Passion and love have always been difficult emotions for me to process. As an empath, they can both overwhelm me, confuse me, leave me vulnerable and insecure. But I believe in order to live my best life, I must allow the fullest expression of myself to reach the surface. Balance, boundaries, an early bedtime help me not feel some of the weight. I wrote this a long time ago, but every time I go back to read it, it speaks to me like I penned it yesterday.


Turbulent seconds rush faster than my heart can beat
Quicker than I can run to meet love halfway
I try to avoid these floating moments of ecstasy
The mad craving for your skin, your furious breath in my hair
Wanting to travel through nirvana with you
Dripping into each other like sizzling rain

Keeping my back against the wall
makes it easier to sleep alone
tracing memories
where love learned to leave
Creating devotion in letters and
moments of pure intelligence
Because love makes no sense
to the trained eye
It creates chaos that
leaves the bathwater dirty
Fleeting joy running naked
through a den of clouded rooms
panting like dogs before supper

Waiting for our passion to collapse and then near reunion
Probing over and under each other
For handles to hold and attach ourselves everlasting
when my fear wants to take up strings
to lift me away from you

I try to receive the concrete of this need
for your hands and heart unshielded beneath my heat
wherever you end up in my life
letting that be a place I can go to
for reconciliation

photo by Janie Vinson


I just turned 45 and my whole life seems to have turned upside down. Suddenly I am being cosmically reunited with passions that used to fuel my spirit. Maybe because I’ve experienced so much loss over the last 5 years. Maybe because I never felt middle-aged until this number crept up on me. Maybe because I lost the most precious person in my life recently, my beloved grandmother, and a piece of my soul could not return from that loss.

Add on top of this, covid, sheltering in place, being a disaster service worker; and watching my social media feed fill with so many voices suddenly in support of black lives as if something finally clicked, as if every black death that came before #georgefloyd was somehow justified; undeserving of the same scrutiny.

Aching to express these losses and desires, hopes and outrage; and a call to be alive AND living, elevates me now from wanting to write to needing to write.

I plan to post 1 poem a week, as a practice. If you find some value in my work, consider donating to the lgbtq freedom fund to help secure bail for trans and lgbq folks who are detained in jail or immigrant detention.

~ in solidarity towards a common humanity