Their Voices

​Where is the voice of my
Ancestors on my tongue?

Without their words
I lose their stories,
I lose their lessons,
I lose their pain.

Without their words
Future generations
Have no context to their
Past, present and future.

Without their words
I am an outsider
To my own culture,
And I am disowned.



You are something else.
With one word you pierce
Through the armor
I’ve built up for years.  

You force my eyes open
So my ego can see,
Even though I hurt,
I am loved, whole and alive.

The rhythm of your syllables,
Sweet whispers and
Caresses of love, 
Take me back home.

Don’t We Know?

You are loved.
You are important.
You are beautiful.

You are whole
And don’t need anyone
To fill you up.

You are intelligent
And have a voice
That should not be suppressed.

You are not property.
You do not have to do anything
To please another.

Your skin is gorgeous
And your body is
perfect just as it is.

You are not “emotional”,
You are a human being
With a precious gift to feel.

You can ask for help.
It is not a sign of weakness
But a source of strength.

Your thoughts are not silly.
How you see the world
Is completely unique to you.

You can love yourself.

Panic Attack

Stress is a dangerous monster,
It builds slowly, silently. 
You have to make everyone else happy, 
Keep the status quo. 
But odd symptoms of the body 
Open the window to the monster inside. 
And you ignore it. 
There’s nothing wrong, 
Don’t be so sensitive, it’s life. 
However the smallest puncture
Of the balloon that is your emotions, 
Explode into a fury on the body, 
Uncontrollable, frightening, suffocating. 
What’s happening to me, 
What is this? You say. 
But deep down inside you know,
You are overwhelmed. 
So many changes and worries
You can do nothing about, 
Except to find an escape
So you can breathe in air again.


Dirt on my hands, 
I’m stained, tattooed by the earth. 
I am the earth;
Evolved from and will die within. 
My preconceptions gone, 
I am dirty and I love it.


I am flawed. 
I want to love myself more 
And speak up, instead
Of being ashamed.

My thoughts are important 
And deserve to be heard. 
My dreams are important 
And deserve action.

Feeling sad or mad is
Nothing to hide. 
In this moment
We are all loved.

Tell me really
What’s wrong? 
I am here to

The Skirt


Too pretty
Too cute
Too sexy



White Abyss

The heavens descend upon all life,
Each second Earth is less a home.
The creatures of habit, immobilized,
And they call it The Great Snow.

This is our white abyss,
And it is here to stay.

We were once the hub of civilization,
Now desolation around each turn.
A haunting howl with no origin,
The dry, cold air does burn.

This is our white abyss.


Hands search for busy work
As anxiety builds.
Eyes darting, who’s there?
Paranoia consumes.
Stand up, no… sit down.
The self has no purpose.

A teething child gnaws fingers
And moist palms fumble
The acrobatic pen.
Feet a distant bassline to
Thoughts leaving
A hyperactive mind.