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The Sink Still Drips (Grief Echoing Through Familiar Spaces)
“I still hear the clatter of forks, not from today, but from a Tuesday three Octobers ago when the soup boiled over and your laughter rose above the steam…” This poem lingers in the stillness of a kitchen that remembers—where every stir, every crack in the tile, and every whisper of cinnamon tells the story…
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Who Do You Spend the Most Time With?
A tender, lyrical meditation on the silent companion we often overlook—ourselves.
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If You Had to Change Your Name, What Would Your New Name Be?
What is a name but a thread through time? If I had to change mine, I would seek not a label— but a mirror reflecting the truest me.
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We Do Not ‘End’. We Become.
In this meditative poem, the soul journeys beyond finality into infinite change — from ashes to oceans, from endings to essence.
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Keep Your Gills to Yourself (A Hilarious Tale of Mouthy Fish and Talkative Humans)
Even a fish wouldn’t get into trouble if it kept its mouth shut— but humans? Oh, we dive right in, mouth first, blabbering our way into awkward parties, accidental confessions, and the unemployment line. A riotous poetic journey through oversharing, silence, and why parrots are smarter than we think.
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The Breath That Moves the Waters
Spirit of God in the clear running water, you move not in thunder alone— but in the hush of rivers, in the rising of trees, in the surrender of all things to something greater than themselves.
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Where the Wind Finds Her
She sits on her balcony—not waiting, not needing— just letting the wind touch her like memory, and rewrite her stillness into peace. The world moves, but for a moment, she simply breathes.
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Let Beauty Persist, Even When the World Burns
When the world collapses under its own weight, let beauty not be the first to go. Let it sing through the smoke, bloom in the ruins, and remind us that grace is not weakness— but resistance.
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To Love and Let Go
To love what can leave. To hold what can die. To let go without flinching— this is how we live, bravely, in a world built on vanishing things.
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Left Turn
At the intersection, I could go right and head home— but turning left would take me into a story that didn’t want to be safe, into a version of me not yet born. I turned left— and everything familiar dissolved into wonder.
Got any book recommendations?
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