A poem about the anger that protects our pain. Why is your anger being so loud anyway? Maybe, it’s shouting becauseevery dismissal taught meto speak a little louder. Every time I abandoned myself to keep the peace, something inside me learned that gentleness wasn't being heard. The anger arrived because they challenged my softness. The only thing that silenced the anger was realizing I didn’t need to be understood. I could let the crows keep cawing. Because a butterfly doesn’

I opened
 Pandora's box "close the
 lid," my brain yelled to my hands. My hands tried to press
down on
the lid. The contents of the box
 flew out. My hands
 lifted, causing
 my head to look up. I'd been looking
 at the box
 for so long,
 I forgot
 to look around. When I finally
 looked up at the contents of the box floating
 through the air, I felt overwhelmed. until each piece found somewhere to land. There's no box anymore. no lid
 to keep closed. Just my thoughts flying ev

A poem about making room for the people and places that feel like home. I think it just comes down to how you want to spend your time. I don’t close the door on anyone to be rude. I open new doors that lead me into rooms where I am free to be me. Where I can laugh from my belly instead of smiling from my eyes. Where I can shed real tears over some of life’s fears. Where I can say the wrong thing and be given the chance to get it right. When I’m asked how I want to spend my on

You’re like a stallion beautiful to look at, but impossible to tame. You poke your head around the corner from time to time, but you don’t run alongside the herd. A stallion doesn’t get confined to a barn — it would break down all the walls. While part of me wishes it could be free like the stallion, something in me always pulls toward the herd. My heart has often longed for the stallion to join the herd yet I know these fields aren’t wide enough so I let the stallion go.

My grief and I sat in a room and had tea. My anger poured us a brew from the lotus flower. Grief and I drank it we started to feel like we were stuck there forever. I asked anger what other brews we had anger stomped off. I guess it didn’t want me to feel any different. I realized it would probably always be my grief and me. Grief was the only thing that never stomped out of the room when things got hard. I sat across grief and I asked it, why are you still here ? Grief s

Why don’t you move off that log, snail? because I’m stuck, the snail said you’re not stuck, snail you just believe that you are. The snail moved forward, but it was slow can’t you move any faster, snail? asked the fox. No, said the snail I only know one speed. See, I tried to move faster once, and that’s how I got stuck here on this log. The fox snickered I can run so much faster than you, snail. You’re right, said the snail the fox ran so fast it believed it didn’t need hea

Even in the darkest storms, your light shone bright No matter how many times I tried to hide, you found me. You never tried to fix the soul you tried to move the clouds covering it instead. You knew—It wasn’t the soul that needed fixing it was the conditions that needed settling. You also knew while every storm passes, trees fall along the way. You didn’t tell me to wait for the storm to blow over. You told me to start planting new seeds. You will always be one of the

Who knew the strongest opponent was you? that the deepest strike came from your own knife? That the highest tide rose from your own ocean, where you bled into your own sea. That you’d need to learn how to calm your own waves, clear the sea of your own garbage, let go of the things you mistook for gold. That you’d have to learn new currents, marking rocks to guide the boats passing through. But you’re a strong swimmer you rose through the waves and found harmony within your ow