please forgive me, for I have sinned,
it’s been so long since my last confession

on my knees, I poured out my heart,
but only left with more questions

the penance you gave, brought me no absolution,
I counted and prayed, slid the beads trough my fingers

yet the weight on my shoulders, just felt much heavier,
each step so wobbly, with a guilt that still lingers

what do you want from me?
haven’t I paid?

I walk with compassion,
on this ground that you paved

I give of my core, hope for each soul I encounter,
my heart is so open, it often gets crushed

and why, oh why, does it seem,
that my own voice is always hushed?

can you hear me?
do you care?

Oh, God – what if the one not listening,
is the me who’s too scared?

-image credit fineart-photos via Tumblr

50 Cats

50 cats
Wore 50 hats
To go walking in the rain

50 cats
Met 50 bats
Taking cover on a train

50 cats
And 50 bats
Felt a bit mundane

So 50 cats
And 50 bats
Boarded an airplane

Where 50 cats
And 50 bats
Spoke with every Dick and Jane

And 50 cats and 50 bats
Met a group of acrobats
Then, joined their circus habitat
Where every other wore a hat

Isn’t that insane?

Written for my youngest daughter who loves silly poems; image credit Nam Senpai, DeviantArt

I Dreamt

I dreamt of calm water,
just the two of us,
the smell of the lake
in the early morning,
a foreshadowing of life
abundant beneath the surface,
it’s cool water eager to play,
the sound of the paddles
gliding through the water,
birds singing and calling out
to one another,
a symphony, echoing in the trees,
the sun, waking over the water,
casting a warm glow on its surface,
his smile, casting a glow of its own,
my legs and arms, tight,
pushing and pulling,
a rhythm matching his,
a dance on the water

-images found in Getty images free

His Voice (acrostic)

Heavy, like a weighted blanket,

t soothes me. I nestle into it,

nuggling every syllable, all the

erbs slowly slithering, he the

racle orchestrating, and 

his muse.

ommanding, gentle, yet fierce, it

nvelopes me in its timbre.

-image found via Pinterest, source unknown 

Will You?

Will you always hold my hand,
when life feels like sticks and stones?

Will you still take care of me,
when all I am is skin and bones?

Will you hold me in your arms,
and be my safe place, home?

Will you breathe my last breath,
as if it was your own?

Will you take this heart of mine
I’ve offered whole, completely?

Will you love me unrestrained? 
Will you set yours free?

-artwork by Leonid Afremov


many days I’ve asked myself,
when will someday come?

daydreaming of a future when
the busyness fades to a hum

days when work and alarms and cars
fade to choice, no longer need

when less is more, and I can close the door
and go as slowly as I please 

many days, I’ve asked myself, 
what if someday never comes?

but, I wonder, have I been asking 
the wrong questions to myself

for, isn’t today, a someday, too?
and I need to take it off the shelf

-photo by Richard Meeks


Standing at the kitchen counter, she stared at the bag of Doritos. She’d promised herself she’d treat herself well, energizing her body with fuel that truly made her feel good, inside and out. She knew how, she’d done it before; she’d lost 80 pounds naturally, with will, and sweat, and tears, and finding what worked for her, over and again, through every misstep and plateau.

Yet, here she was, staring at the open bag of Doritos, sliding in her hand, promising herself she’d eat just a few.

Oh, wow. I forgot how good these are. A few more won’t hurt, I deserve them. 

That few allowed a few more, and a few more, until the rest of the bag was gone.

It was so easy, even now, after all that hard work, for her to squash that reasonable voice which begged her to stop, that reminded her how awful she’d feel after. And she knew that awful feeling! She’d stared at the bottom of dozens of Dorito bags in the time before. She’d rationalized that voice away hundreds and thousands of times, allowing fear and stress to twist her thoughts ass-backward and tell her she deserved to eat yummy things, to be rewarded for her hard work and effort, and not feel deprived. She’d felt that all too brief euphoria after the indulgences, stuffing that rational voice to the pit of her gut under all that junk. She’d stuffed it away until the scale read 260.

It had been been an endless cycle of stuffing feelings, feeding them with food, and feeling guilt and shame. It would be now, too, if she let it.

Staring at the empty bag, she was sure her shame would more than fill it. It grew and grew, until it took up all the space in the room, permeating her pores, infiltrating her gut to a wretching level. Tears dripped down her cheeks and onto the bag….crack, crack, crack. She winced at each crack, the sound a tangible reminder of her weakness. 

Wiping away the tears, she walked the six steps to the bathroom. She glared at herself in the mirror. For a moment, she contemplated sticking her fingers down her throat, purging and purging until all that molten shame was out, flushable.

That’s too easy. I have to live with the consequences, that’s what I deserve. 

Again, tears came, trickling down her cheeks, dripping from her jawline into the sink, although she paid them no attention.

Oh, God. How did I get here again?

“Help me,” she whispered, to no one, the no one looking back at her.

-image found on Pinterest, source unknown; this is a fictional piece based on real life

Swimming in Circles

’round and ‘round and ‘round I go
hope in circles, love below 

waves behind, ripples ahead
undertow above footbed

in a school, both lost and found
yet chasing tail, ‘round and ‘round

off’ring scales like Rainbow Fish,
unrealistic was my wish

down below, I do belong 
the ‘round and ‘round feels all wrong 

aesthetic is not for me 
I must dive, exhale, be free

-image credit

All I Need

I don’t need whispers
On angels wings
Diamonds and pearls
Or expensive things

I don’t need poems
Expertly composed
Or wishes on stars
And intricate prose

I don’t need gestures
Fancy and grand
All I need is
To hold your hand

-image found on Tumblr, credit unknown 


leaden feet roam the foggy gray,

stuck in the space between this world

and a thousand others, 

in the shadowland,

where time ticks unevenly to an un-rhythm,

a continuum, 

all angles and edges in a world of flat lines,

and light traveling in just that,

stifled souls unable to allow it to pass through, 

this a lonely land littered with silhouettes,

a crowd of could-be’s,


-image found on Pinterest, source unknown