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I’d write, if only I had more time
If I had more time I don’t think I’d write more. As I usually say I would, if I had more time. In fact, I think I would write less. Precisely because I’d think that I have time. There would be no rush. No words to chase. Nothing to jot down out of fear that… Continue reading
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Thirty and the myth of thriving
This is 32. Juggling roles like a circus kid. But no longer stuck on making it seem effortless. Three notebooks in the tote bag at all times. Carrying half my weight in books like my life depends on it. Because what if the poetry hits unexpectedly. Best be prepared. Two little girls and a new… Continue reading
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I hate this place: postpartum like you don’t see on social media.
I wake up to a familiar ceiling. The sheets are heavy but not heavy enough to bury this feeling. 5-4-3-2-1 – they say. In all the brochures. 5 things you see. 4 things you feel. 3 things you hear. 2 things you smell. 1 thing you taste. Isn’t that how we’re taught to regulate? Emotionally?… Continue reading
Boundless Entries 