amidst the jumbled bamboo order grows a twisty tree. invasive. carving its unique shape against the dense crisscross jungle. steadily striving for space in the chaos. its roots are deep. protective. hindering of a forming fruit. they slowly envelop the bright bud. rosin. who begs release. dreams of splintering forces. facilitating her branch off. and freedom down a gnarly unknown path.

she hides. against the grain. concealed under decorative distractions. hypnotizing patterns. that provide pops of brilliance in this consuming darkness. and vibrantly hope to help her escape the impending guillotine. poised. ready to befall our heroine all the reality she has ignored. all the put off til tomorrow thoughts refined to a sharpness. slowly. cascading silently. she watches the blade fall.

disarray can only last for so long. fizzle out. fade into a calmer rhythm. with her nest in order. this chickadee can recline. torpor. snuggle into pixelated pillows. leaving behind the stressful imprints of the past. for budding spring sun light. that attempts to burst through lingering winter clouds. and soothe. relax. into comforting cushions. while flying dreams overtake the day.

after days in depressing darkness. the lone huntress emerges. awoken. comes to the brink of bleak and bright. pondering the path ahead. divided. to burst forth into renewed jubilation. a sunny soaked street littered with soul-lifting adventures. or succumb to the bewitching dark side of sinful delights. snuggle into the listlessness she knows too well. split. she lingers on the edge.

the manic crests and crashes of life. produce fluctuating moods. but when warmer updrafts prevail. latch on. ride that bundle of balloons. their colorful flurry of fun uplifting you to lighter elevations. to moments outside the madness. and when the gravitational pull of reality feels too strong. know. one can always find simple spheres to elevate. and help you feel free.


after too many colorless sailing days. a swell of gold highlights harbor. ahoy. i have landed. washed up on familiar shores. with boulders built from eroded memories. to rediscover lost loves that were always there. guides. faintly fizzing in crashing waves. waiting to carry me back. willing. across the stress seas. to exciting uneven ground. that induce the need for ready.


fear. that fickle captor. bringing about constraint. blinders. convincing there is safety behind the ignorance. in the forgetful fog of contentment. but the doubtful chants begin to quietly echo. question existence. divide down my layers to a remainder of vulnerability. naked. exposed. in the raw openness is where change dawns. and one can finally dare to peek out of the darkness.


we each have a path. it twists and winds and spills forth. intertwining with other trails. at times easily swept into the draining effort of comparison. her leaves are thicker. his fruit more vibrant. but those false values hold one back. limit the growth of our own grove. for this journey is our own. sacred. and ripe for every unique bloom.

the sways and sashays of dizzying dying days of summer. heated moments resulting in pendulum moods. that swing from bloated boredom to glowing elation. and twirl back for another round of emotional roulette. where senses are winners. and in the glowing breeze of august. against the crashing contrast. i feel buoyant. airy. swept into the embers of this season’s tumultuous flame. 

my polka dots drain. run. scatter. melting away from my essence. artifacts of creative avenues. once cultivated. giving rise to novel expressions. bubbles of boundless wonders. but now escape in purposeless puddles. helpless against the abyss of loss. the little light left. flooding dark rooms with opportunity. i reach for it. a disoriented damsel. in desperate search for new dotting techniques.