there’s a rawness

that comes with the territory

of starting something new


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.


they told me to travel

when I’m older.

I think they didn’t know
that moving through someone else’s ordinary
creates the lens through which I see.

if aging is about growing
this is how I grow:

across difference
uprooting what was once cemented
with us and them.


you don’t really know

how much you’ve changed

until you go back to a place

you once called home


it’s silly

that we wait till goodbyes to spend time together

to celebrate what is between us

only in leaving


at one point in your life

you’ll just hate being the mediocre version of yourself. and through that, you’ll find the courage and bravery and north star to be your best self.

and then you’ll walk into the next moment, and have to do it all over again.