Your Time Belongs to You (A Poem)

(…that I definitely didn’t write for myself, because I needed to hear it.)

Your time belongs to
only you.
So take it easy,
slow and steady,
and stop
and breathe
if you need to.
It’s okay to
just be
or to not
be okay.
The rest of the world –
it can wait.

Staring Down a Busy Week

We all know the feeling:

It’s Monday morning. You wake up, crawl out of bed, find the caffeine, open your laptop, and there it is – the list. Or maybe that’s just me. I make a weekly to-do list in Excel. It’s color-coded. At any rate, you look at your list and think, “Oh man, there just aren’t enough hours…”

And that’s me, this week.

My color-coded list is full of time-consuming tasks, and I don’t know how I’m going to manage. But I will. I’ve done it before. And I’m excited about the work I’m doing (including my short story for June!), so I’m grateful. But man, I wish I had more hands and more time.

Don’t we all?

Weeks like this remind me to be thankful for the quieter times, and to really soak in those still, carefree moments. I’ll get back there eventually.

But for now, to work! Happy creating, y’all!

Want (A Poem)

I want to be
wild –
to roar at the sky
and sing with the wind,
to bloom alongside the flowers
and reach like the trees.
I want to be
free –
to think in cycles
and centuries,
and dance with the darkest memories,
and shine like the brightest stars.
I want to
see –
to feel it all,
hold it all,
to cradle it
here in the palm of my hand,
and know that I know
so little,
and everything.

The Monday Special (A Poem)

In last night’s pajamas,
throw together:
Ambition, with a dash
of anxiety.
Just a sprinkle of
focus,
and a pinch
of “I got this!”
Add a cup of coffee.
(Make that two, actually…)
Shake and mix well.
Serve with a side
of “Oh, hell,
I forgot about that…”
The Monday Special:
Order up!

Nothing (A Poem)

They say,
“Nothing ventured, nothing gained,”
and knowing I can choose,
I’d certainly rather venture,
even if it means I lose.
See, it so happens that
I know a little something
about nothing,
that sad default,
that frustrating non-finish line.
Nothing:
What I say when I can’t find the words.
Nothing:
What I do when the world is too much.
Nothing:
What changes when I don’t.
Nothing,
safe though it may be,
just isn’t enough
for me.

Don’t Bet Against Me (A Poem)

When I was born
six weeks too early, too tiny,
and before I even had a name,
they took bets on whether I’d make it.

I made it.

I’ve always made it,
every moment of every day,
even when I shouldn’t have,
when I should have failed,
I’ve made it.
And I’ve made it good.

So I tell people:
Don’t bet against me.
Underestimate me and
just wait and see
what happens.

Because I made it, and I’ve made it, and I’ll make it.

I am my own hero,
my own knight in shining armor,
my own deus ex machina,
my own miracle.
I am unstoppable,
unflappable,
unembarrassed,
unashamed,
and unconcerned with those who’d doubt me.

I made it.

Even when it’s impossible (nothing’s impossible),
when it’s too dark to see (there’s always light),
when the game seems lost (life’s not a game):

Whatever you do,
don’t bet against me.

Fragments (A Monday Poem)

Of course the big picture is beautiful.

It’s made up of a million little miracles –
small victories
and delicate pieces.

Beautiful all on their own,
these fundamental fragments,
and meaningful
not because they are part of something larger.
Just because they are.