The minute we start to become “experts” at what we’re talking about

is the exact minute we become the fools we dread of becoming
no matter what we know

no matter what we think

no matter how true it feels and pulsates in our bloodstream

we have to remember

that one: if we were to look really deep inside of us

it isn’t just that we want others to accept us or deem us credible

it isn’t that we want people to bow down to us

it isn’t even that we want to get a point across

perhaps, this needing to always say the right thing and perform and inform others with our wise counsel

has more to do with the child within who is still recovering from being so irrelevant, so inadequate, so bullied, hurt, wrong, and ignored for too long.

and two: we will never know anything in its complete unbiased form. Everything we know is through the lens of our limited perspective based on our few years on this earth.

3/13, a poem

my dear, my love, my man

please take these hands and nurture them

I create, with these hands

the love I want to give you

as well as everything I fear

I’ve fallen for you like a well steeped tea

it took some warming up

but now I see

the aroma of your love, the musk, it carries me

the strength of your notes, my strength, my keeper

I’ve calmed and cared and fallen deeper and deeper

you’ve shown no other love than the love that gets steeper

the hints of your laugh and side glance after dusk

the bulk of your arms cast shadows of trust

onto the white walls that we paint together

I trace your palms with my fingers each morning

painting your calluses with my golden glazed mirror

we dream dreams of love

learn each other by the inch

and never stop falling for the one we met at the westin march night

God is greater than my confusion

Another chapter

another drive

another giant waste of time

a waste or disgrace?

time only tells

the story we face

in hindsight’s bold face

find the meaning, find the rhyme

find the mistakes, find the time

feel the change and growth – be kind

say to my face, that you wish me well

when all else was barren, Jesus defeated hell

what more could we ask? the shallow fear money

the creator of the skies is sweeter than honey

so I have grace for my past of empty pursuits

and look forward towards Love

digging up these deep roots

I fly in the wind of unruly design

and trust He is greater, the greatest of all time

real and fake

they don’t know who I am

will they ever?

they don’t really understand –

all the small talk endeavors

everyday a passing chance

to touch the souls of many

everyday a passing glance

at the demands brought forth by heresy

do we look deeper?

when will it end?

the favor is worn out

and the discipline still stands

he won’t understand

she won’t pay any mind

we won’t comprehend

all the bleeding of time


Once upon a time there was a girl who loved to be herself

she constantly met people who didn’t accept her the way she was

they would fake laugh, keeping their heads low

only paying attention when it concerned them

benefiting from her generosity

getting high off her happiness

and using every last drop of her happy heart only to leave it on the floor

But the girl persisted

she kept being herself

and made friends who allowed her to do so

she laughed with those friends

they weren’t perfect

they just saw her for who she was


the girl was wise

she knew

that it wasn’t always about finding these great friends

but that it was also about learning to love unconditionally

despite how her feelings told her to act that day

she loved the people who didn’t love her

she was still kind to them

and she felt more full doing so

her soul would live forever, and she thrived for now

and cherished this example of perfect love

set by Christ



River North

golden hour resting on the front porch

time lingers and stretches forth

sweet tea Saturday

sunflowers reach new heights as the bluebirds play

houses that have seen our ancestors’ best days


stained glass, old tears

paved walkways, canned beers

jazz from the cafe next store you can hear


a friendly hello, a passing gaze

a ripening rose, a summer phase

done with the snow, the cold, the haze


character and charm and everything mysterious

doors and windows and walls protect from the perilous


laughter and devotion and art and borrowed knowledge

these will help you grow, these will take you to college


oh the safety of staying inside

baking warm pies

listening to the faint sound of the cars going by

talking on the phone all through the night

lighting candles, folding laundry, and simply being happy to be alive.

why do you like rainstorms?


when I am alone in a cafe

and I start to hear the sky rip into two

and rain pour furiously, throwing itself into the earth with abandon

I’m comforted by the security of nature’s intense cry

it’s need to release and let go

saddened by it’s longing to be of this world

richened by it’s strength

and touched by it’s directness.”



“oh, I didn’t mean rainstorms, I mean why do you like ranch so much?”

*walks outside into rainstorm to avoid further confrontation*


I didn’t realize that my soul needed this

until I closed my eyes

and drifted away to that Aunt Martha song I’ve been playing for 2 years now

Where have you been for the past five years?
The last I heard is you took some time
You drove straight down the 405
And we both know why you left me here
But oh, how things have changed
Now I act my age
And you are older, too
So why not see this through?

I drifted

then opened my eyes eyes again, looking around me

tonight I was sleeping in an abandoned bus fit for a lost traveler

cows and goats were nearby, and the mountainside was covered with the daybreak’s golden light

I walked outside and smelled a sweet musk brought from the wind’s heavy breeze

It was fall now

summer had vanished into the dizzying daydreams I left behind

It was time to say hello to new thoughts

new expectations of who to be

new leaves, growing where the old ones have fallen off onto the ground beside my feet