She’s looking up at me.

Careful, watchful, brilliant blue, green, gold.

Mind churning with silent observations she won’t truly understand until her heart’s been broken.

She’s learning the way I breathe deep,

How my shoulders tense,

Where my eyes wander,

What makes my eyes dim and brighten back again.

She sees me quiet, curled up on my corner of the couch;

armor dismantled.

She hears my real laugh, belly deep;

worries forgotten.

She knows my love, arms thrown wide;

ready to catch her.

She knows I am safe, a harbor for tears ripped open;

when the world outside rages against her.


She reminds me of my place here,

that words matter,

actions matter…

that I matter.

She’s looking up at me…
And there is no other choice,


but bravery now.




I am… 

I am both remedy and curse.
I am the choice between.
I am both laughter and rage.
I am sewn together with grace.
I am both the rising and the falling.
I am relentless to a fault.
I am both storm and safe harbor.
I am in search of my own.


Dear Sir … 

Dear Sir,
I will not wither and conform to fit inside the walls of the “safe haven” you built from cheap mirrors and glass.
I will not diminish into embers to become a more manageable warmth for your lonely nights.
I will not be undone and refashioned so as to sit politely by your side and be judged.

I will defy.

I will unfurl burning wings.

And I will blaze….
Until I find the one who does not fear the wild things.

The one that has always longed for these flames.