I have superstition
written on my bones.
It courses through my veins,
and consumes my gypsy heart.
It controls the tricks
of my stealing ways.
If the moon is full,
It's your lucky day.
I'll leave you free,
and be on my way.

Learn to love being alone.
Learn to love who you are.
Learn to love your body.
Learn to love your mind.
Learn to love.
Just learn.

Entry ~
I know you're scared. You should be scared. You're taking a huge leap of faith leaving the only "home" you've ever known. But that home you built isn't four walls, and a solid tin roof. It's your soul. It's that thumping in your chest that keeps you awake at 2am. It's the memories you've stored, locked away tight behind steel bars, because god only knows if those bars weren't there those memories would hit you like the eye of a storm. Calm at first, sweet, but then painful, like shards of glass beneath your feet. And I know how much it hurts to leave. To walk away from so many unresolved things. To remove yourself from the lives of people you rely on, that rely on you. But part of living is knowing when to leave. It's knowing when your environment no longer suits the shell you're in. It's easy to tell when that chapter of your life begins. It starts with a slow depression easing its way in, and an unexplained restlessness. I know how much you fight it. The warning signs telling you it's time to go again. You are so afraid of being free, but your curiosity has its own needs. It was never a choice being free. It's always been a part of your destiny. I know you've felt that unexplainable presence easing your anxiety. And it's okay to breathe. It's okay to just be. To not know where you're going to be next spring. It's all a part of the plan. You need to have faith that those guiding you won't lead you astray. You are being protected, and I know you aren't religious, but when you feel like you've lost your way, fall to your knees, and pray. Look for the butterfly, and have faith that one small act of courageousness will set your life in motion. But you have to be willing to take action first. So flap your wings, and don't be afraid of the tornado that follows. You created your fear, and only you can survive in the wake of it.

I've left the desert,
and the blazing heat
for the ocean,
with the salty breeze.
I love them both,
but if I must choose,
then I pick the ocean
because it's closer to you.
I can sit by the water,
and ponder my wonder
for the world I'm in,
while you're over yonder.
I can feel you close
by the salty blue water.
I see your force
in the tiniest sand dollars.
I love the sea
with the crystal blue color,
the freshness of life,
and little baby flounders.
I'll live here forever,
and gaze at the water,
listening to thunder,
as it puts me under.
I'll fall asleep to dreams
where you're in the water,
head above surface,
treading water.
I'll see you from shore,
hear your voice
with the thunder,
but I'm too afraid
of these blackened waters.
I'm afraid if I swim,
and follow the thunder,
you'll let me slip under,
and I'll be lost forever.
I'm not ready to go,
I can't navigate
black waters,
my soul is tied here,
so keep treading water.

The rain is falling,
and the skies are gray.
That's not how it was
when we woke up.
This morning,
the sun was shining,
and you were smiling.
Then the rain came,
and washed that smile
right off your face.
Now,
the clouds are here,
and where we stand,
remains unclear.
Now,
the sun is hiding,
and the rain is falling.
Your smile is gone,
and my eyes are crying,
and I can't tell
the difference
between my tears,
and the rain falling.
Maybe,
that's because they
are one in the same.

I followed a thin blue line
between the folds of a map.
I passed by rivers wider than time,
mountains larger than life,
and traveled through valleys
tucked between canyon walls.
I have been from the east coast
of Niagara Falls,
to the west coast
of California's golden shores.
I have seen the Shenandoah River,
explored the Appalachian Trail,
and the Rocky Mountains of Colorado.
I have gazed at those
white capped mountains,
while the sun slowly set behind them,
setting fire to the sky  
with swirling oranges,
yellows, pinks, and reds.
I have fallen in love
with the open road,
with the freedom
of a full tank of gas,
and no destination.
I found my soul on this road,
but I hope to find a place
to bring this soul home.
I imagine a place,
somewhere along California's shores,
where I can rest my head,
and finally start something more.

Lay beneath the willow
beside the waters edge,
and listen to her secrets
they are spoken in the wind.

I am walking
an ancient path.
It is worn down,
by thousands of those
who walked before me.
I am honored
to know I'm following
the footsteps
of my ancestors.
I can feel their spirits
walking beside me,
guiding me,
urging me to listen
to the tales of the trees.
They are so very old,
and whisper secrets
to wandering souls.
If you listen closely,
you will hear them speak
in the ruffling leaves.
If you are quiet,
you will hear
them tell their tales
of those who walked
long before you.

My heart is your heart.
Your heart is my heart.
From adoration,
to a lifelong friendship.
From devotion,
to a tender emotion.
This love
was made for you and me.
As I walked,
this lonely highway.
I saw your face
in the sky above.
I looked beside me,
and saw you standing.
You were smiling,
and all around me,
your voice was calling.
This love
was made for you and me.

One day,
maybe,
I will get
to see you again.
If I could go
back in time,
I would go back
to that day,
so many years ago,
when we were just
children playing in
the wake of time.
Unaware,
that the fleeting
moments were oh,
so precious.
Now,
five years
have gone by.
I am here.
You are not.
Time,
it never was on our side.

I remember the first time
that I was called pretty.
I was eight years old.
I remember feeling
a bubble of insecurity
hover around me,
like an ant
under a microscope.
At eight years old,
I had experienced
my very first wave
of expectations of women
in a male dominated society.
I had no idea
that would be the first
of many by the time
I reached womanhood.
I was just a child.
I loved playing in the dirt,
and capturing bull frogs.
I was a girl
who played like a boy.
I never thought I was pretty,
not because I had
low self esteem,
but because
I was eight years old.
I was to young
to have pretty
wrapped up in my identity.
Fast forward
eight more years.
I am sixteen now.
I am no longer
playing in the dirt,
or capturing bull frogs.
I am painting my nails
bright pink,
and dying my hair
every two weeks.
I am trying to be pretty.
I am no longer
feeling the bubble of insecurity.
I am living in it
twenty four seven.
I am always concerned
with how I look,
how I act,
and what I say.
I am a girl
who is no longer a tomboy.
I am just a girl.
I no longer know
who I am,
because I am
not allowed
to be who I am.
I am expected
to sit quietly
in the corner,
straightening my hair,
perfecting my makeup,
so that a boy
who loves my body
can tell me he loves me,
and make me his wife.
Fast forward
4 more years.
I am twenty now.
I am numb
to the insecurity.
I am now expected
to live in a suburb,
raise three kids,
clean the house,
love my husband,
and my white picket fence.
I am just another girl
who is seen as pretty.
I am living a lifeless life.
I am at a crossroads
to either stay down
under the weight
of societies expectations,
or burn my picket fence
right down to the ground.
I am remembering
that tomboy I was
before I was called pretty.
I can either reconnect
with her fierceness,
or hide beyond a mask
of beige concealer.
I can either be a dove,
or I can be a phoenix.
I think
the choice is obvious.

If there is anything
I have learned,
on this journey
we call life
it is this;
time waits
for no man.
It is easy
to tell yourself
there is always tomorrow,
that traveling,
saving money,
eating healthy,
can all wait.
It amazes me,
even more,
as I travel throughout
the United States,
just how many people
think they have tomorrow.
I see strangers,
shuffle around
in supermarkets.
Oblivious to those around them.
Oblivious to what
they throw in their carts.
It is as though,
they walk through life
with eyes closed,
with a veil covering
their divinity,
their dignity.
They walk
completely unaware
of their surroundings,
of the machine
they are a part of,
and now becoming.
It is a trick of the mind,
to think that tomorrow
will always rise.
It is not a guarantee.
It will never be a guarantee,
but it is painful
for us to process death,
so we pretend
it doesn't happen,
that the choices we make
don't bring it closer
to our doorstep.
It is a pitfall
of human nature
to fear our own mortality.
It is ironic.
We are so
fearful of death,
yet make choices
that seem as though
they were placed
in front of us
by the devil himself.
I struggle to understand
how this behavior
has become
accepted,
encouraged,
particularly in a time,
of claimed "awareness".
It is time
for people
to truly wake up,
to begin the journey
of self love,
of self care.
So that they may begin
to see the beauty in death.
It is time
to choose
the healthier option,
to quit
the job you hate,
to save
every last penny,
to travel
the world without a destination,
because the time is now.
Time waits
for no man,
and tomorrow
may never come.
So begin
the journey
of reclaiming
your body,
mind & spirit.
Just start.
Just do it.
You will not regret you did.
You will regret you didn't.

We're to strong for one another.
Like land versus the sea.
Constantly clashing,
fighting.
Except I'm land,
and you're the sea.
You crash against my shores,
over and over.
Day after day,
taking pieces of me with you,
each and everytime.
Slowly,
bit by bit,
you're dragging me out to sea.
You're drowning me,
and because of it,
I love you even more.
You crash against my shores
one last time.
Finally,
I give.
My heart falls into your hands.
Just like you knew it would.
I'm yours.
Your waters are to treacherous
to navigate.
I am certain,
I'm lost at sea.

If you gaze at the skyline,
at the hour of twilight,
you will see the thin line
dividing dark from light.
In this hour of darkness,
beneath the starlight,
watch as dawn breaks,
then breaches the horizon.
In this moment at sunrise,
your mind will arrive,
to the presence of daybreak,
and the blessings of first light.
In this hour of daylight,
your mind will realize,
we must see the darkness,
in order to see the light.

there are dreams
there are memories
and their difference
lays somewhere in between

Fill your well
when love runs dry.

Time moves forward
with an unforgiving hand.

Thanks for putting up with
my mood swings and blues.

I learned how to love
by imitating you.

You get so mad
when I'm half in my head,
mostly because I write,
what I really should've said.

I may
be soft
but at least
I’m not
afraid
of my own
skin.

There are days
that I have
where I don't
want to face,
chewing,
or doing,
or running
the race.
I just want
to lay here,
head lost
in space,
but reality
comes laughing
reminding me
there's no escape,
so I tell myself
get up,
start moving,
you're being
such a waste.

Depression hits
like a tidal wave.
It comes without warning.
It leaves you drowning,
but you have to be brave,
because if you expect
to be saved,
your sadness
will be waived,
by those already drowning,
beneath their own wave.
There's nothing you can do,
but hold on,
and pray it fades by morning.

I started writing
to get the pain out.
I needed a way
to claim a voice
in a ruthless world.
I couldn't find it
any other way.
I've tried everything,
but nothing
gives me a voice like poetry.
I've found things
that numb my pain,
like whiskey
and cigarettes.
I use them still,
even since
I've found my voice.
I'm addicted
to the way
they pair with my soul.   
It's kind of like
poets and coffee,
poets go well
with whiskey
and cigarettes too.
I think us poets,
we're addicted
to pain and suffering.
I think we like
the sting of heartbreak,
the pain of death,
the clutches of addiction.
In fact,
I know we do
because these
are the sufferings
that make up our work.
I'm a poet,
just like you.
I'm addicted
to coffee,
to whiskey and cigarettes,
to pain and suffering,
to loss and heartbreak.
I think it's why
so many of us
struggle to look
into the mirror.
It's because we know
our hearts are poison.
It's because we know
we can either
be monsters or angels.
It all depends on us,
on how we want
to roll the dice.

She is an angel
with the devil inside her.
She has fire within her soul,
and if you
are lucky enough,
to see her dance
beneath the moonlight,
beware,
this is her home.
At this hour of midnight,
beneath the full moon,
she is at her strongest.
As if all the witches
that burned before her,
now stand behind her,
guiding her,
by leaving secrets,
hidden in the constellations,
and written in
the ancient
language of the stars.
She being,
the last of her kind
that can decipher
their meaning.
Watch her
as she dance's
in the moonlight,
and see her ancestors
dance beside her.
She'll spin,
and leave you tranced,
because she knows,
you cannot fight her beauty,
or the magic,
hidden inside her gyspy eyes.

What a world it would be
if the moon were the sun,
if the sky was the land,
or if darkness never won.
What a world it would be
if the dreamers never dreamed,
if the losers always lost,
or if the poets knew of fun.
What a world it would be
if Alice never fell,
if her looking glass was solid,
or if her heart was icy cold.
What a world it would be
if backwards meant forwards,
if humans never settled,
or if God's word was blurred.
What a world it would be
if everything were backwards,
if Alice was happy,
or if the hatter wasn't mad.
What a world it would be
if right meant wrong,
if white was black,
or if politicians knew of love.
What a world it would be
if the killers gave flowers,
if the lovers really loved,
or if love would alway last.
It be a wonderland of sorts,
a world made of nonsense,
but it be worth it to have
if sadness meant happiness,
if beggars gave cheers,
or if hatred meant kindness.
It be a world I could live in
if acceptance reigned on,
if everything meant nothing
there'd be nothing to con.
We would all be the same
nobody would be wrong.
If we lived in a wonderland
we would all move along.
We'd be lost in our heads
singing our own little song.

I am so honored
that I am the one
who gets to love
your tattered soul.