Monday, December 14, 2015

{ burn out } - yogi. photographer. writer. survivor. austin, tx

Wake up soul, fold the covers back and slide your legs over the edge of the bed.
Things must be done, it's up to you.
Rub your eyes and clear your throat, this life is happening and you make it grand.
The dark swells will crash, but you kick and you kick angel and you stay above the water.
Push your feet into the dirt and let tears seep from your soul out through every pore of your body.
Don't give up, slow down and breathe as you need, it's okay to catch your breath.
Looking back will make this harder.
Chin up, chest high, you run.
Wring yourself from your depths, from emotion to skin press out.
The fragrance of your effort is musky love, close your eyes and drink it in.
Sigh out every pain, every doubt, every insult, every insecurity.
You carry yourself in a cloud of elegance, there is a golden grace in your belly.
Feel the music move your shoulders and lighten your steps.
The wind plays with your hair and holds you from every angle.
At the end of this day acknowledge yourself, that splendid, sweet self.
Be proud of you.

single leg fold

Monday, December 7, 2015

{ compassionate } - writer. yogi. mama. friend. photographer. austin, tx

I'm conflicted by the term "tough love."
I don't think you can overuse "I love you."
Everyone needs to hear praise, even if they can't receive it.
I'll hold my kids until I'm physically unable.
Even then I'll pull them close to me for snuggles.
Life is too short to let the goodness remain hidden.
Positivity can only be multiplied when it's given out.
There isn't time to beat myself up over mistakes.
Apologize, seek growth, move on.
My views may not be right for you, yours may not be right for me.
Love is the true foundation of all.
If you're sad, cry.
If you're angry, yell.
Silence is a strength and it can hurt on both ends.
One day my babies won't be babies, and I'll still baby them.

The tears come quick and hot, streams of pain down my face.
Sobs echo through my dark apartment.
I want to ease the pain of my loves, I can't take the burden for them.
I land helpless on my pillow and cry for the hand of God to hold my tribe.
I can't fix the problem, lift the fear, erase the past, or control the future.
So I sink into my bed, I wail to an empty room.
I call every angel to hold, heal, and protect my dearest loves.
Tonight I'm a vessel for heartache.
I know it, I share it, I feel it too.
I'll soak the linens in your un-shed tears as my own, with my own.
All pain is great, big pain.
All love is great, big love.
This massive pain is simply massive love.


Wednesday, December 2, 2015

{ movement } - yogi. lover. mover. mama. austin, tx


Brush my hair from my cheek and tuck it behind my ear.
Look deep into my eyes with your dark mystery and give nothing away.
Pull the salt from my eyes in liquid form and feel the vibration of my heart shattering.
Our connection is seismic.


Return to the woods lover, find your wolf and bask in her strength.
The most beautiful fur she lets you curl up next to and rest.
She warns you with a firm growl when danger is near.
From her you've learned patience and courage.
Go find her now.


lowering to chaturanga

I called to heaven and begged to know why.
Heaven answered that day in spades.
I asked for a reason, for purpose, for hope most of all.
"The darkest hour is just before dawn" whispered the angel into my soul.
The sunshine I crave, my stubborn will and active body thrive.
Present grey you're an illusion.


Monday, November 16, 2015

{ sit gracefully } - yogi. mama. writer. austin, tx.

Sometimes life is not obviously poetic.
It's mundane and robotic.
That's when I know it's time to change.
Time to remember myself.

I slip away to the world all my own.
I go to the memories that bring me strength.
Sitting alone in a restaurant with my book and my Ray Bans.
Walking the sidewalk in New York City in Givenchy without a hand to hold.
Climbing from fear to triumph.

It helps me to think of the times I've been strong.
When I said the words that needed to be heard.
And when I silenced anger that didn't deserve a voice.
I've cried the tears and sat alone.
I can run, I can push myself, and I can smile.

When it's not obvious, I have to dive in.
Today I tasted the sweat from my lip, salty and sweet.
I didn't love everything I saw when I looked close.
No turning away though, I accept.
My strength isn't in creating a change.
My strength is creating grace to be here.

Saturday, October 17, 2015

{ journal entry } - mama. daughter. lover. yogi. austin, tx

It was the scent of fresh cut grass.
I rode to the trail and thought of you the whole time.
If you want to know if this is about you, it is.
Of course it is.

I wrapped myself in a purple cloak and twirled under a massive moon.
I ran away, because I run.
You chased me, or I wished that part perhaps.
Something hit my car as I drove away, I know my heart fell apart.
I picked myself up and began the repair.
Suddenly white all around, sunshine and kisses from heaven all over me.
Dreams in real life, pinch me.
I said "pinch" not "punch."
I claimed you took the floor away but I realize now that all along I'd been in the clouds with you.
No regrets, I'll keep falling from the sky if that's what it takes to fly.
Like tandem skydivers, grab my hands and I'll spiral with you.
We were puddles on the ground that time.
We were passion in the grass another.
I was all alone today.

Monday, October 5, 2015

{ take up my senses } - yogi. mama. lover. writer. witness. austin, tx

The morning was tangerine grey.
A red cardinal broke the colors of the sky and landed on a branch of forest green leaves.
Your flavor is scotch and tobacco.
There are so many textures and I recall each one but hardly have space to record them.
White surrounds me.
I'm eclipsed by the shadows of my own fears and I run away to seek certain pain.
At noon the light had turned yellow.
The cast of life busily acting out chaos while we sought serenity and sleep.
Clouds so fragile.
They looked as if someone had taken a brush and smeared them across an endless blue canvas.
Your warm hand on my waist.
I am Mother and protector, I am Child and irresponsible, I am Survivor and stubborn.
Your gaze pulls me in.
A quick magnetic glance and our eyes lock momentarily, you're the only to make me look away.
Each day holds some powerful second where my world explodes.
Fireworks of life shooting into the air and bursting before my eyes.
Lay down a blanket on this hill, let's watch together.

Tuesday, September 15, 2015

{ perspective change } - yogi. lover. mama. believer. austin, tx.

From a balcony where I sat I watched you.
You were a speck in the ocean, jumping waves and enjoying freedom.
I knew you from the distance because I'd always known you from the distance.
Nothing has changed.
I know you from far away, your energy pushes mine and I fall.
You're still jumping into the waves and you're still free.
I hold you in high regard, even when you've made me insignificant.
Somehow tonight I'm on a balcony and I know you're a speck that should search for me.
I'm here with a spotlight, I've made it so easy, so clear.
Those damn waves you love to jump into, they pull and you crave it.
I tried to be in them with you but you want them alone.
The ocean to yourself.
I walk up the beach and look to the sky.
The white clouds against her blue heart reassure me.
My shoulders are warm and bronze.
I can smell salt, sweetness, and amber.
The sand is gritty between my toes.
This chin of mine held high.
Invisible wings keep me upright.
Each step I push the ground behind me to go forward.
I'm a moving beacon.
I'll be easy to find and hard to reach at this pace.

Wednesday, September 9, 2015

{ what year is this } - yogi. mama. writer. lover. austin, tx

That time. Your porch.
Storms all day.
White shirts. No words.
No regrets.

Yellow flowers. Sandwiches.
Never let me go.
Thunder. A breeze and blanket.
I'm lost.

Because the knot in my throat is so big I can't breathe.
The sting swelling in my nose and eyes from the rush of tears about to spill.
I'm an avalanche and the painful words broke loose the weight I've kept at bay.
There's too much pressure, I issued warning that I was dangerous, that I'm not okay.
You can't yell or push someone like me, this wave will not be stopped.
I'm sorry for what I can't tame, control, or explain.
I offer no apologies for my honesty.

Tuesday, September 1, 2015

{ grow up } - yogi. daughter. mama. survivor. austin, tx

I went to sleep last night in a pile of fear and bedsheets.
Before that...
I clutched my body pillow.
The short, synthetic fur soft against my legs.
The well loved stuffing inside crushed under my embrace.
It was too warm to have so much weight, but my cocoon was essential.
The folds of cotton around me held me the way I wanted my mother to as a small child.
My pillow held my head like a soft lap I could trust.
Laying in bed I told myself all the ways to heal.
I coached myself on how to breathe and recite mantra.
Recounted my truth, claimed abundance, and thanked god for support.
Anxiety did not leave me, but my body found peace to relax.
It felt tight when it crawled up my body and into my head.
I wanted to run away, toss my head back, close my eyes, and be finished.
I pressed my palm to my heart and said aloud "you're still needed and everything is fine, breathe."
Worry soaked up the tears from my eyes, took the blush from my cheeks, and put a white hair at my temple.
I was done giving so much to these self sabotaging thoughts.
I drew in breath and heaved out terror.
My muscles became too heavy to hold onto my bones and my weight intensified so that I sank deep into my worn mattress.
If the world consumed me, I'd go down breathing and clawing.

Today I woke up determined to find myself, my strength, my honesty, and my angels.

Sunday, August 30, 2015

{ thinking in words } - yogi. photographer. writer. weirdo. austin, tx

She wrote the words from her heart which her head could not comprehend.
About loss and about living, about affection and about nothing.
She described the feelings and sensations that meant the most to her.
Sometimes she would share everything.
Other times she held it inside like a treasure guarded by a tiny smile, until the words disappeared.
It could be quite poetic and clear.
It could also be vague, enigmatic nonsense.
Could she slow down and savor all the words of each moment?
Lately she wondered, how are so many words lost?
Her mind constantly full of adjectives and experience.
It was time to acknowledge the need for these words.
Not some, few, or the sexy ones.
All the thoughts, celebrations, and fears deserve deep exploration and voice.

Monday, August 24, 2015

{ slap } - yogi. biker. writer. mama. austin, tx

It started with a rainy ride.
White shorts, chambray, and streaming tears.
It's easy to cry in public when it's raining.
Only I knew, because raindrops don't taste like salt dipped heartbreak.
Muddy splashes into my shoes and my ankles covered in dirt.
I'd have thrown myself into a ditch for full emersion if I were back home.
It was foggy and I dove into my penance.
Thank god for the slap.
Verdant leaves heavy with the rain whipped my right shoulder.
I sped up.
A spark of hope.
Light emerging in my darkness.
Old drops fell as leaves could retain no more and released them to cleanse me.
This was my life and the magic air I used to breathe.
Through tunnels and under trains, was I riding or flying?
Something carried me or I was floating.
What I'm sure of is that I let something go.
Something daunting and that did not belong to me.
That sludge was not mine.
I'd have to open up, say it.
The more I share the more I receive.
I don't want to go back to that cave.
I want the grass to brush my legs.
I want the wind to muss my hair.
I want to feel pockets of cool amid the steamy Texas air.
I want to stay awake for this life, no matter what.

Tuesday, August 18, 2015

{ telegraph } - yogi. mama. writer. austin, tx.

Simply quit this torturous routine.
Baby who knows what life will bring?
Knock off the abuse.
Cocoon yourself in lilac, be enfolded in petals of grace.
They touch your skin like liquid velvet.
You're going to be okay, say yes to soothing.
Let the water run through your hair, take in the scent of divinity.
Light is inside you like embers just beneath your skin.
Don't fear your fire, spark it and be warm again.
You can't continue to punish yourself for mistakes, you never deserved that.
Feathers brush against the back of your calves and soles of your feet.
Strength from the wings of curious angels.
Slow down and find your North.
You're not as alone as you feel and someone cares that you hurt.
It wasn't ever right for those things to happen.
Take a soapy rag and remove the barrier.
Toss the whole bloody bucket and rinse the sludge.
You're shiny now.
Don't run from the mirrors.

Monday, August 10, 2015

{ a time ahead } - mama. yogi. writer. austin, tx.

Someday you'll hold your own and know that the stars are in the sky for her.
You'll understand that the sun wakes up to kiss her cheeks and sparkle light upon her shiny hair.
In time you'll see her smile, hear her speak, watch her grow, and your heart will belong to her.
She may break it, bruise it, and test it, but without her it wouldn't work anyway.
Through the pain you'll learn her language and the tears will become elixir.
Tell her she's the reason you're alive and affirm her sweetness.
Never assume that she knows.
Generations have toiled at tearing her apart.
Wrap your arms around her and plant firm kisses on her head.
Look her in the eyes when you say that you love her.
Be her foundation, guide her to see her worth, and never forget how much she needs you.
It will take great strength my love, but there is nothing more valuable in this world or any other.
Her eyes close and night falls, the moon lifts to witness her slumber.
Breezes blow to feel the softness of her skin.
You'll know all of this and you'll still want to give her more.

Wednesday, August 5, 2015

{ not my fight } - yogi. writer. nostalgic soul. austin, tx

I can't remember her name anymore, but I recall her Dallas skyline t-shirt and slightly frizzy brown hair.
She had freckles and seemed like someone who would swear a lot, brave somehow.
My instant desire was to be her friend.
Ridicule came like a blow, like a heavy fist in my gut.
I choked on my tears and childhood heartbreak.
"Little girls are so mean."
Sound encouragement for life from my French teacher.
There were phone calls of harassment and threats.
She wasn't going to be my friend, she wanted to ruin my face, she sought some vile leadership of Monday Skate Night.
I never told my mom about the calls, never cried to my dad about the ugly words spoken against me.
I hid in my room.
I closed off the world.
I failed to understand that this wasn't my fight.
My self defense of kindness was like ammunition to her.
Little girls or grown men, some people will splash their pain on others without realizing.
Maybe there is a reason she always wore the Dallas shirt.
Perhaps those cruel words you only have courage to say to me, because you know I will never snap back.
It's possible suffering souls draw from a well because they feel empty.
You have my pity, you have my love, but to hell with you taking my light.

Thursday, July 30, 2015

{ fishbowls + portholes } - writer. observer. austin, tx

There is smoke rolling from an open window.
It's 4pm and the sheets are rumpled in a passionate way.
There is a porthole that exposes nothing but a reflection.
Cheers above a coffee table and they scatter to the noisy street.
So many stories, they go up and they fill my mind.
Lights turn on and others turn off.
Stairwells and picture frames trying to feel like home.
Broken promises and futures unknown float in the air like bad perfume.
It's 8pm and who knows what the truth is.
The later is gets the fewer there are to see but they are certainly more vivid.
If you have an imagination and empathy they may break your heart.
Who knows what the fish see when they look out.

Thursday, July 16, 2015

{ the great fire } - yogi. music lover. thinker. austin, tx

Sometimes I do this thing where I replay a song...continually for hours.
Same song, over and over.
A song will strike me, beg to be played again and then it deepens.
It digs into the fibers of my mind, I'm humming it on the trail, singing in the store, anxious to play it again.
I have to start turning it up really loud to feel the musical vibration and let the words permeate my bones.
I'm convinced there is a healing magic in music.
Perhaps it's the connection to someone who makes melody and shares words to match my emotion.
I get stuck in the loop and the beautiful tune pulls my heart through my eyes and down my cheeks.
I coast down hills and swirl around curves and the music pushes me on.
The door closes and the volume goes up.

Thursday, July 9, 2015

{ the smallest } - yogi. writer. lover. daughter. austin, tx

He looked up at her and his grin suggested he wanted to know all her secrets.
Weeks later she could see the threat that they imposed on his world.
She's the fragrance you lift your nose to catch in the breeze.
Her hair is what you crave to curl your fingers into as you pull her close.
You'd know her stride from more than a block away.
You blush at the sound of her voice through the phone.
But her heart can't be yours even if she's willing.
You'd dive head first into her bathwater to have her on your skin.
If she could be carried in your shirt pocket you'd tuck her away there.
Just to feel her snuggled next to your chest and humming her strange song.
She is no trinket, not a thing to be bought or held.
There is fire beneath her skin.
She warned him not to stoke it.
Now they'll both burn.

Wednesday, July 1, 2015

{ when i looked ahead } yogi. artist. lover. austin, tx

"What do you see when you close your eyes and think of the future?"

I answered exactly what I saw, I told her that I saw myself and my girls were there too. Then I said there was a dark haired baby. Oh god how hard this was.

"And are you happy?"

With apprehension I admitted that we all looked very happy. Why was it so hard to see myself full of joy?

"Tell me where you, the girls, and the baby with dark hair are and what you are doing."

I knew I had to keep being honest and open and saying what I saw. Well I said, we are outside someplace. It was the only answer I had because the location was so unfamiliar.
There were no stand out features, I just knew we were outdoors because I could feel the sun on my shoulders and a breeze against my neck.

"What are you doing?" She prodded once again.

A tear spilled from my eye and left a warm path down my cheek. I told her what I was doing in the future, I was painting.
I was outside, with my loves all around me and I was painting some silly picture and I was sublimely happy.

Monday, June 29, 2015

{ time travel } yogi. mama. writer. photographer. austin, tx

I woke up to harsh light and a tender touch.
It was so early and I didn't understand why I was being taken out of bed.
Everyone was in the living room, sitting on the blue sheet with white daisies.
There were finger foods spread out like a picnic.
What time was it?
I was so young I couldn't really conceive of time anyway.
The den was so dark and our tan bodies were making alien outlines against the light linens.
When I ate a grape it soured as it mingled with the toothpaste still fresh in my mouth.
Still blurry eyed and confused I spit it out.
They laughed and I didn't really know why, but I liked the attention.
Why was everyone else so alert?
What family was this, all together and in the semi-dark.
I liked them a lot, enough to bottle them like this in my mind forever.
Gangly and a little pushy, but close knit and smiling.
I wished that the food tasted better.
Eventually it started to be clear and still made no sense.
This middle-of-the-night feast was completely spontaneous, a wild hare my mom had.

It remains one of my favorite childhood memories of all time.

Sunday, June 28, 2015

{ a good man and a good woman } - yogi. child. writer. lover. austin, tx

She loved to sit in her chair and watch Jeopardy! with her feet up.
Her laugh was ridiculous and contagious.
I always had to look at her face when they argued, and her mischievous sparkling eyes gave her away.
They may have fought, but I never saw a real one.

He liked to grumble and murmur while he puttered around.
When he made his way to his chair near her it wasn't long before his head would drop and his snores began.

After he passed we were sitting there one afternoon and she looked around at their living room, took it in.
With a sigh she said to me "you know he used to come home every day and call out to me "Sally, I'm home!" just to let me know so I wouldn't be surprised. Now I'm never going to hear "Sally I'm home" again." With that the room fell silent. I don't really know if I was the only one there, but I remember it as just the two of us. I had no words to give her back, simply admiration and a heart full of hope that I'd one day know that great of a love.

Me-Maw, you made life more fun.
Thank you for giving me Twix and Hersey with almonds.
It's because of you that I have my name and my love of pineapple juice.
Your humor and strong nature inspire me.
Nothing compares to the way you loved your man and your boys.
Sometimes I secretly wished I had been a boy so I'd feel that special.
I felt spoiled when you took me shopping.
You made the best chicken spaghetti and chili with rice.
When you introduced me as "my namesake" I felt proud.
I know you're foggy now and it's hard to remember me.
I tell your stories to my girls and I try to do the special things just like you.
You gave me baby oil after a bath and Buttered Pecan ice cream.
I watched Winnie The Pooh and To Kill A Mockingbird with you.
If I had my way I would sit with you and ask you all my burning questions...

"Tell me how y'all met and all the good things that come from loving someone for a lifetime."

I remember the last thing you said to me about him, "he was a good, good man."

Me-Maw, you are one really good woman.

Friday, June 26, 2015

{ conversation } yogi. lover. mama. photographer. austin, tx.

When we talked it was flawless, like feeding quarters to a slot machine I thought eventually I'd win.
You gave back then held back, repeat.
You looked me in the eyes and said to me "we have to communicate, that's the only way this will work."
Hesitantly I acknowledged and agreed to share even the most uncomfortable and minute of details.

"I don't know what just happened, but I promised to to tell you if something ever bothered me and...well...that did."

I kept my word. I felt childish and petty, but I told you when something wasn't right.
Time ticked and life kept going, I was happy, ignorantly happy.
"Babe, can you come in here, we need to talk."

I can't write dialogue for this because it never happened.
It ends with questions and only questions.

Thursday, June 25, 2015

{ cry to the stars } - yogi. mama. photographer. lover. writer. austin, tx

I dressed up in two pair of sweat pants and a flannel shirt and laid myself down in the front yard.
I looked up to the sky and she danced for me in her sparkling skirt of stars.
The grass damp against my back and dreams so alive in my mind.
I watched her twirl and the stars fell from her garment and spilled down my cheeks.
I wiped the shimmer away with the back of my hand and cuff of my shirt.
To be so young and feel so much was a challenge.
I could get lost in the vast darkness, I believed the grass would consume me.
Headlights turned down our drive and my reverie was banished by high beams.
The sky always calls me, she holds open her arms to understand my mystery and emotion.
It was that first night in the lawn of the country house that I let her hold me, and I understood my favorite song.

Wednesday, June 24, 2015

{ feng shui } - yogi. mama. wanderer. writer. austin, tx.

There are people who know exactly why they like what they like.
Sometimes I know, most of the time it's strictly opinion I can't define.
I always know.
Some things just don't belong around me and I get irritated by the thought.
The pink dresser had to go and the bookcase should've been gone over two years ago.
This is a chance to begin with things that truly make me happy, things that feel good.
I've named her Haven and I'm mama in the nest.
The feeling is warm and light, the scent is intoxicating.
Every surface offers new sensation to your touch.
Luminous and graceful, she'll draw you in.
Her vibe is strong and comforting.
It's so hard to get everything just right, it may take a while.
Until it's the way I want it, less is most certainly more.
I've pruned and picked, I won't let anything near her until my heart says "yes!"
What these walls will see and hear will be bliss, happy people, mad love, and soft hearts.
Welcome home love, it's taken a long time to get here, but you did it.
Allow in only the purest of brilliance and let love flow out with abandon.

Tuesday, June 23, 2015

{ pushing } - mama. yogi. writer. photographer. austin, tx

I push, it's kind of my "thing."
I'm pushing myself to write this now.
She called me a bull in a china cabinet more times than I can remember.
Strong willed, stubborn, hard headed, difficult, they all made the cut.

I'm not discontent, I push because I'm passionate.
Even passion needs to be tempered, so I'm pushing myself to slow down and be mindful.
I took deep breath yesterday and today was graceful.
Still there was the same old me saying "go, go, can do anything."
I like my determination and guts.
I haven't enjoyed the fine tuning at all times but I can see the reason.
It's only because of this self-pressure that I am here today.
I'm living a life that I love and none of it happened by luck.

I want to delete. God this writing is hard, but again I made a promise and I won't quit.

When I brought each of my daughters into this world the effort seemed like teamwork.
I think that's what life is about, finding those who will hold on when the pressure comes.
We are like caterpillars who are lucky enough to go through chrysalis with a partner.
Through life and experience I'm learning more about when to accept that I can't force everything.
More importantly, that I don't want to.

Monday, June 22, 2015

{ very little } - yogi. writer. mama. austin, tx.

You said for me to write, to let things pour out.
Jack, I trust you and I'm writing.
You're right, it feels awkward and I stumble with words and running sentences.
You're also right when you say that I have to keep going.
Stories and memories mix up, what was real and what was my fantasy?
I guess that's where I always end up, back at my roots when my feet were filthy and I ran among horses and through fields.
I pretend to be there when I feel lost, I look straight up because the sky looks the same from here.
If I really bare all, I know the moment I began to question the earth under me.
There was one world and suddenly it was gone.
That's why I always go back to times before that.
I go back to the smell of the Guadalupe River and Kerrville, TX.
After back surgery I found that again.
Maybe the titanium really does make me bionic.
I sat in their yard and planned my journey back to myself.
This is where I belong, I feel it. My soul thrives here and I'm me again.
The thing about writing on here is how close I come to deleting every word.
"It's all rambling tonight" I say, "I should probably write a story."
You know I love memoirs the most and mine is pretty much a rambling prose.
I can tell you that I have played this life, I cherish my tribe, and it all matters...

Saturday, June 20, 2015

{ I stopped calling you daddy } - daughter. yogi. mama. austin, tx

Dad I'm so thankful that you and mom gave me life. I try to say it often and I hope you hear it, I love you.
I remember playing with june bugs when you left for a City Council meeting, I admired your beard.
I sat on your lap in the tractor and watched you churn the earth to prepare for a plant.
You let me slide down with the rice into dryer and I can clearly recall the worry across your face.
Thank you for pushing me on the tire swing and taking me out to see alligator nests.
The creek house was mutually enchanting and terrifying and would be that way to me even as a teen.
I'm sorry for the year I stopped talking to you.
I'm sorry I was a fifteen year old brat who blamed you for secrets I was ashamed of.
Dad I know I broke your heart and I'm so glad you've never given up on me.
Thank you for teaching me how I should be loved.
You let me drive a tractor, fly a plane, and shoot a pistol.
Thank you for trusting me.
You pour love into my life, my girl's lives, and you dote on everyone you can.
I'm a better person because of you.
I can remember many times you saying "I'm proud of you."
Daddy, I'm proud to be yours.

Tuesday, June 16, 2015

{ i wrote } - yogi. lover. mama. writer. austin, tx

I sent a text that summed up my heart state. I was proud of the progress and the words came out poetic.
Along with so much, the text has been deleted.
I'm not fearless, but I'm not giving up.
I read this book over the weekend that reminded me to smile again and appreciate my strong will.
I remembered how I'm stubborn, savvy, indulgent, and nurturing and I can appreciate that those are good qualities.
I love real big and I take care of what I love. I care about details. I'm currently obsessed with rugs and I will always be obsessed with pretty shoes.
I had lunch with a friend and closed my eyes to taste each dish. I like short red fingernails and freshly shaven legs.
There is too much inside me and it can't all get out, it's not all requited and some is unwelcome.
None of it is wrong and I have to remind myself that part.
I've got the most and I've lost much.
I'm strong for this life, strong for my loves, and strong for me.
One grateful day at a time my friends.

Tuesday, June 9, 2015

{ you called me } - writer. lover. yogi. austin, tx

Oh my sweet girl.
I want to kiss you where it hurts and dab the tears from your cheeks.
I'd give anything to take this pain from you, press my healing hand to your wound.
Tender baby, don't fear.
Close your eyes and you'll see my arms wrap you up, stroke your hair, and lay a kiss to your temple.
Because I've seen your strength I know you'll be more than okay, you will thrive.
Let me be your safety.
Until you've cried all your salty tears and your body ceases to tremble, I'll hold you.
When you've crossed through the fear of dreaming and found sleep, I'll still be next to you.
Tiny lover so frail.
I'm here with you at the center of the earth, remember my chamber and the plush cushions.
Come sneak inside and crawl into my lap, lay your head at my breast and unleash your sobs.
Darling baby girl.
Blue silk, velvet, fur, and all of the softest things will touch your skin and secure you.
Breathe with me angel, squeeze me as tightly as you need until all the hurt is out.
I know you're tired of being strong, fall apart in my den and let me cleanse each injured piece.
You don't have to be bright and held together, shatter and I'll hold space for your sparkling fragments.

Tuesday, May 26, 2015

{ embraces } - yogi. writer. photographer. austin, tx

There is a smell that fills my nose when I tuck my face into the perfect fit of your neck.
That familiar scent, familiar place, they encompass me and I buckle.
My skin prickles with chills and my knees weaken, but you never let me fall beyond your hold.
My fingertips explore the curves of your chest and they smooth away the tensions of your muscles.
I'll rub away your pain, kiss away your hurt, and soak in your tears.
Through injury, adventure, chaos, and all the unknown, I'm not afraid to share the struggles.
The center of your forehead marks the place my kiss belongs and my lips know the texture well.
They know the softness of your cheeks, the delicacy of your eyelids, and the return of your own.
My arms feel a ghost embrace slide around them and my heart pounds against the air.

Thursday, May 7, 2015

{ scratch } - yogi. writer. austin, tx

On a cloudy day not long ago the sun broke through and pierced my shoulders with her graceful heat.
The line of my clothing visible long after I took them off.
Light left her mark and infused me with life.
When the sun hits my skin I respond, my shoulders curl back and I look up.
Through leaves it cuts a line of steely strength and vibrance, I see spots.
Cool shadows melt and make space for a warmth so tangible you can wrap your hands around it.
Pound, pound, pound.
The faster I go the more the dance builds.
Partnership of sweat and breath.
Each increase of my temperature encourages a sweet inhale of cool and waft of air.
A stubborn spirit and anxious mind propel the flame.
On a cool day I cupped my hands over my mouth and exhaled hot breath just to feel alive.
My ears prickled with pain and my head moaned to rest.
The memory of Summer a distant film on a dirty, fading cinema screen.
It's time to feel hot sand under my back again, time to be lit on fire from the outside in.
The brightness is so close that I can see it on the horizon even with my eyes shut.
Go, go, go.
Go get your dream sweetheart, tuck the purple into your heart, and live this blessed life.

Tuesday, May 5, 2015

{ un read } - yogi. writer. photographer. austin, tx

Where is the curious spark that flickered across your face?
There was wonder and desire.
Go ahead, crack my spine, break me in.
Lick your finger and turn every page.
Find the stories that you don't yet know, learn the secret.
In these pages, stories, humor, fantasy, and magic.
Read and uncover, ask and unlock.
A creative body of work in the palm of your hands.
Feel free, draw in my margins, leave your notes.
Dust and patina carry no glamour, blow off my cover and don't stop at the foreword.

I laid on the floor with my tears hot, stinging my eyes before they rolled to exit.
My chest heaving as I held in sobs, not now, not here.
I remembered the sky.
Last night I looked up, she was so blue I could hear the stars weep.
I've given up on myself somehow, I can't remember the light but I know it's there.
The light is blue like the sky and amber like my soul.
It feels like exile and I crave home.
I push and I push, at least now it's only myself, I have new sympathy for those I crushed.
My shoulders shake, I wish someone would hold them down.
Heart in my throat, a headache I can't escape, screams I can't unleash.
I let the rain fall straight on my head, soak my clothes, and wet my skin.
There was a time I ran through the storm and braved lightening to sprint.

Tuesday, March 31, 2015

{ words and numbers } long lost writer - austin, tx

Sometimes it takes a friend to speak up before I move to action. In this case there were a couple of you for which I am deeply grateful. My will to write, to shoot, and to share have waned and a part of who I am was lost momentarily. Although my camera still waits, my words I release.

You were 42, 37, 24, and a thousand yellow flowers.
I was wrapped up in a cocoon of purple with the blue sky above me.
A hundred days go by or maybe two.
Enigma and bliss blur together, I muddle emotion like a mint julep.
I have the words in my head and let them fall silent.
My heart is exposed and the words tumble forth.
Shake, books, everyone is Bob, angels in my pocket, and your eyelashes brush my cheek.
A curl of dark hair, skeptical and sincere.
Tiny fingers that wrap around my hair, the sweetest gift.
Nothing will surpass you three.
Water, mud, white linen, and bean bags.
All that has been, every experience, only excites me for the future.
Can I have this forever, can I bottle this life?