feeling

Forever

Feverish

Fulfilling

Friendship

Forgiveness

Fascination

Flutters

Fair

Flying

Feeding

Force

of Nature

defining moments

Humility
No longer taking anything for granted
Seeing every good part
To recognize insignificance—and significance
Depending on the matter

Without pride
I continue to write every thought
Every thought that turns to you
Because humility tells me to
Stop holding back

Never let go in order to remember
How much you mean to me
With kindness and a big heart
Your life blesses my life
And I am humbled at the thought

finding its way

I feel so quiet on the inside;
I don't know what to write.
Hope is hiding just beneath the surface
Worried that it might be forced to burn down
To the ground
In order to rise from ashes yet again.

In all its hiding, burning, and rising,
Hope is always there
Befriending my unprotected heart
Whispering, wishing, waiting
To know when to show its face,
When to shine.

Hope burns not out
But burns brighter
Like an eternal sun,
A forever supergiant
Casting light across the darkness,
Drowning out the sad.

Quiet keeps me honest,
Looking at myself.
Quiet teaches me
I don't need to know my story before it happens
Because all I need to do is begin,
And hope will find its way.

the good fight

Sometimes fighting the good fight

Looks nothing like a fight. 

It looks like smiling through sad tears, 

Giving more from a barrel near empty, 

Loving further when you can't see how, 

Writing letters

—sheets and sheets—

And then throwing them away, 

Filling each new day with something

—anything—

And enjoying it all. 

Sometimes fighting the good fight 

Is not fighting at all. 

Sometimes fighting the good fight

Is loving yourself enough 

To keep the light on

When shutting the door, 

Closing up shop, 

And running away

Look like winning. 

Fighting the good fight

Is about keeping hope close

And always striving for right. 

I made it to the end—barely.

Going, going, and then falling asleep sitting up. I'm too busy. I make myself this way sometimes, but other times, it is from simple daily life with children, work, aspirations, and every other good thing.

I am tired. I've read slices about being tired or exhausted, and I have to tell you that things don't really get easier. Things just change to be what we've wanted all along.

I've imagined myself sleeping even, and I find myself wishing I had one more week until poetry month. I wish that extra time could be real.