling. How they pour themselves over the mold made of your flaws.

Do they thrill you?

Are you happy?

I worry my old loves like old wounds. Bruises that never get the chance to heal because of continual pressure. Blood that never dissipates. Scars that never lose their angry redness.

After I have looked at the last public picture. Perused the last blog entry or Facebook status, I sit back. I log out. And I let you fade.

Sometimes that makes the bruises look less angry. Sometimes the opening of old wounds relieves the tension.

Sometimes it doesn’t.

My questions never get answered, no matter the case. I want to know if I mattered. And I know it’s irrelevant. I know that, in the years that have passed between the first uttering of that question and this last riotous uprising, all the weight of whether I mattered has gone out of the question.

But I want to know.

So, when the mood strikes, I Google you. I search. And I find. And I wonder.

Love in a Time of Bleeding

I think I must be lucky
as you lay me down
blankets soft and warm
eyes heavy.
Our dog breathing in
the space between us.
I will not feel it
when you come to bed
hours later, or minutes,
I’m never sure.
But I will wake
in the night
and you will be there,
as you always are.
Soft and warm
hands reaching out for me.

I think I must be lucky
as you feed me.
Turning out healthy food
in our small kitchen.
Dragging me into a world
full of flavor.
Sometimes I want to buy you
a chef’s hat. And I know
that you would wear it
at an angle, jaunty,
dapper, as you feed me.
Feed my heart alongside
my stomach. Feed my joy.

I think I must be lucky
as you take my hand
beneath the din of the city
and lead me on adventures.
As we enter new dance floors
discover strangers and cocktails,
bar rooms and restaurants,
craft shows and wineries.
My gorgeous sojourner.
I see the eyes that
follow you, as I once
followed you. I smile
in the faces of those admirers.
They so wish they were me.
But I am me. And I know
I am lucky
every time you grace me
with your kisses
every time you show me
I am loved.
I know.