Individuation

I keep returning to the girl in the grave. Gray and without breath. With armor to protect her heart and masks to wear for any occasion. She knows the intrinsic ways of each role she is expected to play. I resurrect her when I fear love. She knows how to get through this life.

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Discovery

I will not make my children be second-hand owners of their spiritual lives Itching and squirming in it-fitting hand-me-down values, Tripping over hems left long to conceal all things and restrict the feet from wandering, Suffocating under high collars drawn up to keep the throat and it’s expressions muffled in subservience masquerading as respect.

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Orion Is A Mother

Orion will teach me the answers to questions I ask through chattering teeth. Diffused along the smoky veil of my condensed breath, diluted among the ragged inhale of subsiding sobs. Barefoot under the thin shadow of a moonlit dogwood tree I endure the sharp winter air. My small body squatted, legs tucked inside my pound…

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Push Pull Me

Below are a couple of poems about ways we self-protect and “pull” people to feel a certain way about us. I have done these, felt these and seen them play out around me. I hope reading about them sheds light on our relationships in a way that acts as a window to let grace in…

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To Be a Mother is to Be Constantly Interrupted

Of half-formed thoughts, of coitus interruptus, It’s heading to the living room and then being called to the kitchen It’s constantly having other’s wants and needs privileged over yours. Don’t read into this though. I am not complaining

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