I wear a paper crown and a blanket as a robe

I bare my big front teeth with a grin

My voice echoes when I roar

My feet stomp carelessly, shaking the floor


I am not a king, possibly a prince?

I am wild and unruly and untamed

I am loud and rude and mean

Yet my fur is soft and my heart is clean


I am Max - or Maxine

King - or prince

of the Wild Things

To be loved is to be known

wholly, completely, and unfalteringly known

to be naked in front of one another


not with skin, but with one’s soul

Exposed and raw, shameful and afraid;

Beautiful and flawed, unabashed and free


To be loved is to be known,

Achingly, deeply, painfully known

to venture far past thorns and briars,


into dense woods and icy mountains.

To cut and scrape and climb your way through,

to wander into the unknown,

to shiver under blankets of snow.


To be loved is to be known,

to search the vast depths of ocean and sky and earth

looking for you-


-looking for the good and the bad too.

Attempting to harness, not capture, your heart.


Attempting to feel-


-the ever-changing seasons-


-of your soul.

I may not be gifted in painting
I may not be taught, like the masters, how to ‘properly’ create

But with my words, unsteady and scribbled, flawed and broken,
I paint canvases beyond sight.
I imagine art more beautiful than any Mona Lisa,
I create masterpieces without ever dipping my brush.

My craft is greatly imperfect, cluttered, and poorly expressed,

But still I attempt to write the words that sit waiting deep within my chest

Often I do not understand what I write,

but I must allow my fingers to scrawl each thought

For each word, each story,
is an expression of myself;

a world in all its beauty and ugliness,

and I must share.

Even if no one is listening.

I’ve been climbing
up a winding oak

It’s stump twisting and turning
I held tightly to my rope

I journeyed past the vast wooden trunk,
past tiny ant colonies, and lady bug beetles

I made my way up to the top
past thorny branches that felt like needles

I found a canopy of leaves and sunshine
as I climbed further up the tree

But my foot slipped, my heart skipped,
and I dared to look below me

I had pictured below for so long,
Imagining an endless pit of doom

How surprised I felt when instead I saw
grass and flowers in full bloom

I stopped climbing then and just let go,
No longer in need of a tight rope

I spent so long climbing
up that old oak

I forgot to feel the breeze around me,
to listen when my heart spoke.