we’re all just hands

trying to keep fragile things together

stitching wax paper houses

around small pulsing embers.

the beautiful thing is…

invisible treasures

hold weight

they have power in their own right.

love. peace. compassion.


they build on themselves.


on returning home

Artboard 212






retracing your footprints in the mud
your tracks don’t quite fit in the old
your feet are bigger now
going in a different direction.

at first, you walk over your old prints
stomping all over them
imprinting new tracks over old
they’re almost gone when you realize

you can simply walk beside
like a beautiful pattern,
the sides slightly altering,
shifting at the pressure of the new prints.

this is an image,
a ceramics piece,
not a poem.

the beauty and acceptance of your
past + present juxtaposed
each one complimenting the other.

12 January 2016, journal entry (edited)

i suspect

my unconscious self is
afraid of everything
falling apart. somehow i started to
believe that fear was the string
needed to hold everything together.

that tension would
keep everything in place. if
i just worried about it enough,
everything would be just
fine & dandy.

i didn’t know that fear needed me to survive,
not the other way around.

i didn’t know that i need change
like i need air.