Musical Dreams

Oh how I long
for a romantic song
Not
about co-dependence and
lack of boundary keeping.

Make it mainstream
With thoughts for the teens
To ponder
Perseverate
And perhaps inspire change.

Communication and
owning what’s yours
Admitting a wrong
and forgiving.

A new world will begin
One we wish we lived in
But never realized it’s ours
for the making.

Attended my second writing conference ever. The place was overflowing with amazing authors, editors, publishers, experts, volunteers. I met so many amazing people. Not like, “oh, you’re amazing” blah blah cuz you’re here too, but “you’re real, genuine, kind, accepting, open, generous, interested, just overall amazing. I’m lucky to have met you.” See the difference?

I learned a lot, too. I can’t wait to go to the next conference. The LUW cares so much about its members and the writing community, each person affiliated with them spreads the same message of appreciation and concern. They’re wonderful.

Why Write When All This Shit Is Happening?

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I haven’t been writing. I’ve actively avoided it.

Because

Writing, focusing, fretting about little things in my life when all of this horrible shit is happening seems to me to be a waste

Of TIME

I tell myself, “write. write. write.”

Why?

“It keeps you sane.”

But it isn’t important when so much hate has been released from so many.

“The hate was always there.”

Was it? All of these people were faking all this time? They were kept under control and now that we have a leader that condones bad behavior, they’ve let loose their feelings? I don’t believe it. It can’t be true. People are better than that. I can’t write about personal struggles when there are people being persecuted because of their beliefs.

“That’s been happening since the dawn of time. Never stopped you before.”

It’s stopping me now.

“Is it?”

I feel paralyzed. Helpless. Terrified. What can I do?

“Don’t be distracted. Make the choices you’ve always made. Continue to send out love and connection and compassion. Be who you are. And write.”

It’s selfish.

“Is it?”

Please

More than 10 people died this year. I wish you’d pay attention to that instead of someone that was in a movie that you liked when you were little. Countless moms, dads, brothers, sisters, friends were lost to us. People who loved. People who mattered. People who changed the world. People that deserved more. Deserved better. The constant bitching at 2016 as an entity makes me crazy. Yes, shit happened this year. But we did it! We put Trump in office. We destroyed the earth.

Allowing yourself to be distracted by garbage perpetuates everything your raging against.

Quit bitching and do something.

Dream Writing

I had a dream I wrote a poem. Inspired and fluid.
Excited, I stopped to read it.
To relive what I’d done.
Realizing as I searched that it was gone.
Never here really.
Just penned in my sleep.

Vertigo. I remember.
Earnest. True words.
And connection. A shared meaning understood.
Bright blue electricity snaking.
Images flashing white. Ignition.

You knew what I meant. What I wanted to say.
A shroud lifted. Light piercing through a dark room.
Questions forgotten. Explanations excused.
Insight. An unmistakable link.
Ease spread. It rippled across your face.

Just a dream though.
Tumbling in the dark.
Words about something that moved me …
Something I had to make clear.
To create. To do justice.
To completely share.

Loss and disappointment at what was only a dream.
Just a lingering desire remains.
I want to dig it out of there.
That poem.
Deep inside my brain.

Wonder Woman In Training

Now available at Amazon.com and Amazon Kindle unlimited. Click the cover for information.

WONDER WOMAN IN TRAINING

High school senior, Kate, is on her own for the first time in her life with no one to take care of but herself. Even across several hundred miles, her family crushes her independence and reminds her just how connected she is to a life she wishes she could change.

We, The Brokenhearted

All of us are We, The Brokenhearted.

And we, the brokenhearted, are blind to
the others in our company.
For our pain is most
singular.
We know
It has not been asked of anyone before this day
To live this loss.
To suffer so completely.

And we, the brokenhearted, search long,
Hard through our despair to make
A connection with someone
To witness.
To validate.
But only voyeurs apply
All too caught up in what
They want. What they
Need. What shapes their pain. Its
Manifestations.

And we, the brokenhearted, crack a bit more
For lack of understanding
Ourselves
Breaks us.

Hope Is For Cowards

When you’re wishing for something that will likely not happen

But try anyway …

You hope.

And when it ultimately  fails, you can say

I had hoped …

And then consolation from somewhere

deep, nearby, far away.

When you’ve wanted, dreamed, dared

But don’t actually say it will happen …

You hope.

Hope is for cowards.

Just a backward way of setting yourself up

For failure.