I’m Baaaaaack

Hey all,

So, I’ve decided to breathe some new life into this page, especially because I may or may not be releasing my first book of poetry this month (eeeee!!).

A lot has changed since that happy, optimistic last post from almost a year ago. I’m still savoring those happy moments, but things are a little tougher right now. My anxiety disorder has flared up and it’s been a struggle. Also that “best friend in the world” that I was fortunate enough to go to New Orleans with has since uh, how can I say this nicely, switched priorities. She’s no longer around or really available to talk to. Add 4 funerals in a year on top of that and you’re got a bit of a bumpy road.

I’m trying to deal though, the best way I can, and often that means just moving forward. I can only take it a day at a time, despite what my anxiety would often have me believe, so this is me doing that.


Pic from We Heart It

Someone told me something a few days ago that I haven’t been able to get out of my head. He said that in the past few years, he couldn’t think of a time when I had said I was truly happy or content in life.

To a degree, he is right. I’ve been through a lot and the nature of our friendship often means that I come to him when I’m hurting or need someone to talk to, and vice versa.

And in the moment of him saying this, I agreed with him, because all that came to the forefront of my mind were the instances of trauma and heartache. It was later, when I was still thinking about it, that I realized all the ways in which I do find joy, and all the little things or big things that make me happy…

Like waking up to a thunderstorm, when you don’t have anywhere to go

Going to a Halsey or Demi concert and singing at the top of my lungs, and dancing in the aisles, with no judgment at all because in those moments it is just you, the fans, and the artist connecting.

Being in any bookstore at all, or better yet a library, where I can pick up whatever my heart desires and take it home to devour

When I spent my 30th birthday with my best friend in the world and watched my mom defend me to a protestor on Bourbon St.

Night swimming at my second mom’s house, watching the trees light up with fireflies like glitter and talking to the moon

Going for a walk in the fall, when the weather is just right and the leaves are falling from trees into my hair

Waking up to the feeling of my cat curled up against me, fast asleep

Having the strength to be vulnerable, even when I know the door will be closed in my face

Driving with the windows down, singing to my favorite songs

And writing. I am whole when I am writing.

So, as I come off of a medication that might have had a tighter hold on some of my emotions than I might have originally believed, I find myself feeling happiness even more, and more so, wanting to share it with others. I hope I can do that, and never leave someone again with only the impression of sadness when there is so much to be grateful for.

Musical Muse 4

Inspired by “Cuz baby I could build a castle, out of all the bricks they threw at me..” by Taylor Swift “New Romantics.”

I stood there naked

as her words cut

into my skin,

branding me

with their fire,

bruising me

with their force.

I stood there

clothed in hypocrisy

until her breaths

were too labored

to lob more poison

into my seeping wounds,

and I turned

and walked away.

Musical Muse 3

Inspired by “tryin’ to talk to a wall, but you can never tear it down for me..” -Halsey “now or never”

Dating you was like

trying to romance the Great Wall,

stone edges biting

into my soft palms,

twilight under the moon spent

whispering sweet nothings

into aerated pockets

of brick, breaths of dust,

swearing with a midnight kiss

I can fill your spaces

if you’d just let me in

but left whimpering from

a bloody mouth,

sagging against your

impenetrable blockade

sighing as I smear the blood

from my wounds into the rock

and finally limp away.

Musical Muse 2

halsey ghost

“My ghost, where’d you go? What happened to the soul that you used to be?”
-“Ghost,” Halsey

It’s hard to watch
the ice crystallize,
smother the smile
that lived in your eyes.
I should have kept
you from caving,
but I didn’t know
you needed saving.

Musical Muse

So, I’ve decided to start a new series on here, which I’ve nicknamed Musical Muse, because I’m clever like that. Basically, I’ll be posting poems that I’ve written that were in some way inspired by a certain lyric from a specific song.

Here’s the first one 🙂

I crept past the dragon
guarding your door,
tiptoed into the dark halls,
and began to search.

At first, there were only ghosts,
hiding in closets and
tucked under beds,
I dodged their rotting fingers.

Then i found the pictures,
your form just a blur,
and then the mask
you wore to meet me.

-And I knew it had never been real.

Inspired by “So I took an ax to a mended fence,” by Taylor Swift- “This is Why We Can’t Have Nice Things.”

Unexpected Closure

Letting go

I’ve been trying to figure out how to tell my story, and why I felt such a need to tell it, for at least a year now. Nothing really seemed to work or feel right. At least until a certain concert I went to that inexplicably sparked something in my mind that caused the pieces to fall into place. Suddenly, I couldn’t stop writing. I’d been reminded of my roots, of the ways in which my voice is strongest, and it finally felt right, and safe, to say what I needed to.

In telling the story, I wasn’t sure what I hoped to accomplish. I just knew that it needed to come out, one way or another. A couple of nights ago, I finished the first draft of that story and I was surprised to feel not just nervous that people would actually be reading it soon, but also an overwhelming sense of peace. Peace and confidence and serenity that I haven’t felt in almost 5 years.

It will be 5 years since the assault happened next month. Every year I’ve done something on or around the university to take back my power of that day and try to prevent myself from succumbing to the painful memories that can sometimes surface. Last year, I forgot there was an anniversary at all, something I considered, and still do, a victory in and of itself.

This year it seems the anniversary will bring about a piece of work written in my blood and tears. It’s honestly probably the piece I’m most proud of to date. More importantly, writing it brought closure. I can’t tell you what it means to finally feel like I can close the door behind me on this chapter in my life when for years I didn’t think it would be possible to go more than a day without thinking about it, hurting from it.

But that’s what happened. When I came to the end of the word document that held everything I’d gone through…I felt closure. I felt like I can finally move on.

I’ve been wondering at times what the purpose in my coming to Texas was when I’m just going back home to Indy in March, but now I think I know. I needed this. I needed to get away from all of the monsters that held me hostage before, come to a new, untainted environment, and find my voice again.

And I did. I found it, and I’m proud of it, and I’m so incredibly happy that as some sort of miraculous bonus, I’ve finally found closure. I can finally go home feeling happier and lighter than I have in years, and I am so grateful and excited for this next chapter.

Ready for the road home…

When did that happen?

So the other day I was talking to a friend about dating, etc and I made my typical self-deprecating comment (something I’m trying to get out of the habit of, by the way) about why I didn’t understand why they would want to date me when my life was kind of a mess.  They were kind and said they were used to messy lives but when I set my phone down I was struck by something odd.

I realized, afterwards of course because isn’t that always how it works, that what I’d said wasn’t exactly true. Not anymore at least. Maybe I’ve been used to the idea that I’m a total mess and going through a million things and barely keeping it together and that had become my default answer but when I thought about it, I realized that I’m actually more together than I’ve been in years.

Things in my life are actually going…well. I’ve got a steady source of income, I’ve got some big changes coming up but nothing bad or overly taxing, I’m writing more, I’ve got friends, and I’m happy. Not sure when all of that happened haha, but I could definitely get used to it.

A Date with Dragons

After living in Texas since June 1, 2017, I’ve decided to go back to Indiana. It hasn’t been an easy choice at all. I love Austin a lot. I feel like I can breathe here and I’ve been really happy here and am proud of myself for making a life here. I’ve also had the chance to learn a lot about myself since I moved, and one thing that I learned is that my family and friends mean more to me than I realized.

I love it here, but I feel like I’m missing a limb, like a huge chunk of myself is just absent. It took me a little while to come to the realization that I can live with an Austin-shaped hole in my life (as long as I still get to visit!), but I can’t live with a family/friend-shaped hole.

It turns out though, that even while I feel like this is right decision in my gut, I’m still apprehensive. I left Indiana at a time when I was suffocating and could barely hold myself up. The few months I spent before I left at my brother’s house helped for sure, but the time before that, in the apartment by myself, I was followed constantly by a storm cloud that I thought would eventually drown me.
So, now I find myself going back and a small, irrational part of me is scared. I’m worried that the anxiety and crippling depression I left behind is waiting for me, a 70-foot dragon waiting at the state line just daring me to cross.


It scares me. I’m worried I won’t be able to breathe there. I’m worried the depression will come back when I cross back into Indy’s borders, like shrugging on an old heavy coat. I’m afraid everything will be the same.

But I also know that this is something I need to do. That while I’m safe here in Austin, I need to face the demons and dragons I left behind to show that I really have grown. Because the fact is, things won’t be the same in Indy when I get back, simply because I’M not the same.

So, March 2018, I face the dragon.
(and who knows, maybe it’ll end up looking like this guy)

Evolutionary Waters

So, there’s been a lot going on lately, and about a million things on my mind so I haven’t been able to update much.  I’m still too close to things to even really be able to comment on what’s going on right now so I decided instead to put out a non-fiction piece I wrote a year or so ago about a close friend of mine. Hope you like it ❤


Summer 2000

I look around the room at my second family, my mom’s best friend’s family: the people who helped raise me, my home away from home. We spend every summer together, passing the season’s milestones in a flurry of cookouts, fireworks, and card games.
Empty paper plates sit in everyone’s lap, forgotten as they stare at the glowing television playing Miss Congeniality. This time in the evening means winding down, relaxing in front of the TV with a full stomach until our eyes grow too heavy to process any more and we wander off to bed.
I nudge Brett, the second oldest of the kids, and my partner in crime. He is nine and I am twelve. I jerk my head towards the door and he nods.
Tiptoeing out of the room, we manage to sneak outside without raising any questions from the zombies.
We run uninhibited through the sparse country acre that makes up the backyard and towards the pool. We laugh as we fly up the plastic white ladder attached to the side and cannonball into the water. It’s lukewarm as it embraces us, refusing to release the heat from the afternoon’s sun.
“Marco,” I call out to Brett, closing my eyes. Night had fallen but the sky is so clear, the full moon so bright, the landscape is perfectly lit.
“Polo,” he answers. I peek through one eye to see if I can spot him. After all, it’s only cheating if I get caught. Ah ha! He’s just to my left. I reach a hand out, grasping air as I hear him splash out of reach.
“Marco,” I call out again.
“Polo,” he says. I lunge forward and out of sheer luck graze his wet shoulder.
He laughs, hearty and loud, the sound echoing off the trees and into the sky as he throws his hands up in surrender.
“I think my sister likes your brother,” he says.
“Ew, we’re practically related!” I exclaim.
“Do you have a boyfriend? You know you can tell me anything, right?” My love life is one of his favorite topics. He’s fascinated by the sophisticated relationships of my twelve-year-old life.
“I know,” I say. “But that’s none of your business!” I splash him before ducking under the water.
Summer 2006
My boyfriend and Brett’s girlfriend look at us with a knowing expression as soon as our plates are empty. In our own ways, we had each briefed them on what had become a tradition. So they don’t follow as we set the dishes to the side and sneak out the door.
We run barefoot towards the pool, tossing off the clothes that cover our swimsuits and leaving them to wait for us, scattered across the grass. Brett runs up the squeaky white ladder and jumps in, splashing me. I yell in response and jump in after him.
I grab the nearest pool noodle and sit sideways on it, so it cradles me like a swing, keeping me afloat.
“So, tell me about her,” I say to Brett. He’s attempting to straddle three pool noodles at once and failing miserably. I laugh as he tries to lift his leg over a fourth one and face plants into the water. He comes up coughing, sputtering, and trying to catch his breath before he answers.
“She’s cute, obviously. We have the same math class so at least I get to see her every day.”
“That’s good. Matt’s always busy with his college classes and work so I don’t get to see him as often as I’d like, even though we live five minutes apart.”
“That’s lame,” he says. “I can’t believe you’re graduating this year.”
“I know. I’m excited, but it’s scary too. It feels like everything is going to change.”
He nods. I can only see his silhouette against the darkness but I hear the water move around him. The fireflies are our only light tonight; the moon is hidden behind colorless clouds. Hundreds, maybe thousands of the glowing insects twinkle in the tree line, making it look as if someone had dusted glitter on the leaves.
“Dad cheated on Mom,” Brett says, breaking the silence, his voice heavy.
“I know,” I say. “Are you okay?”
“I don’t know. Everything feels different, like I don’t know who to trust.” I nod, though I don’t think he is looking at me.
There aren’t words for these things; nothing a person can really say to make it better. So instead, I wade over to him, grab one of his pool noodles, and float silently next to him. I listen in the still night as he purges his pain, his fear that his parents will divorce, and the insecurities that stem from having a father whose affection he feels like he’s never received.
Summer 2013
As we walk out the door and into the night this time, there is no one in the room to sneak away from. Brett’s parents went to bed early, his sister lives in another town now, my parents are divorced and in separate cities, and my brother is staying the night with a friend. We’re the only ones there this summer, but we aren’t bitter. By now we understand that families ebb and flow. People leave for a while, come back, and leave again.
We walk towards the pool this time, savoring the feeling of the long grass tickling our ankles. Brett jumps in first, but I take my time on the unsteady, cracked plastic ladder before lowering myself into the water. Automatically, we go to the two rafts we’d left floating along the surface earlier.
I maneuver myself onto the inflatable plastic, positioning my head on the bump that serves as a pillow. Reaching behind my neck, I pull my long hair out from underneath me and spread it out so it’s splayed over the pillow, its ends dancing in the water.
“What happened last month?” Brett asks, skipping the small talk. I’m expecting this question but am not sure I’m ready to talk about it. I don’t bother asking how he knows something happened in the first place. Word travels very fast in our small group.
I don’t answer for a while. Instead, I stare up at the vast, stunning heavens above me. The summer night is clear, the sky deep cobalt, and dotted with bright stars. A full moon floats next to the big dipper and I study its markings while I figure out what to say.
It’s not that I don’t want to tell him. Years of growing up together had proved no subject was off limits between us. It’s more that I’m hesitant to ruin such a peaceful night by smearing its canvas with violence.
“I still can’t bring myself to say it out loud,” I tell him, opting for honesty. The four-letter word, three-word sentence, is still stuck in my throat. Every time I go to say it, I choke and a flashback of hands grabbing me, a stranger’s face, pushing, hurting, makes me physically shake.
Silence is easier.
“Someone hurt you,” he says. It’s not a question. My eyes fill with tears at the concern in his voice. The fear, shame, and pain I’d been trying so hard to keep buried, in a futile effort to function from day to day, rush to the surface. The salty drops fall from my eyes with the faintest plink as they hit the plastic beneath me.
I hear splashing, the sound of Brett paddling his raft over next to mine. He reaches for my hand and holds on to it, a firm symbol of solidarity.
In all the years we have known each other, we have never held hands, but in that moment, it feels right. I can see in his face that he can guess what happened, and it is enough for both of us to know that we understand each other. It is enough that we are still in this together, bonded by something deeper than blood. We have been navigating life’s terrain together since the very beginning, when our hearts were still pure and innocent, and we would remain that way even as the years traded our innocence for weariness and wisdom.
“It’s okay,” he says. “I’m here.”
“I know.”