FINGERS CROSSED—
our bodies shaped
as hope,
or as deceit
it just depends
where your hand is twisted—
in front of your heart,
or behind it.
what happiness do you hope for
what pleasure do you lie for
and where’s the crisscrossed hand
that you hold close to your chest?
May 9
May 9, 2026 at 1:46 PM UTC
Why am I trying
to fix the trust you broke
I searched
“How to repair
A relationship when trust is broken.”
And all of the websites were from the perspective
of the person who committed the offense,
Not the one who got hurt.
“Apologize profusely, admit what you did, ask for forgiveness, tell them how you’ll change” —
None of this advice was for me.
That’s when I realized that I shouldn’t
Be the one who is looking this up.
This isn’t my offense to pay penance for
No one on the internet told me
It was my job to fix this.
In fact, they all had quite the opposite approach
Then I googled
“How to make a plan to fix a broken relationship”
Same idea, different words
(Because you can’t trust the algorithm, or can you?)
Because I wanted a step-by-step—
A sequential process that I could analyze,
proofread, and formulate perfectly so that everything is pieced back together. and then I’d propose the plan to you and cross my fingers that you agree to it
And yeah, I absolutely should be the one to make the new rules
But as far as fixing what was lost, that has to be on you.
Because you were the one who broke this
You told me blatant lies, often
When I asked if I could trust you.
You make excuses, like
I should be proud that you weren’t worse
I’m not proud
I’m embarrassed
Of you
For myself
For the happiness I thought we were beginning
to bask in
And I’m the one who tries to fix it:
The happiness
Myself
And you
Because I want it back
But I didn’t want it like this.
Nov 28, 2023
Nov 28, 2023 at 9:12 AM UTC
I am from libraries,
from shiny hardcovers and worn paperbacks.
I am from the neighbor’s squeaky swingset,
Green seats, rusted chains,
The setting of a thousand shared stories and kingdoms.
I am from the cottonwoods,
The soft seeds soaring in the Kansas wind to tickle our noses.
I’m from mega-churches and minivans,
From Celinda’s small town and David’s many neighborhoods.
I’m from private-school indoctrination that kept me “in”
And a hidden identity that kept me “out,”
From bubble-wrapped protective prejudice and a distrust of progress and change.
I’m from the grief of spiritual deconstruction
And the joy of rebirth and new knowing.
I’m from suburban Wichita and lush Ohio valleys and downtown Oklahoma City,
From spicy, hearty chili and soft, sweet cinnamon rolls.
I am from the love and relief in my husband’s embrace,
From the choice to be who I needed when I was younger.
I am the new generation in my family — the safe space in the organized chaos.
I am from the hurt of conformity and the honesty of rebellion.
I flip through the leaves of my literature,
I listen to the leaves of the cottonwoods,
And I reflect and I learn and I accept
That where I’m from is nowhere near as lovely as where I’ll go to next.
Jan 15, 2023
Jan 15, 2023 at 4:27 PM UTC
As our city breathes its crowded air, a little boy tries to stifle a heaving sob so that his booze-furious father won’t hear his lack of 11-year-old testosterone and teach him another hard lesson about being a man; six miles northeast of the boy, an undergraduate studying to be a teacher breathes deeply with self-satisfaction because eight months ago to the day he made the decision to stop inhaling and exhaling the skunk-smelling substance that dulled his own mind and hurt his chances of sharpening minds younger than his.
The two of them don’t know yet, but each stifled or satisfied breath brings them closer together, and they’ve needed each other for months—after the young man earns a diploma and the young boy earns his first locker: both will teach each other to feel proud; both will motivate each other to grow stronger; both will, unknowingly, lead each other to a resolute vitality without fear or shame or guilt because
both
will
breathe
and feel whole
and feel empowered
and feel strong
and feel ready
to breathe wonderfully deep again and again and again.
Nov 23, 2019
Nov 23, 2019 at 2:24 AM UTC
the true Great Teacher
lets you see
who you are
Rather than
what one book says
you should be
Jul 2, 2019
Jul 2, 2019 at 12:28 AM UTC
Since when
was my reputation
more important
than my happiness?
Since when
were your morals
more significant
than my peace of mind?
And since when
did you get to decide
how my character
would develop?
Jul 2, 2019
Jul 2, 2019 at 12:01 AM UTC
please!
i wish you would expose me
for the brave comment
for the snide remark
for the gentle mention
for the valiant mistake
that i am.
Jun 30, 2019
Jun 30, 2019 at 7:10 PM UTC
It’s hard
to make people
empowered
if you don’t
make people
valued and loved
first
Jun 30, 2019
Jun 30, 2019 at 6:19 PM UTC
i think
the beds in heaven
will be the same
shade of tender pink
as the peonies
you surprised
my restlessly happy heart
with tonight.
and when i lie down
in the beds of heaven,
i think
my restfully blissful heart
will crave
my sweeter,
softer,
earthly gift.
Jun 23, 2019
Jun 23, 2019 at 8:51 AM UTC
we finally went swimming today,
(our first time
in two years)
and the whole time just felt
like a metaphor of
us—
you flipped me,
dunked me,
grabbed me underwater,
told me to clutch
“that cute little nose”
and hold my breath—
so that i could be
brave enough to try
something exciting
that i was afraid of.
you do this every day;
today,
in the water,
it was much more clear.
Jun 20, 2019
Jun 20, 2019 at 11:20 PM UTC