Archive for March 11, 2014


I’m not my pain,
it is an alien
trying to take over,
not what should remain.

I’m not my fears,
they are vicious shadows
living in my nightmares;
I am not my tears.

My identity by choice
would be a writer,
woman, friend and lover,
free, using my voice.


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My home is sand and water and your thought,
to dwell in them is how I feel at home,
from shoreline towards dune I walk and roam.

A prisoner maybe I am, and caught
by promises of love and making home
though free I feel, like sea waves topped with foam.

You could not keep me here if this was not
what I had wished for, what it was I sought,
I would not stay and live on silty loam
if this was not the place that I call home.

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