I begin to think something, an inkling of something. Possibility. My potential capacity to actualize aspiration. I feel the edges of my unlived life and quiver at its magnitude. I begin to think I am capable of incredible feats. A life of health, wholeness, joy, and deep commitment. So what stands in my way?

The In Between Space

The field between my fingertip and the screen 

Is a reverse gravity 

A strong resistance. 

If there are words they are teetering upon written 

But remain as mere potential. 

If there are feelings they are unformed 


And dark.

Sometimes writing is worse 

Than wading 

Barefoot through a gator swamp 

Or a swarm of bees 

Or a cave of horrors. 

Instincts and actions 

Never seem to agree. 

They bicker and battle 

And melt into nothing

Into a sad paralysis. 

A low grade misery 

That permeates everything. 

And in the in between space 

Lives an insatiable dissatisfaction,

A disappointment at the core of me,

An arthritis of the soul.

In the field between finger and screen 

Is a desire to run the fuck away,

To kill my passion 

Before it kills me, 




What if…

What if time offered you 

A chance at something new? 

Would you hold on to the past? 

Massage the old wounds 

‘Cause they’re so familiar? 

Or would you allow 

Life to progress as it wants to? 

Would you give yourself 

To the flow of things?

Trust in its movement? 

Do you have any choice anyways

When love bangs on your door?

Unlived Life

Skip everything that causes trouble.

Drama is like a triple long island.

It tastes good going down.

But you’re likely to feel like shit the next day.

It is not easy

Overcoming the blocks

Pushing back against the wall

Destroying the destruction

Before it does its worst.

If somewhere within you

Is an unlived life screaming out

For your attention

You must heed its call

Sooner or later

Or else risk being swallowed whole

By the big motherfucking sad.


I underestimate myself

While I decimate my health.

Power is present

No matter how we use it.

Do we give to the easy weight of passivity?

Do we grow complacent and bitter

At the thought of our dreams

Simply for what they ask of us?

Do we shun them?

Scorn our inner child 

For wanting something beautiful

Out of this world?

How dare you 

Ask me to live this unlived life.

I do not want it.

I am not good enough for it.

You’ve got the wrong girl. 

Maybe try next door.

But I underestimate myself.

I give in to appalling behaviors.

I hurt myself 

Because it’s easier than

Stepping into my true power.