The water feels perfect this time of year. There’s hardly anyone at the beach, and you know that’s the way I like it.
I want to scream and for you to actually hear.
In the buttery, iron taste of the aftermath, food will not fill me. A pill will not clear me of this, and sleep does not always lend itself to rest.
I write poems for people. At parks, cafés, craft shows, art markets, and even sometimes (rather creepily) on the bus. I fell into this accidentally. Initially, I held resistance to the idea. I thought people would hate it, or that it would be too much pressure to write on the spot. But then I gave… Continue reading what dreams are made of
I didn’t learn the most about teaching from school, nor from any teacher-training course, internship, mentorship, or apprenticeship program. Rather, I learned how to teach from a three- and a four-year-old.
I want you to know I respect your relationship. I know that you love her, and I will not do anything to get in the way. Even still, I cannot change how I feel. I have been down this road before, with unavailable men. I fall deeper into the rut of unreturned sentiment. I read the… Continue reading to “the one” who is busy loving someone else
The first time my heart was broken, I received the best advice about love I had yet to hear, from (as is usually the case, with truly great advice) the seemingly least likely of sources. My manager at the time. A buttoned-up, stretched-too-thin, father to two-year-old twin girls, he and I, up to that point… Continue reading we are all alone