1. Asking

    What is it about that word. Please. It feels so fickle on my tongue, pleading. I hesitate to speak the syllable that leaves me vulnerable, in a place of receiving - both good and bad. 

    But, maybe in the the asking we begin to realize how we are awake. We press into hope, letting go of all that straw we had stuffed into spots that never fit. The scratching really isn’t worth filling the windy draft. The light begins to filter through the holes.

    In the cold air, we watch sunlight dance. We whisper. It is good. 

     

  2. "Forget what they told you and what you began to tell yourself. Your heart is beating. There is breath in your lungs. You are a trumpet and cello and you were never made to be silent."
     

  3. Rollerblades

    I remember the yellow laces and the way they tucked in, just below the pink snaps, cradling my feet in a cocoon of plastic, tying my body to the wheels that made even flying seem possible. They were rollerblades. They were my first. At age 8, I had decided that what I needed more than anything else were these, the ones from the sporting good store. I saved my money hard, all those crumpled dollar bills stuck in a tin till I could save those shoes from their cardboard box on the walls of anonimity. In reality, they were rescuing me.
     
    I was the girl with the gangly legs, ready for adventure, trying to find her place. I wanted the impossible. That summer, wheels became wings and nothing seemed too far.
     
    Well, one day, I put those blades away, when the weather left notes of frozen warnings. I went indoors. I pushed my nose again chilled glass. It was winter. Over the years, the seasons changed, and I grew and outgrew. I put on other shoes with height, trying to reach some sort of new horizon. I’d outgrown the counter sink and it’s red stool. Wheels seemed impractical, illogical, and maybe even dangerous.
     
    I called my mom last year asking about those long lost friends. I had a cul-de-sac. I wanted to brush them off. But, like so many things, they were gone, traded in for space and forgotten. Since then, I have a corner dedicated to hoping for return, to be again taken by the wings of two rollerblades and a belief in the impossible. 
     

  4. Ocean

    It was alive. And, like sand, still slipped through our fingers. I’ll cherish those moments. I’ll remember the sun-kissed, barely chapped, skin stinging each time we went under, emerging glowing. I’ll come back without you and listen to the wind. And, it will whisper words that only souls can hear. My shoes will come off and my feet will dance. The wave will come again. Praising. 

     

  5. Fireflies

    Seven days ago I sat on a porch much later than a normal Sunday evening in what could only be labeled an intervention. Wine was poured, fireflies danced, and I cried over the same things I’ve been holding onto for years. One of the most terrifying things is recognizing unhappiness and being so afraid to change because it would require the vulnerability to actually make space for all the parts of myself and trust that is enough. Making space that fits me - believing that enough is possible - well, it’s much easier to look at what I could do for others and self medicate with comfort food. And, yet, when the sun is slowly sinking, and my list of un-dones and have-nots threatens to suffocate, it’s like fighting a battle when I’ve already emotionally spent everywhere else. We continue to work on this. We continue to struggle. And, sometimes we listen to that voice inside that seems to say, “Please believe in me.”