







a diary of words, paper and other ephemeral things
not just debris
from the storm
fallen twigs and
forgotten string
small dwelling
for growing
found the ground
from its
sky-kissed perch
oh, to scoop it up
to hold this proof
to dampen the structure
with saltwater tears





opportunistic
robin plays bath splashing in
puddles of fresh rain
I know you’re upset
But here
I carved a space
In my heart
Meet me there
We’ll have tea
Not too strong
So we can still
go to bed early
We’ll talk about the
meaning of
Our matching fingerprints
You scribble tears on your face
With blue crayon
They fall, rain from your cheeks
Splash into your cup
Allow me to drink it for you
It’s been long enough
You don’t have to do this alone

Episode five of the podcast Living Practice is live 💕 catch it here or find it on your favorite podcast platform.
tended the garden of this mind
brains weren’t extraordinary
I cling to the title:
gifted
press the label onto my shirt
hand lingers above my breast
delusion
the tag tied round my toe in the morgue
it’s all I ever was…until, you know
I wasn‘t
plummeting grades, marks don’t matter
blackout nights, herded by strangers
bra stuffed with money
and tear-stained fights
this body became
the sacrifice;
payment on the altar of
expectation
color me surprised
you roll your eyes
not impressed
tell me this
is it enough yet?

Feet pull me out the door
And wind runs fingers
through my hair
It’s familiar:
this soft, electric air
between the storms
Damp earth sinks beneath me
I fall into lush moss
and vibrant greens
alive with rain
I see myself here
reflected back
by tree roots
and budding leaves
There is family here
in heavy water drops
and curious bird eyes

Where it began: stilt houses
Skeletal remains emerging
from algae-green pools
Awe blooming at heart level
for faded places, forgotten
I whisper “thank you for open eyes”
now I lovingly see
crooked barns
crumbling factories
boarded-up businesses
debris piles left behind
wild-torn houses
places hold people, hold stories…
and now no one is left
to tend to these places,
they were once a flurry of
motion, aliveness, everyday mundanity
now no one bothered
to even tear them down
burn remains
memorialize their time here
honor what was

Creativity begets creativity. If you find yourself “stuck,” find another way to get creative…lower the stakes and have fun. It clears the channel.
“Stuck” is the framework because you’re caught in the loop of expectation and pushing. All it does is crowd you with nonsense.
Nothing will flow if you don’t keep the channel open. Creative play is basically inspirational housekeeping.






