Four Boxes

What is kept contains
memories I don't want
to ever forget.
The innocence of my childhood,
the fears of my teenager years,
the searching of my twenties,
wrapped up in these items
I place in boxes.
Some I will take with me,
most I will leave here.
The things I donate or
throw away aren't worth
Sometimes it feels good
to let go of the past,
leave it there and
start anew.

2 AM

silence enters the night 
I do not speak 
I listen to a book 
and work on a puzzle
I lose track of time 
trying to fit pieces together 
slowly the image begins 
to form the harder I focus
rain falls outside
may showers continue
I can slightly hear
the drops hitting
the roof
the narrator details
the tragic backstory
of the protagonist
I pick up a piece
and try not to cry


For my sister and brother-in-law

Marriage is the daily commitment
You make to each other
To navigate this life together.
It’s a conscious choice
You will continue to make.
Your job isn’t to complete the other,
It’s to complement each other.
You bring your own unique perspectives
Into this relationship.
You won’t always agree.
The goal isn’t to be right
It’s understanding each other
To communicate with openness and honesty
It takes vulnerability and compromise
To build a solid partnership.
You may not always like each other,
But you should always love one another
And remember why you chose to
Live life together.


May 1st, 2023 Monday

The start of a new month. 
The grass is finally green, 
the gray skies move away, 
not a cloud in the sky today. 
I sit on the couch as I write out 
this journal entry. I should journal more. 
I know. I miss it. 
And yet, I don't write enough. 
Hours blend together. 
The routine of day to day life. 
Writing for work. 
Anticipating change. 
Journaling had fallen off 
my routine long ago. 
Empty notebooks sit on my desk.
I go weeks without writing anything for me. 
The last notebook was all over the place 
I stopped writing two thirds of the way through. 
A reflection of my mental state. 
I flip through old notebooks 
and miss this part of myself. 
I miss writing the way I used to. 

Thoughts From Sunday

Poems of love
Fill my head
Lines I write
Keep a list
On my phone
Tired at night
Long days work
Glass of wine
Red of course
Calming down from
The white lights
Hours a day
Ready for bed
Linger by fire
Write this poem
Thoughts from Sunday
Shared on Monday
I promise myself
I will try
To be kind
To myself when
Things are difficult
I am human
I am trying
Poems of love
Fill my head
Cozy in bed

Healing Under the Sun

I sit on the step and take a moment
for the sun. The warmth on my skin 

brings joy to my soul. I wiggle my toes
and stretch my arms. I listen to the 

conversations being had across the way.
The year has been cold and gloomy, this

light brings me happiness. I am reminded
of the beauty that comes with change. 

The same thing day after day for months
on end left little light for the day,

I celebrate this warmth, this moment, this
joy that the long winter will go away. I open

up my book and breathe in the words on
the page. I sip my kombucha as a car drives

by, Bob Marley blasting out their open window.
Another reminder everything will be alright. 

How to be Present

the moment
I am in,
the day 
for what it is,
leaving my phone 
in another room,
keeping it out 
of my reach,
breathing through
the scary feelings
my anxiety 
reminds me 
to worry,
it takes a lot of 
work and self-
to live
in the present,
to read a book 
my mind 
away from 
the words
on the page. 

Another Another Another

my trauma response is to tense 
up automatically. I feel the muscles in 
my back and shoulders freeze and ache 
as my eyes begin to water uncontrollably.
I wrestle with trying to breathe 
intentionally while getting swept up
in the busyness of the day. Another shift
in my eyes, another shift in the 
season, another shift in the weather, 
and I become stressed in a second.
I was this way for years of my life,
unable to shake the stress from my muscles,
unaware of how normal this was for me
until I could relax without worry once again.

Being Intentional

Poetry calms my chaotic mind.
My thoughts swirling a mile
a minutes filled with worry,
stories, anxiety, wishes,
fears, dreams, random little things, 
all make sense when I write.
The overwhelm settles, I
pick through my thoughts
to find my truth. Being
intentional instead of auto-
pilot rewires the words in
my brain to be present, if
only for a moment. 

Lost An Hour

I heard a man exclaim
how he lost an hour
of his day, the pain
in his voice, as the sun
set later and the night
stood quiet, echoed through
the air. Babies and pets
don't care the clocks have
jumped forward, the ones
looking after them walk
around feeling dread.
The morning starts an
hour later for my body
hasn't realized the time
has changed overnight.