Slippery thoughts…

Slippery thoughts…

And I will rise in the morning
Like the sun always does,
Carrying foggy notions of shadows
In my head,
Leaving the white sheets wrinkled
On the bed,
Walking into the fresh rays of light
That make the morning dew
Shimmer and shine,
And my blue eyes glue to the new
Blue skies,
And I ask the sky questions
And find answers in my mind,
Where the shimmering shadows are
Bright and bold and fine,
My thoughts taste like water turned
To wine
I think, to myself
And I bite my lip to taste
The sweet brine,
And remind myself that these
Slippery thoughts are mine
All mine,
And I could share them all
If I’d like,
Or I could hold onto them,
All these slippery thoughts
Streaming through my mind
Soaking up my slippery time,
Or I could ring them out
For some to see,
When these thoughts get too hot
To be held by just me-
Yes, I could ring them out
And let little bits drip
Like drops from
The sea,
And let my thoughts wet
Your lips
Like they’re doing to me-
Yes, I could ring them out,
Perhaps into a glass to drink
For when you’re dry and thirsty
And you need something like me
To wet your parch,
Something to drink,
Drinking the thoughts that I think,
And I will sail across the grass
Like the wind always does,
Slipping through the dew
And taking off my dress
That I made with the fabric of
Thoughts I’ve undressed,
Sliding into the patterns of
Slippery notions
And sipping away at my thought-
Provoked potions,
Onto the slithering shadow of a
That tastes salty and sweet,
But perhaps it’s just the summer nights
And scorching heat
That give my slippery thoughts
This kind of heart and beat
I think, to myself
And I take another step to feel
The skin on my feet,
And remind myself
There is life
In the slippery thoughts
I always seem to think,
And if I don’t slow them down
They could sink,
Or I could let them go full speed-
All these
Slippery thoughts
Swimming through my mind,
Spinning and twisting and all intertwined.

is it me or is it you…

is it me or is it you…

If my light is blinding you,
Please look the other way.

If my warmth makes you sweat,
Go stand under the rain.

If my smile is too large to grasp,
Go find a smaller grin.

If my words are too bold and bright,
Go talk to someone dim.

If my walk makes you nervous,
Then you should take a seat.

If my talk makes you anxious,
Stop listening to me.

If my eyes are too starry,
Go look upon the sky.

And if, then, you still think of me,
You should ask yourself why.

I am the woman…

I am the woman…

You cannot stop me


I am the woman who pushes

The wind

And controls the storm.

You cannot break me


I am the woman whose roots

Are buried

Deep below your feet.

You cannot dim me


I am the woman whose light

Is that

Of a million suns and more.

You cannot blind me


I am the woman who sees

Every ripple

In every rippling sea.

You cannot force me


I am the woman who heightens

The surf

And crashes on shore.

You cannot cage me


I am the woman who speaks

To birds

While the world is asleep.

You cannot hush me


I am the woman who rolls

The thunder

And makes it roar.

You cannot resist me


I am the woman who stirs

The air

And the moments you breathe.

You cannot forget me


I am the woman who paints

The sky

And creates my world.

We are curious creatures…

We are curious creatures…

I sit here and contemplate with the thought that we are all wild animals. We are creatures. We are beasts. Simply running off of animalistic impulse and instinct. Dancing and flowing or pushing and pulling with the forces of nature that stir all around. At times we forget that the forces are wild. So is the nature. So am I. And so are you. We’re wild creatures that have been tamed, seeking ways to release our inhibited wild nature.

I sit here and toy with the ideas of why we do what we do and how we perceive that which is intangible but so clearly there. We have this way of picking up on things that we can’t actually touch but can see, can’t point out but can feel, can’t hold yet can’t deny. We dance with feelings and shifts in the air. Like animals, like wild creatures, we feel all of the energies that stir. We feel each other’s thoughts like we feel the sun pouring in on our skin. We feel another person’s wild instincts setting in like how we feel a hard shift in the wind. We pick up on each other like animals, like wild creatures, like beasts.

Continue reading “We are curious creatures…”

a stone-paved road…

a stone-paved road…

I want to see the cracks in the stones that have been there for hundreds of years.

I want to see their depth and dried up tears.

I want to be the one to notice the flower poking out from the long-time broken slabs.

I want to walk across the cracks and slabs

and feel the presence of my grace.

I want to leave a trail of little pieces of me.

I want to leave a trace.

-Not to be found

-Not to be crowned

But to show another way.

A way that blazes through the broken bits,

that were never really broken,

without hesitation

down a stone-paved road that leads to your destination.

Taken by night…

Taken by night…

I wish to be taken by the night

to let her show me what I like

let her spin her web

through the gaps between my breath

and listen to her whisper

as I get warmer

lingering deeper into her depths

and let her take my hand

and spin me til I’m spun

plucking the words from my head

one by one

and watching as I come undone.

I wish to be taken by the night

to let her sweep me into the rapture of intrigue and delight

let her take the lead

and dip me in the dance

and listen to her whisper

as I get closer

falling deeper into her trance

and let her guide my eyes

and show me what I like

stripping the limits I’d once seen

sight by sight

and watching as I turn to light.

I wish to be taken by the night

to let her show me what I’m like

let her take me for a ride

through the depths of dark and light

and listen to her whisper

as I get nearer

riding into where twilight resides

and let her shine my light

and teach me hours versus moments

Enticing all of my wishes

bit by bit

and watching as I become all of it.

Must be the reason of the witch…

Must be the reason of the witch…

We will walk with the many or the few, on the roads that were given no names.

To dead-end streets. And cul-de-sacs. And loop-de-loos.

Off of highways and off of beaten tracks and down every dirty path, we will ride the yellow lines as we please.

Be it swerving from lane to lane, or running barefoot in the middle and in the way, or bumming a ride in and off to the side.

We will ride, we will walk, we will dance but not hide.

We will call out your name just as you drive by, and when you look back we’ll be sure to disperse with the dark of the night.

To places unknown, perhaps roads unseen.

We will follow the signs of such named roads, only to tear the last bit of them down, and rip the posts from out of the ground.

We will ensure to never follow or get swept by those forged signs no more.

We will walk across pavement and soften or shake it, we’ll crack it and break it and then we’ll remake it.

We will make our own signs and place them where we please, or maybe we’ll toss them to the hands that wave with the breeze, or we’ll send them in bottles out to the seas.

We will ride as fast as we want, or even just as slow.

Speed has never been an issue, because we are the pace and this is our show.

We will hold out our thumbs, but that could all be a trick.

Upon unknown roads with names that only we would be told, we will float and we will linger and we will never show you a way that you could ever call quicker.

Be it up-hill or down, or straight across or all around, in circles and through round-abouts, we’ll show you the way.

We will walk with the many or the few, or we will walk alone or we will walk with you.

You decide, you follow the signs.

But only if you’ve ripped them up from out the ground, and are following the rhythm of your very own sound.

The one that beats inside of your heart, found on the road or out of the lines or inside the lanes or resting between the window’s panes.

We will run across pavement with all of our toes.

Over painted tracks and little stones, on all of the roads that have ever or have never been known.

Upon all of the roads that were given not but a name, we will walk along them, and they’ll never remain just quite the same.


as mesmerizing as the stars…

as mesmerizing as the stars…

When do you find who you truly are?

Is it when you look up and gaze upon the stars?

Or is it when you see the fire of the sun setting and burning before your eyes?

Is it when you’re crying in the silence of all of the answers that hide in plain sight?

Or is it when you’re belly full of laughter and a cocktail of love and friends and bliss?

Is it when you find yourself feeling cold and left alone under the darkness of the night?

Or is it when you find the light and the switch that controls if the light is dim or bright?

Is it when you feel completely pulled and pushed to your limits?

Or is it when you discover that you have no limits, you’ve never had limits, and limits are no such thing?

Is it when you’re in the depths of despair and dancing with a broken heart?

Or is it when you’re riding high on the wings of your dreams in a sky you’ve never before seen?

Is it when you’ve been knocked down and you’re not sure how to get back up?

Or is it when you get back up and see that your legs shake less and carry you much stronger than before?

Is it when you see your reflection in the ripples of the calm sea?

Or is it when you float upon the sea and get swept away and see 13 shooting stars?

When do you find who you truly are?

Is it when you see a glimpse of yourself in the shooting stars?

Or is it when you see that you yourself are as mesmerizing as they are?

When do you find who you truly are?

Perhaps it is when you find that you are far, far beyond what you would ever think you are.


a wild woman on Wednesday morning…

a wild woman on Wednesday morning…

And so I ran and I ran and I ran. I ran through the dewy grass of the yard and into the back of the wood. I ran and I ran and I ran. Like a wild woman would. Like I would.

I threw the papers down to the ground from the grip of my left hand. I threw down the jar of my last sips of bitter black coffee from the grip of my right hand. I threw it away and I ran. I ran and I ran and I ran.

Continue reading “a wild woman on Wednesday morning…”

I am a woman who slays the definition of what you think that is…

I am a woman who slays the definition of what you think that is…

I am a woman who slays the idea and expectation of what you think that is.

I will devour all my desires and let the juices run down my chin.

I am a woman who dances with lions and hunts with wolves.

I am playing with the fire of a thousand plus a thousand suns.

I will strike you down with my blow, and lift you up with my grace.

I am a woman aware of and confident in my strengths.

I am a woman who shows you what you once could not see.

I will show you the darkness of the night so to bestow the light of me.

I am the darkness that lurks in the night.

I am the light creating the day.

I will show you what it’s like to dance with the rapture of ecstasy.

I am ecstasy.

I am everything.

I will reflect bad and good and all that’s in between.

I am a woman covered in mud and dirt yet shining brighter than a silver lining.

I am a woman who surrenders to the pull of the wild and the stream.

I will enjoy my ride and I might try to take you with me.

I am a woman wearing the blood of the moon.

I am on fire and burning brighter than the sun.

I will blind you if you keep the veil over your eyes.

I am a woman who will swallow you whole if it feels right.

I am a woman who can’t be held back and is always three steps ahead.

I will slay the definition of what you think a woman is, and show you a real one instead.