Blessed are the brown people
The shithole countries
The refugees and the homeless
Blessed are the immigrants
For they remind us of the ‘dream’
Blessed are the Muslims
And the disabled
And the working poor
And blessed are those who march
Who call out injustice
Who fight in the trenches
Who write, and tweet, and vote
And stand up every day against the hatred that threatens us
Blessed is the resistance, for in their persistance
We find hope.
They say that your skin – your epidermis – completely regenerates itself every 27 or so days, so technically, I’m a different person than I was a month ago at this time.
I’ve always found that little tidbit fascinating, and frankly, kinda gross and creepy, in a weirdly cool way. Continue reading “Clearing the Slate?”
What happens when you realize that Christmas just might not be “your” holiday anymore?
This question has been tumbling around in my head since mid-November, and I’ve begun to write about it half a dozen times, only to delete everything and close the computer in frustration.
It isn’t often that I find myself unable to put my thoughts into words, but this is one of those times. Have you ever had thoughts take root so deeply inside the recesses of your own mind that you can’t quite tell if they’re thoughts, or if they’re emotions…..or perhaps some amalgam of the two? Continue reading “Losing Christmas, Finding Peace”
I’m laying in my bed staring at the stars.
Not at the stars outside my window…
The stars on my ceiling.
Yes, I am a grown-ass, almost 40 year old woman, and I have glow in the dark stars pasted all over my ceiling.
Continue reading “Count the Stars”
How do you pray for someone if you don’t really believe in God?
How do you pray at all?
I’ve been asking myself this question over and over this week.
I used to pray, with fervor.
I prayed, even though, somewhere in the deepest corners of my heart, I wasn’t sure that God was real or if s/he heard or cared. I prayed because it was what I was taught to do, because it was expected, because I wanted so hard to believe that it made a difference.
I prayed because I wanted to believe that it made a difference.
Now, though, as I work through what my honest beliefs really are, apart from what I was taught, apart from religious dogma, I often wonder where prayer fits in, or if it does at all. Continue reading “Almost Like Praying”
My alarm clock went off at 6:45 this morning, and I cried.
I’m not kidding.
“Not Throwing Away My Shot” started to play on my phone, my brain turned on, my eyes opened, and I literally burst into tears. Continue reading “13 Days. #Lifechange”
Age 11 in the Cincinnati Downtown Public Library. I was too scared to tell anyone because I was 11, and I believed that I’d done something wrong and dirty.
Age 26 by a superior officer, at a work conference in Colorado. I was too scared to tell anyone because I was afraid to lose my job, my rank, and my reputation.
Age 35 behind the bar at a gallery opening in the art studio where I still do pottery. This time, it was witnessed, and even though those who witnessed it kept him away from me for the rest of the night, he wasn’t asked to leave, and I still see him around town all the time. Continue reading “#MeToo”
I wish you could’ve met my dad.
I find myself saying this phrase over and over throughout my life. As I grow older, meet new people, and experience new things, I wish my dad was here to experience them with me. Continue reading “My dad is…I mean, was…..”
I just want to STOP.
Stop running around.
Stop working so hard.
Stop being perpetually behind.
Stop being so anxious.
Stop caring so much.
I want the madness of the world to just STOP.
Stop the shootings.
Stop the racism.
Stop the oppression.
Stop the violence.
Stop the sexism.
Stop the heartbreak.
Stop the madness.
I want to just stop it.