November 14, 2025

i think it’s so fascinating
that i’ve found a way
to expand from “write what you know”
to “don’t let too much out about your inner mind”
where my black and white thinking was fully vacillating between
creative nonfiction
memoir/essay/this needs to be fact-checked as well as can be
and
i need to write a story that has never happened
i need to write a story that has never been written
i need to 100% make this up or it’s cheating or cheapened in some way
and
both options overwhelmed me so

so

i found a way to springboard off of my past and thoughts and events
and land in the ether of “this definitely isn’t my personal experience”

i never knew it could be so easy
to be so
creative
[and to let it flow
in the way it does]

August 23, 2025

waking up from a wild dream
with ideas for a story
but honestly, once fully awake,
there are far more questions about this concept
than an initial start to writing

but i suppose i’ll just have to see
what it may become
eventually

by writing it

May 15, 2025

perhaps you wake up one day
and the sky is purple instead of blue

still the same brightness — no sunrise or sunset vibes
making the change, though many things may adjust
from your point of view — like are you near a body of water?
look at it, it’ll reflect the sky, and you’ll realize
in that moment, that the ocean is not, in fact, blue,
or even any color on its own,
but a simple showing back of
the sky above it

but

no one else remarks on the suddenness of the purple in the sky
and when you see a game show with simple questions
or shadow your niece’s kindergarten class
the correct answer to “what color is the sky”
is “purple!” every time

so what now?

do you ask someone about it?
do you try to sleep it off?

do you check your own kindergarten worksheets
dug up and pulled down from your parents’ house’s attic?
there, in your own handwriting, is “purple”
and even poems you wrote ages ago
where you rhymed “blue” with “true” at the end of a stanza
put forth the same rhyme scheme, but with purple in the middle
“the sky’s purple hue/makes my heart beat true”
and it works
better than
“blue”

do you take this to your therapist
crossing your fingers behind your body
that it won’t be enough to get you committed
again?

how long has your reality strayed from everyone else’s?

is everyone else under an illusion now?
were you picking up nonreality for twenty-seven years?

why
why
why
is this happening?
to you?

you wait

and perhaps

you never get an answer…

June 27, 2023

i wish i knew how stories started
i just happen upon the middle of a tale
and try to recite it from there
but i get tangled in the information
the exposition
and the context
and i can’t tell how much everyone else
needs

niche storytelling practices
need niche audiences
to hear them

and i am but one
person

who out there is like me?

October 3, 2021

so much
moving/packing/driving/stress
too tired to write
a real poem

so instead
i’ll convey to you
the most beautiful thing i heard today
directly after pulling in to our new home’s driveway
the final trip of the day
from across the street
at a new neighbor’s 6th birthday party:

child (somewhere between 8 and 10)
singing (while sprinting down a long driveway):
I BELIEVE I CAN FLY!!! I BE-
(the sound “oof” is heard)
(pause)
child (yelling reassuringly): I’M FINE!
(pause)
(pause)
(pause)
child (running back up the driveway toward the party)
(not quite as loud or exuberant as previously):
I believe I can fly!

September 14, 2021

stress and
apprehension and
a desire to make these poems
go somewhere.
i’m constantly plagued
haunted by
itching with the possibility
of a full story
expanding
under a reader’s nose
(what was that one book?
Green Angel?
something like that?
where it was poetry
that unfolded
into a complete story?)
and i want these Morning Poems
to tell my story,
but how can they
when my story isn’t done yet?
i may be right at the beginning
i might be hella in the middle
but one thing’s for certain:
life is messy
and stories are good or bad in how they’re told,
not the stories themselves,
especially when they’re true
honest
nonfiction.
it’s the fiction that gets the nice, neat bow at the end;
life blurs around the edges
try hard as you might
to color inside the lines
so embrace the chaos
cacophony
quandary
(and, of course, let your imagination ride out
the potential
of telling a portion of this story
your story
in this form you’ve happened upon…
maybe there is a way to tie up
the loose ends
of a fraction
of your tale.
in fiction,
of course)

August 1, 2021

i don’t know how
i knew it was approaching
the end of july
but somehow didn’t remember
next comes august,
because as soon as i see the date
my stomach turns
and my heart palpitates
and i start worrying about the summer reading i only half finished
and the schedule i need to complete
and the downhill roller coaster snowball out of control truck
that is
School.

even though it was only public school that started in august,
and i haven’t even been enrolled in a school for eight and a half years,
there’s a trauma that’s associated with
the educational system here
and it teaches us more
about how to be uncomplaining drone workers
than anything critical thinking
enjoyment of learning
sort of thing

and any amount of years of higher education
won’t help us recover
from 12+ years
of…that…

and i do call it a trauma,
though nothing about it was grossly traumatic,
because if your body reacts to a thing as a trauma
it is.

~~~

don’t know if i want to be so dramatic as to post that
implication and bias and only a half-way understanding of how our american educational system was actually built
but i do believe my therapist when she tells me that if something feels like trauma in your body, it is,
because our bodies often know more about what’s happening than our brains
which is why sometimes it’s an easy coping mechanism
to divide ourselves from our physical selves
to avoid that confrontation, that knowing,
in order to simply survive one day, one hour, one minute, one second at a time…

~~~

i would watch a movie/tv show
about a villain
who truly believes they’re the hero
and everyone around them insists they are,
they have state of the art gadgets and mentors
[which my autocorrect changed to monsters]
telling them where to fight, and whom,
and they go about their time fully believes they are doing good,
for a solid 7-8 years they feel they’ve done such good
and then, for whatever reason, they have all their gadgets and things taken away,
as well as a fair amount of their people,
but with less people insisting on their heroism,
and more interaction with the world as it really is,
they start to suspect they’ve been the villain all along,
and they get into an artistic expression as a form of therapy
to understand the awful things they’ve done
and they begin to represent the people they’ve hurt
in said artistic endeavor
as a healing,
and though they don’t expect their own personal healing will help the families of those they’re representing,
they try to raise money
(as they are still in the public eye)
to help those families.
a roller coaster ride of a hero/villain/citizen story
a true story of redemption
a cautionary tale of only listening to those on your side
(and of blindly going into the ‘family business’)
and obviously not inspired by any real person or story in our country or society
at all.