uneven and balanced

A beautiful disaster Crazy-eyed laughter doesn't mean hysterical Maniacal doesn’t mean evil And  Gentle is definitely not always synonymous with good There is always an ounce of Light somewhere in the dark Or else we would never see the  Shadows of our fears climbing the walls and creeping under our beds There is always an ounce of dark somewhere in the light Or else we would never see the  truth inside our dreams Don’t forget that real happiness is being satisfied with your reality All shades of light and dark And everything in between Can you feel the vibrations humming along your skin Those peaks and valleys Each rise and every dip Thrumming in pace with your heartbeat That sound you make in the back of your throat Lapping it up like a kitten with cream When your eyes close, I don’t worry Because I know you can still see me Balancing carefully on the thin line between The uneven staccatos of a f ever dream a nd The four main food groups of a balanced family dinner

The one where I need a suit of bubble wrap because the hits keep coming

So, here we are five years post-diagnosis. It's been four full years of no medications, no surgeries, no scans; nothing but regular checkups. Now, I can only speak from my experience, but it seems like the high of hearing the words "no discernable masses" and "no cancer cells in your lymph nodes" doesn't last as long as the fear of waiting for the other shoe to drop.  Now, I cannot say that the other shoe has dropped, per se. But, it seems fair to say that someone definitely chucked a boot at my head.  Because chemotherapy and the removal of my ovaries put me into early menopause, I was at risk for osteoporosis. This is a thing that I knew, but really thought wouldn't be an issue. I am young, I eat healthy, I work out, I feel strong, etc. Clearly I haven't learned my lesson that sometimes you can do everything right and still have it turn out all wrong.  My oncologist ordered a bone density scan just to be sure and wouldn't you know it, here I am

The difference between a window and a mirror

 I don't have any clever hype or backstory for this one. Just had an arrow of inspiration and went with it.  The difference between a window and a mirror When I look at you just right  I can only see the petals Not your thorns. Your horns That accompany your devil may care Attitude The altitude of your ego is so high Mountains to climb Climb up up and up into the clouds Your eyes have clouds so thick I can barely it happen That moment when your pupils Dilate Your laser focus Has turned and fixated On me Targeted I stand in the dark Totally unaware of what is to come What is running after me An unwitting player in a game of cat and mouse The chase  The race is on With no way to see the path I’m on Running blindly But what if I stopped  Turned around And let myself be caught Caught up in you Your arms Your curiosity Then you open your mouth and let the sun shine out. Would it be so trite to say Now I can see the light? The light of a new day dawns The way your words lie in your mouth

Let Go

My husband bought me this painting on canvas a few years back. It actually means quite a lot to me -- I  received this in a fairly chaotic time in our lives and I was struggling to find some peace within myself. I was trying to focus on getting something down on paper this morning and I kept staring at this painting. Sometimes inspiration is almost too obvious. Everyday I am afraid Terrified it will be so very obvious that I need you more than you need me Each time I say goodnight I get on my knees (figuratively) and pray that you are not planning your goodbye (literally). When you turn around and walk away because you have somewhere to be (literally) I fear that its because you would rather be anywhere else (figuratively). It hurts in the head in the heart a solid one-two punch to the gut maybe more like one million unsure (but still painful) cuts When I breathe you in I feel comforted and safe You are probably waiting and waiting and waiting to exhale wi

Brick by brick

I don't have a particularly interesting story to tell about this poem. This isn't based on a true story; in fact, I am pretty sure I was watching a Hallmark movie and had an idea bubble up. It's a little hazy. This was a poem I sketched out in 2014 (!). Nothing like digging up and dusting off old pieces to flex the writing muscles. Well, anyway, here it is in all its glory.   Bricks Sticks and stones can break my bones but your words are the one thing I will never forget. As my defenses started to crumble The rubble fell at your feet. Even in defeat I couldn’t help but give those broken pieces of myself to you. Your words found a place to hide out in the curve of my ear. Taking shelter, finding a safe space to live forever Your voice ringing out clear and pure. (It really was the strongest thing about you.) There is something hypnotic about a beautiful weapon. A silver tongue spitting brass bullets. Perfect white teeth gnashing. Pushing ou

The lady in the painting

I can often feel the itch to write, just nagging at the ridiculously hard to reach point between my shoulder blades. The frustrating part of this is when I can't rope one single idea out of the clear blue sky and let my pen run with it. So, that's when I fall back on the talent and creativity of people in my circles and use one of their creations as a writing prompt. David Quinn is a talented award-winning artist based in Co. Mayo Ireland whose piece titled, "Necklace" serves as my most recent creative inspiration. He's ever so graciously permitted me to link to his work here (what a lovely guy!): Necklace, David Quinn, 2007, Mixed media on board, 70cm diameter View this piece (and so many beautiful others) on his website So now that you've had the opportunity to fall in love with this painting like I did, here's the poem I wrote: Lady Like It hurts to remember you Your laughter feels like tiny bursts of flames licking across my skin

The one about September 11th...but not THAT September 11th

On September 11th, 2015, I was an emotional basket case just doing my best to hold it together. Literally. It was two days after my double-mastectomy and reconstructive surgery and I was a mess of stitches and bandages and tubes. I had these new Frankenboobs and I looked like I was in a knife fight (and lost). It was a shitty day (for so many obvious reasons) and I remember watching a documentary on 9/11 and desperately wanting the phone to ring - I was waiting for a phone call from my nurse. I was waiting for the results of my lymph node biopsy. I wanted her to call and tell me that my lymph nodes were all clear. No cancer found. Success. I was willing her to make that call and tell me some good news. If I kept putting the positive thoughts/juju/vibes/wishes out into the universe, it would come to fruition, right? The last time I received a phone call from Kelly it was good news. (She was the one who called me way back in February 2015 to let me know that my original PET scan did not