I think I might be regretting having boxed myself in to one theme with the name of this blog. I don't know that I really want to write about my anxiety so much as to escape it, or at least cope with it through my writing. I wanted to write to share something, but how to narrow it down … Continue reading Working Title
syllables slide like cymbals crashing, smooth into the echoes of themselves-- cadence of tongue like the beat of a drum keeping time, sounding structure for this enchanted poem-song -B.
11:36 am my emotions are shape-shifters, changing and charging without warning, morphing, taking on alien form I cannot fight or flee They own me, hold me hostage. They wreck the sanctity of being. 12:45 pm I have a voice you cannot hear and anyway, I do not speak enough, or ever. I … Continue reading Yesterday’s Thoughts That Won’t Make Poetry
Hell-bent on repentance I dug up my past -a stack of confessions in black ink and metaphors- my religion, true and false, unstructured and incomplete. Forgotten in the pages was a decade-old whispered poem to a future lover, the writer of words and dreamer of dreams who could make me believe his theories … Continue reading Unwritten Poetry
Rainy days are the best. The sounds of the raindrops are like a melodious army charging against the roof, drumming my senses to attention. The rain comforts me. It can even come raging with winds or crashing thunder and lightning; I'll take it all. Oh, but only if I don't have to be out in … Continue reading Blissful Beginnings, Unfinished Endings
One week ago I had absolutely no intention of ever starting a blog. So how did I get here? The Story: I quit my "real" job in December (but that's a story for another time). Since then, the orders for my little sign-making business have been at an all time low. My boyfriend (have serious … Continue reading Now What?
When I was six years old I had a Raggedy Ann and Andy comforter set with matching curtains. As I recall, they were brightly colored and cheery. I adored them, but that is not the reason they are etched forever into my memory- I can't forget them because my first anxiety attack centered around them, or more specifically the making of my bed.