why not?







to CARE is to
love, somehow
no matter how the words are

are you able to avoid reality? if so, for how long??

Stop, Truth!


“Something’s babbling
Truth, and I’m
Trying to turn it down.
Or off.”

Do I live in a chocolate sundae
World? Yes, emphatically.

But I am unwilling
To go further than I
want to.

Too much of anything
Could be frightening.

“the babbling stopped.”

“I will not encounter noise
of that sort, again.”

Meanwhile my soul turns
At the loss of knowing.

It is the knowing which will
Kill me.

Note Maddie's tail....



Guest Post from husband, Steve Blair

Maddie is our beautiful labradoodle
More poodle than lab
When she goes for her grooming
We always say; no poodle cut please
Sherry was great but she left Almost Home Grooming
That left Tiffany; she didn’t listen closely
Maddie came home last week with a fluffy tail.

Maddie has decided her new look
Inclines her to the circus life
Her new name is Clementine
And she travels the country
As a hoop jumping dog.
We miss her, but you can’t stand in
The way of your child’s happiness.

by: Steve Blair, shared by his wife, Amy, on their 9 month’s anniversary of happiness.

the beast, rewritten


I wrote a short story about mental illness, a while ago. But I wrote around the truth. Because for me to write about mental illness is to put but a grain of sand onto a beach full of definitions, experiences, and ramifications.

What is my true feeling?  Beyond just mentioning statistics? Truly I do feel there is a stigma about that monstrous, ungainly beach of sand. A stigma whose undercurrents cry, “Thank God I’m normal!” This is heard from those not plagued with chemical imbalance. Because the imbalance is so much more than chemical. It’s made from nature, nurture, and the society in which we live.

And as complicated as people are, there is no understanding for those that err in whatever egregious or minor way. So families help. Support of any kind helps. Acceptance, if not understanding, helps. Keeping on medication helps. Having a therapist; even a psychiatrist, helps.

I say let’s try less to quarantine that beach of pains and misunderstandings.

“Chin up, all! WE can surmount this!”

to allow what "is" to be enough

Searching for Moderation


Dedicated to John Holden Lillis, who requested something more “positive”

Driving fast
Endangering fellow high schoolers’

The wild unawareness
Of youth

What I would give
for that body I had

somehow surprisingly surviving
the recklessness

why did I think my
beliefs would stay with me?

The cosmos shivered from
My attempts at being a good
Person (in my mind)

Everything was larger than life

My commitment to my BFFs
My clamor for sculpting the perfect body
My attempt to be the top student

All that yearning.

I get my walk in,
Attempt to eat judiciously
And give my husband and family
All my love.

Am I so different now?

My search for perfection
Has been fine-tuned
To graceful moderate days.

this too, will end

Duration, expression


Sadness is dangerous because it has no real duration
Or expression for me

It has a silence all its own
In which, nevertheless, words paint themselves
In my mind

Both expressing and eschewing
My grief

I unwittingly compose poems, inside my head,
“salty tears drip to the tongue… I am wrung…”

meanwhile I stifle sobs under the

what’s odd?

This time….

I awake the next day.
The sun shines down.
I am ready, again.

many versions exist, too many to think about- of "me"

Writing Myself


I just realized last night:
For some time in my
past, everything I
wrote became who I was.

I was writing my life.

I would fret over this flaw
and that exchange.

My take on it, my
writing about it, became my

I was becoming the girl whose words
were tattooed onto her skin, soon
careening into a mottled mess.

I write about this realization because
NOW I know I have freedom
to write as many versions of my
reality as I want.

I’m not writing myself.