White Girl’s Tears

Hands won’t come clean.
My salt isn’t functionally abrasive.

Too bloody
Too dirty
Too much privileged earth
To disappear myself.

Rubbing, working flesh with
Tired fingers, worrying skin.

Nails cracked and breaking, I’m
Deficient, thin.

Pale, freckled digits
Scrape young wrinkles.

Tearing at this husk.

I knew my mother’s hands
Would appear someday.
Driven to reverse the stain.

Meaty palms, fat.
Scrubbing, hoping it’s not too late.
Cracked hard, splintering,
Tiny fractures radiate.

Bloody now, bloody before.
Frantically knowing what I knew, and more.

Smoky dusty earth, under nails.
Generations of bitter choking
Forced through a thousand lungs.
Lodged in my skin.
“I can’t breathe,” He said


42 Days To Go!

An auspicious number, 42.

In 42 days, I will put on a big fluffy dress and walk on bare feet down a cobbled stone walkway, and say sweet words to the man I choose to spend the rest of my days beside.

It would be corny to say he is my 42; but he really is.


We are better together than apart, and he has become the appendage I never knew I needed. I wouldn’t say he’s my better half; more that he helps me be ME in a way that I never could if he weren’t by my side.

We’re getting married in 42 days.

That’s auspicious.


What’s Your Sign?

I am sitting, mouth agape. Sitting in the dusty maroon 1980’s era La-Z-Boy that was my grandfather’s. Right now, something incredible has happened.

No one else is around. I’m all alone in the apartment, besides the kitties lounging on the dirty laundry pile and unmade bed.

I’ve had a revelation, and it came in the form of an unexpected, winking nod from the Universe. A sign!

I glance at the corner of our apartment to the “library” which up until tonight, was covered in boxes of wedding flotsam waiting to be assembled, hung, and celebrated under.

The largest section of shelves are devoted to my favorite women writers – Jennifer Crusie and P.C. Cast – whose novels were sorted earlier, in what I call The Great Cull.

(The Great Cull is an ongoing project I embarked on a year and a half ago, in a quest to rid myself of the things I don’t need.)

These women’s books, though? Were things I needed.

Placed on their shelves, safe and sound, our wedding-bits boxes took residency in front of the books, and I went about the business of life.

Tonight’s organizing endeavors brought me to this section of shelves, and I stood there a while, running my fingers over ragged/smooth book spines. I pulled out a few, and opened them to dog-eared bookmarks, remembering.

Dwelling in admiration for these two strong, amazing examples of authorship, I thought about my own dreams.

Some people call it “chick lit.”

Some people say that in a derogatory tone.


Those people are shortsighted and ignorant.

I want to write books under these examples.

They are full of all the best storytelling techniques. Books full of romance, adventure, fun, humor, sometimes mysticism; all rolled up in a beautifully described package. Whatever you call it, I love it.

I’ve been trying to gather the spoons to write. It’s not easy for me.

So, this New Year, as an exercise to help make myself be bolder, more confident in this writing thing, I went to my favorite authors’ social media. Looking through their latest posts, hoping for some words of wisdom, I found some good things, some kind things.

Jennifer Crusie’s post Plenty of Time spoke to me with the same fervency and belief as the tiny, undeniable voice inside urging me to put my heart on paper.

P.C. Cast’s photo demonstrated the kindness she lives in, showing me that success doesn’t automatically make you weird or inhuman. Authors are people, just like me.

Inspiring words and images from women who created worlds and characters I love, and they were speaking to me!

(Okay, to everyone within their reach on the internet, but still. To me!)

So I commented. I commented with my heart’s words, inspired by theirs.

They both wrote back.

To which, I am floored.

This day, the third day of 2016, The Year of Dawn!

It’s a sign.

Keep on trucking. Keep doing. Keep working.

Anything is possible.


Who are you?

Beginnings are hard. Uncertainty is the only certainty.

This is my third attempt at a blog since Myspace crashed spectacularly 6 or so years ago, and blogging became less of a thing that you did. Facebook and Twitter don’t lend themselves to extended musing, and I, like so many, became distracted by life.


I am known in my life as someone who has issues following through. The issues I have with completion are compounded by anxiety, trauma, what I suspect might be ADD, and radiation to the brain.

Tonight, I start anew, quieting the shrieking inner critics who continually discourage me from doing anything creative.

“You’ll never finish.” – The day I finish is the day I die.

“You’ll get distracted.” -Of course I will.

“There’s no reason to do any of this.” – Sure there is. Expression itself is reason enough.

“No one cares.” – Maybe. I don’t care about their opinions.

“No one wants to hear what you have to say.” – Perhaps. But at least the words will be out of my head for once. 🙂

I honor you, screaming wraiths of terror. You came from somewhere. I’m just going to wrap you in my big, squishy arms, and ignoring what you keep drumming over and over in my head:

“You’re never going to finish.” – What is this “finish” you speak of?

“You don’t even know who you are. How can you communicate yourself to anyone else?” – All part of the process. We can learn together, my blog and I.

“And why would you even try? The internet is a slushheap, full of dreamers. No one wants what you have to give.” – This one is the hardest. How ’bout this? Never in the history of man, has there been an easier way to communicate with people around the globe. I’d be spitting in the face of everyone who lived a life of quiet desperation if I refused to try to put myself out there in this big old world. How about THAT?

Hush now, terror and despair.

Who I am, is the morning.

I am Dawn. I am full of sunshine and belief in humanity. Distract me all you wish, my light touches the people around me, and I have so very much to give.

I’m trying again.