Tears of maybe

Sitting near holding my tears

Telling myself there’s not a thing I should fear

Wishing I could kick my own ass into gear

“Just move” I whisper to myself

Spiraling up and down and all around

Take a breath *sigh.. oh, that helped

Breath in breath out

What was I doing again

Tears hot and heavy still in the corners of my eyes

What just happened

How fast the sadness and confusion comes and goes

A piece here

A piece there

My heart is aching

My spirit misplaced

Work has yet to be started

Messy space

Tired and exhausted

Trying to keep steady with the pace

Cold sweat my thoughts do cause

When did I pause

To be able and willing

changing flaws

Forgetting …….. what was I doing again

Oh well

Wipe the tears

Sit up straight

Just get through the day


Too many words

Placing themselves within

Hidden away

For when to begin

A gnawing constant

That screams and shouts

Please Lord God ….

Keep my heart.

For today

Maybe I might just fall apart.


Tears of Growth

Living Growth

“Her wounds of silent tears
bubble overflowing;
showing those of us who love her,
That her sweetly fierce soul is
forever growing”.  ~sweetlyfiercesoul

A Gift was Found to Be…..

We all possess amazing and truly mighty gifts.

We can master many talents with knowledge

Yet our hearts continue to achieve in vain

Still longing for a resinating musical

sound we before have not heard

When I found myself as a gift

I found the fruit of my self-control

Being Self aware

In Love

Gave me the note in need

That sweet sound

That I myself am the gift meant to be seen

You are a Gift

Shine in all Glory!

An Airplane, A Home


My parents divorced by the time I was 8 moths old and my brother 4 years. I’m sure many others know the struggles of growing up in a life such as this.

For me, I believe this defined who and what I became as an adult. My parents, of course, would say, “just get over it already”(they tend to go the negative route), but I don’t think they truly understand what it was like for such small children to be put on a plane alone,, fly across the country and the impact it created for my growth into adulthood.

My father lived in California and my mother lived in Wisconsin. At least twice a year we would make this long and adventurous journey to a long awaited hug from the other parent.  We were told how to act and were dressed in our Sunday best. Most of the time we arrived at the airport before or after the rush of people hours before our flight since my father was a pilot and we flew “stand- by”. We would patiently wait to be called when two available seats were available which sometimes took a full day, especially around the holiday season.

Now for my brother and I this was our life

Our first flight alone  was when I was 3 years old. Can you imagine sending your two small children on a plane alone? I cannot.. We were the definition of “wild kids”, but the moment we stepped into that airport we instantly turned into mini adults. In doing this something within me changed. I learned how to switch off my emotions and become someone else. My imagination would run wild with all the new things and situations I got to witness.  Our favorite place to have a long layover was Las Vegas. We would ride the clear glass elevators up and down looking and listening at all the loud and colorfulness around us.  This was magic for me.

The traveling was one thing but the emotions of a constant inevitable”goodbye” at the end of the trip was heartbreaking. Getting in that last big bear hug  from my father knowing I wouldn’t see him again for a few months truly did a number on me.  The trip home was always a somber one, and going home to a family who we thought saw us more as a burden than joy didn’t help.  My brother and I felt we never truly belonged anywhere. When we were together….That was my home no matter what our physical location was.

So while we traveled alone, together, I felt whole if only for a day, because we had a freedom of magic. To be anyone we wanted just as long as we didn’t cause a problem to the adults around us. We learned to adapt to any situation on a moments notice. This is how my people pleasing started. Keeping all the adults who were around us happy because in their happiness we knew we were safe.  We learned to observe and read people’s emotions from just the look on their faces.

I’ve read of many sibling bonds and how they impacted one’s life. For me…My brother was apart of me. We didn’t need words to communicate, we still don’t. We always sensed what the other was feeling right to the core.  Now that I am an adult with my own family I have yet to understand just how different my up bring was. Some days I feel I have a psychological advantage and other days I feel I am psychologically flawed. Yet the Magic of my memories and experiences are still flowing through me as if it were yesterday.

I have always felt I grew up on an airplane, a home that overlooked the whole world. A home of freedom and magic. A place of protection, anticipation, and sadness.A place where anything is possible and I among the clouds felt at peace.



Writings from the Silent Dark


    “The Beast showed his face again, I cant seem to get his feeling out of my head.

My hands hate me- they throw, push, hurt anyone who confronts me.                                   My eyes aren’t what I want them to be.    They stare you down and make you bleed.           My legs run like I’m being chased even though I know I have His Saving Grace.

My mouth is like the deep space- beauty is there but some days all you will see is black    space.

My heart is not my own It belongs to God, but why isn’t he home.

I fill my life with things that mean nothing why can’t i find my joy in all my somethings? Hate is what I feel when my beast is near. I’m tired of hating myself because i don’t feel clear.

My path seems to be blocked by mountains made of huge rocks Do I turn around or smash through this bumpy unsafe ground?

I’m losing this fight. The fight of survival in a world who hates who I should be and only wants me to continue to bleed. I’m tired of bleeding inside- Please Lord release my pride. A pride that makes me weak. I’m not moving and I need to be.  My cry for help goes unheard.


I’m on my knees and need to be released of these feelings of hate for me.”

I know it’s in “one” of these notebooks…


I’ve been writing in notebooks, journals, pocketbooks, napkins, or anything at close hand when an idea strikes for the past twenty years.  Its amazing how well I do remember writing a certain idea down. I could tell you where on the page I wrote it, or what color pen I used. Why is it that I can’t remember where i put the dang notebook?!

Having children does not help this crazy disorganized problem.

Mixed within the pages are drawings and writings of all five of my children. Memories of joy and troubled times entangled with the latest masterpiece of a three year old, “Which I might add is colored over my writings”.

I’m learning that my mind is so much like these notebooks. Little tid bits here and there are always fresh and easily remembered, but the stuff that needs to be worked on is safely tucked away next to some random piece of knowledge I cant quite seem to link together to get a full picture.

Emotions and feelings change in the form of words only because we’ve been told to label what we feel. What if the label we’ve been giving our own feelings  isn’t the correct one for us personally. What happens to our thought process when this is done? Maybe I am just different and its time to start labeling “my” memories for me.  I’m sure so many others have no problem with memories or emotions and the day to day life that flows with each. But for me, who is an Empath at the highest level…..I struggle with finding the true “me”.

Having Empathy is like being an on call Concierge. My mind is always showing me visions of what others are in need of. People I don’t even know, their needs jump to the top of the list making my own needs hidden within theirs.  I’m so frustrated with not knowing what i want until someone else is in need. Example:” I haven’t had a drink of water in awhile but I am not thirsty until I get my child a drink of water because they are thirsty, and then when doing this i realize Holy Crap I’m so thirsty….as I drink like a camel from the kitchen sink”

“I know being a young mother at the age of seventeen hasn’t helped this situation at all, but how and when does a mother finally start thinking of herself without the shame of being selfish…even if for just a glass of water. Something so easy yet so hard because of the misguided labeling of my own feelings.”