losing a religion

losing a religion

you almost made it be

losing this religion that brides within me

scriptures perching throughout the trees

a braille for these blinded eyes to struggle and see

waiting like tombs simply to be freed

fingers weeping, longing within this recluse of me

paled to the dreams fighting against the every day

baptized in a fire, soaked in the flames

confessing to centuries of monotony

                                                        ….you almost made it be


-just breathe-










beyond the shallows

where your waves steep

extracting the flavors of the sea

in the rush of darkness,

i bloom most silently

into this garden of benthos, a blushing bride i become

where you in most ardent steps nakedly roam

clutching the tapestry of emeralds woven about my hair

draping upon the coral of my cheeks lending glitter to the foam


cradling the brine that blankets the secrets that i keep

where empty forests speak the language of me

and you, with lips of atlantis, unearth the diamonds of my deep


Surfing the Ether-Peter Pearson

This piece was inspired by a daily writing prompt I participate in where the word given was benthos. I’d no idea what it meant. Even in asking a friend, she was clueless too. Upon looking it up naturally said friend was jubilant at the fact she could now use newly discovered word in a game of Words With Friends.

I include this editorial here to express my adoration and appreciation for writing prompts. Not only do they expand my vocabulary, they push me out of my comfort zone in my writing. They have become a powerful ally in strengthening my writing and I encourage the participation with one.

As always, thank you for reading.



lace puddles

weave between the weeds of the sea

lapping slowly


resting upon the shallows in she

barefoot in silt paths she roams

collecting pieces

from the liquid mirror shored

——for the sea remembers

captured these images from a day on the beach and was enraptured at how I was able to capture the cerulean in the waves. i’m thankful that in living on the coast, the ocean is in my backyard. like for most, the music of the waves is medicinal, replenishing ones soul. For more of my photography you can visit my gallery here.




the scars we wear, the scars we bear

ever present, no matter how faint they become, remembering the birth, the growth of every one

years of adapting, learning to heal, hiding the souvenirs you bear that keep them real

often, late at night, when the world is still, you let them slip out, perhaps a masochist’s way to heal

the slope though slippery, in freeing their voice, for darkness bids its welcome, giving you a choice

either walk its path and give in, or learn from those moments before a courage could begin

they are, after all, a part of you, so it is with strength to embrace the journey they took you through

Dream a Little Dream of MeElla Fitzgerald & Louis Armstrong

I am still on the adventure of listening to beloved love songs from a different perspective. To love one self is the best love affair after all so I found it fitting to pair scars with the lyrical and soulful beauty that is Ella Fitzgerald.


-just breathe-



that bird upon my sill

o what silly one is he

so much he sings in that trumpet voice

in morning’s glory when all is still

o what silly one is he

for nobody hears his revelry

that song with no answers he sings

o but wait, the sun, there is she

rising there, quietly

yet not one glance he gives

in his confident rise

This week has been a difficult yet I hope, eye opening one for us all. A few days ago a fellow writer triggered my thoughts in asking “who was your first black teacher?” This piece was inspired by a poet I was introduced to in the fourth grade by my very first black teacher, Mrs. Baker.

It is always my English teachers that stand out to me during my school years and she is no exception. She introduced us to the works of Robert Frost, Emily Dickinson and the poet from which this piece is inspired, Maya Angelou. Inspired from her piece, And Still I Rise, I wrote maya reflecting upon that silly yet wise bird in us all with that small, seemingly insignificant voice, yet finding the courage to keep singing, even when you are pretty certain no one is listening.

Getting Over You- Being A Teen, Interracial and Gay

Getting Over You- Being A Teen, Interracial and Gay

I am so pleased and honored to share the debut collection of poems by someone I have watched grow in to the young adult he is today. Coming into my family’s life by way of my daughter, I have known Louis (his pen name) since the age of eight and have watched him grow into the college bound, goal oriented young man he is today.

It is with a great pleasure and honor that I can share his debut book of poetry just as he is headed off to college. Getting Over You, is a collection of poems inspired by the trials and tribulations, first loves, losses and growing up interracial and gay. The courage he has endured and the strength and solace he has found in writing offers us a glimpse through his tender yet resilient eyes of youth which can perhaps lend courage and strength to another teen struggling.

The link to Amazon is below where you can purchase Getting Over You in both Kindle and paperback.