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Note: I posted this a while ago (actually May 30, 2012), but then I unpublished it because it made some people I know in real-life nervous. I’m publishing this again because it’s National Poetry Month, and, frankly, because I can. I’ve spent the last few years making apologies for my DNA-level desire to write. I don’t want to do that anymore. I don’t think this is the best poem ever written, but it’s mine. It’s a part of me. And I like it.


1. If I had a knife,
I’d slice those words out of your throat.
I’d be careful; the cut would be clean.

2. If fucking up is a privilege,
Then it’s a privilege I’ll take.
I’ll make a giant mess.
I’ll leave footprints in the flour.

3. I’m scrawling this on a wall.
I don’t have time to be civilized.
If I were you, I’d be easy right now.
I grow wilder every day.

6/33 – Part 1

Help me to forgive myself and move forward.
To engage myself in the work:
To sweat and hurt
To cower in fear
To try.
Because sometimes it feels like I’m dragging my own dead weight.
Sometimes it feels like my deformities have become monstrous.

6/33- Part 2

I can’t see you anymore;
Too much shit is in the way.
We have already done so much damage.
We’re both new people.
New hearts, new skins,
Brains lungs livers.
We’ve both done things.
And we don’t know how
to make our way back home.

My Aunt Belinda passed away today. She was a sweet, strong, nurturing woman. She endured for years in a body that made it difficult for her to do the things she wanted to do.  I hope she is flying now.

Time isn’t money for me. Instead, money equals time. Money buys me the time to pursue the things that I’m most passionate about. Money can buy a babysitter for a few hours. Money can pay a house cleaner.

So, my latest money-making ventures have absolutely nothing to do with writing. Because, honestly, there isn’t space in my life or in my mind for the kind of writing I want to do right now.

I’m a perfectionist. And I can’t create the best when I feel like my mind and body are overwhelmed with a million tasks.

But we aren’t done – writing and I. I can’t put it down permanently – it’s in my DNA. It’s just that we can’t really be together right now. We’re on a break.

Since this year is winding down, I’d like to write down a few of my goals for the incoming year. The time I’ve spent writing lately has been for other people. While I am glad (very, very glad) to have that money coming in, I want to invest more time in writing for myself, too.

So that’s what these little blurbs have been. I’m trying to get my mind back into the rhythm of creating. That means showing up at my laptop even when I have nothing to say.

I want to blog regularly. I want to remember that not everything I write has to be epic and monumental and perfect. It can be small things that make up the picture of who I am and what my life is right now. I would like to branch out and look for writing work more. I would like to feel more peaceful when it comes to my affairs. I’d like to make some more money. I would like to get better and better at parenting for Cameron and Grace. That’s what I want.

I guess I am part of the 47 percent.

When I was pregnant with my daughter, I lost my (extremely expensive) COBRA insurance because we paid it literally a day late. I couldn’t buy my own insurance because to insurance companies, then-fetus Grace was a preexisting condition.

I was about 8 months pregnant. Huge. Emotional. This meant I couldn’t use the OBGYN I’d been with for several years. I couldn’t deliver at the hospital where I thought I was going to deliver. I pleaded with the human resources lady at my former job. She could have reinstated my insurance. She didn’t.

I cried. I explained. I called her a bitch. I had no choice but to use Maryland’s free health insurance for children and pregnant women. With it, the visits to my new midwife and delivery at a different hospital were free. I’m so thankful that it was there for us. It made things less terrifying.

Now that I am slowly (oh-so-slowly) building my freelance writing career and my husband is finding work as his own as an architect, we have more funds, we pay for our own health insurance and we pay a lot of taxes.

That’s what should happen in society. You fall down, you get help, you get back up.

Jesus Christ is sewn into my dna

I was born to a family of women dreamers

beautiful and flawed

like me

we teach our babies / have taught our babies

the only love we knew

following this path

out of many

out of many


but this is ours

we love this god

and though they may run

our children, our husbands, our lovers

so will they