You Are The One


You are “the one” but not in the way I once thought,

you are not my soul mate, not “the one” I am meant to spend the rest of my life with.

You are the one who helped me learn so many life lessons, Read the rest of this entry

I Cried This Morning


I cried this morning,

the kind of tears that come unprovoked

that saturate your face, redden your eyes,

couldn’t catch my breath. Read the rest of this entry


I feel sick, I feel sick, I feel sick
Little boys are dying
Yet so much of humanity has no humanity
Their dark skin makes them grown,
It seems to make your skin crawl when we refer to them as son,
Child, teenager, even – young man,
Though some are not even close to manhood.
You prefer words like ghetto, thug, thief,
Say he felt like Hulk Hogan in your hands
Had the look of a demon in his eyes
You felt fear, fear for your life, this I do not doubt. Read the rest of this entry

Little Black Boys Dying

Do I Ever Cross Your Mind?


Do you ache for me?
Do I creep into your mind
at random or inopportune times?
Do you long to feel my touch…
can your skin almost remember it?
Do your lips miss mine?
Do you feel stupid or foolish?
Wish you didn’t crave me so much?

Or am I now just an ex?
Someone you barely remember?
Been over so long
I rarely enter your thoughts?
Given your heart to so many others
that I’m not in it at all anymore?
Could you never see me again
and have that be just fine?

Feels that way.
Like the passion was extinguished
for one of us, but not the other.
One of us dreams, hopes, longs,
aches, craves, lusts and loves still.
One of us hears and sees things frequently
that reminds us of the other.
One of us still cares, too much,
the other, seemingly, not at all….

If You Don’t Want All of Me


This one still makes me a lil sad….

If you don’t want to handle my tears,
you don’t get to see my smiles
If you don’t want to hear about my fears,
I won’t tell you about my joys
If you aren’t willing to walk the long miles,
then you don’t get to be part of the journey.

If you don’t want me to share my soul with you,
then I’m not going to share my body with you either.
If you don’t want to build a home together,
its futile for us to play house.
If you don’t want to acknowledge me in the open,
then you don’t need to behind closed doors.
If you don’t want to hold my hand in the sunshine,
don’t expect to be holding anything else in the darkness.

I am taking all my power back,
I know what I want, I know who I am and I’m not settling.
If you don’t want all of me, you can’t have any of me!



This is my body,
all the areas that feel so soft under your caress
that connect to something magical inside of me when touched
the hairs that stand on end when you whisper in my earlobe,
the freckles that get darker under the warm summer sun
and fade away during the harshness of winter
skin that cries out for moisture,
that tries to hide all the bones and blood within,
but some of the veins in my hands and wrists insist on being seen anyway.

This is my body
that is a colorful canvas,
with its pink undertones on cream flesh, flecks of brown, blue veins, blue eyes,
hair that’s mostly a deep brown, with a persistent red that pushes through
and now, several coarse grey hairs that insist on making their mark
right on top, yelling that youth is leaving, and perhaps wisdom is coming.

This is my body
with its hard elbows and dry, cracking feet
that never seem to smell quite as wonderful as you’d like
but have gotten me to the tops of peaks to look down at beautiful vistas
or hurried me along, and away from danger’s hands
they aren’t ticklish, they aren’t small and dainty, they are strong and sturdy feet.

This is my body
with parts that feel weak and parts that feel strong
parts that are alive with passion and parts that are tired
with lines and scars and stretch marks and occasional pimples,
confused whether its face is still a teenager or a middle aged woman.

This is my body
with eyebrows that are rarely plucked
lips that are almost daily covered in some color or shimmer
eyes that want to see but need help so my vision is not blurred
ears that connect to hips that move to beats that change the pace of my heart.

This is my body
that has been shared and taken and slapped and beaten and choked
and torn and bruised and stretched and bitten
it has seen and experienced humans at their worst,
has been cold and hungry and fatigued and housed a person who felt like quitting
but has kept on going and going and going.

This is my body
it has worked through all kinds of pain but has seen so much joy
some of those scars and stretch marks came when this body carried two beautiful babies within its womb,
nursed them at its breasts one year each
and has held and nurtured and comforted and calmed children in its loving arms.

This is my body
perfect in its imperfections, strong in its weakness,
lovely in its contradictions,
capable of storing a lifetime of memories in each of its cells,
pulsating and sweating and screaming at times,
but always – BEAUTIFUL!

Why people don’t like poetry?


This post made me think of my daughters who dread Shakespeare in school almost more than anything else! I think we definitely need to introduce our youth to poetry that is perhaps more relevant to them. They shouldn’t always have to “begin beating it with a hose to find out what it really means”!


This essay is inspired by some of the recent comments in this post. And it made me think: why  people really don’t like poetry? What is it that keeps them away from maybe not writing, but from reading some really exquisite pieces by poets from all around the world?

The usual answer is something like “Poetry is boring”, “I don’t understand it”, “It’s a waste of time”. So I wanted to explore this topic a bit further.

If we look more deeply around us, we can notice that people have very little time to appreciate art in general. This fast paced, consumer oriented society has trained us to want everything now and here. An instant satisfaction, an instant thrill, an instant experience: not allowing our biological system to perceive with all its senses; truly absorb our emotions and simply feel.

Life usually demands of us high level of practicality, logical and…

View original post 434 more words

Whiteness Is a Disease


It might be hard to think of what to identify as if not white, but I’ve never really felt connected to that identity anyways, I’m just American (and Minnesotan, and a Midwesterner)

Bitter Gertrude

I’ve been sitting on this essay for months, because I’m a coward. I’ve been through so many attacks this year for writing about race and for writing about the Democratic primary that I was afraid to post this, despite how deeply I believe in it. And then the events of the past few days– the extrajudicial executions of Alton Sterling and Philando Castile– happened and I could no longer live with my cowardice. Our Black brothers and sisters are taking their lives in their hands every time they leave their houses, and I’m afraid to post *an article* because I’ll be sent more attacks and threats. I was ashamed by my desire to protect myself with privilege and silence. So here is my essay.

Whiteness.Jessica.Rath “Whiteness” by Jessica Rath

We use the phrases “white people,” “white America,” and the like all the time. I say that I’m “white.” I experience “white” privilege…

View original post 1,371 more words

I Don’t Know What to Say Anymore…..


I will never know what it is like to be black in this country;

I never had to have the conversation with my children about how to act so the police don’t kill them;

I will never fear walking down the street in a “good neighborhood” because I might look out of place and be harassed;

I will never be asked  “who owns this car” when I am pulled over by the police, and then looked at with suspicion even after I show proof;

I will never be praised for “how articulate” I speak, as if it is a surprise;

I do not fear that my past mistakes, and I have many, will ever be used to justify my murder;

My melanin will never erase my humanity in the eyes of police, prosecutors, or a bigoted public.

I am confident my children will not be gunned down in broad daylight at a park for playing with a toy;

I do not deal with chronic, relentless stress that has a lasting impact on my health and mortality;

I don’t have to worry that if I am strong and assertive I will fall into the stereotypes of the women of my race;

I do not worry that my actions will feed into the beliefs others hold about my race;

I have never had to fight a school system that suspends, expels, or puts my kids into Special Ed at an alarmingly disproportionate rate;

I will never be accused of “playing the race card”, lying or exaggerating when I speak the truth about my life experiences;

When I go to a high end store I am not followed around – I will not be frisked, patted down, or put in handcuffs simply for shopping while black.


My eyes swell with tears, my heart aches, my mind races trying to make sense of it….

but, I will never KNOW, it will never be my day-to-day reality

So all I can continue to do is listen, be empathetic, demand systemic change, and validate experiences.

My Life List


This is a list of all of the things that I hope to accomplish in life going forward. At 36 years of age I have already had some spectacular experiences, and I have already been lucky enough to be the mother of two amazing young ladies. As they are a few years from embarking on their own journeys in the world, it is time for me to think of life after motherhood and to no longer make excuses or allow anything to hold me back from taking risks and going after things that are important to me.  This list does not include overarching things such as “be a good mom” or “be a generous person” as those are things I strive for every day and can’t check-off a list when done. 

  1. Finish my Bachelor’s Degree
  2. Make a big career change
  3. Visit every MN State Park (35 out of 72 done) Read the rest of this entry