You gotta hand it to short people. Because usually they can’t reach it themselves, even with the step stool. I kid, I kid! …Not really though. My father was six … Continue reading Short.
You gotta hand it to short people. Because usually they can’t reach it themselves, even with the step stool. I kid, I kid! …Not really though. My father was six … Continue reading Short.
I had to become the villain in others’ stories so I could live freely as the hero in my own. I’ve been thinking lately about the concept of heroes and … Continue reading Who Lives, Who Dies, Who Tells Your Story.
One thing I struggled with for many years, as a side effect of cutting contact with my mother, was the fact that I still had a lot of personal property … Continue reading The Stuff Process, parts 1 & 2.
I read a little story once about a beach that was covered in hundreds of starfish that had washed up with the tide. A young person was walking along the … Continue reading Starfish.
Every story I share about my father Every memory I hold Feels invariably like a eulogy And the trouble is, I’m not sure for whom. He died seventeen years ago, … Continue reading Every memory a eulogy.
Dear Diana, Who loses herself In empathy for everyone else From the tiniest field mouse To her own abusers, But who holds sympathy For her own lifetime Of pain Like … Continue reading Dear Diana.
My first name is Diana, who in Roman mythology was the goddess of the moon and hunting; to the Greeks, she was Artemis. (Although my more bookish father liked to … Continue reading Burden.
I am an elementary school art teacher. Color is kind of my thing. Admittedly, it’s been my thing since long before the art teacher gig. I’ve had a passion for … Continue reading The tragic tale of my favorite color.
“I think there’s somethingYou should knowI think it’s time I stopped the showThere’s something deep inside of meThere’s someone I forgot to be…” I saw one of those fancy shmancy … Continue reading Loneliness and freedom.
Embrace the sad. That’s what my therapist told me today. Embrace the sad. I’m sorry to say that, even after over seven years of therapy and an incredible amount of … Continue reading Embrace.