As we gear up for the last few weeks of this year, its always interesting to take a moment and think about what we’ve learned, if anything at all, from our trip around the sun. What have I learned? Well, I’m still trying to figure that out. It’s all a hazy, Monet painting, that I’m still too close to. There’s no grand picture, for all the individual points of light and dark. And its practically impossible to be introspective and retrospective when so much noise and obligation is still harping on me.
Like anyone who recognizes the signs of burnout and dangerous feeding tubes straight to their depressive tendencies, I’ll be stepping back for that purpose.
This year, more than any before, has been the perfect example of towering highs and dark-depth lows. I’ve been busy trying to find a path, putting my efforts into editing and publishing, marketing and selling…after losing my north star last January. That’s the order it happened. I did not leave instructing to write. I had to leave an abusive situation and it tore out a gaping heart-shaped hole. I had to fill it with something or risk…not being part of this grand farce of life anymore.
But, as tomorrow will be my last book signing/book launch of the year, I’ll be taking a break from social media, self promoting, and marketing for at least a couple of weeks (ideally for the rest of this year). I’ll still have blogs (my favorite holiday one is coming up next week) but you won’t see me town-crier-ing about how much I’d love it if you bought my work and left a review. I need a break from that. Because although it is a necessary part of this game, its not why I write and its killing my soul.
Plus…I’m out of books in the pipeline. I’m out of distractions from my pain and depression. I’m out of excuses and must stumble in the dark for awhile in order to find my purpose going forward. I honestly don’t know if I’ll publish again. I honestly don’t know if I have anything left to write that I believe in. I’m like the year itself; in my dark season, and I think I need to rest in this space.
Please, do not think that I am ungrateful, for the opportunities and the advancement in my writing that happened. I’m still over the moon and ever-grateful to see my name in a publishing house’s ranks. To have books on my shelf, with my words, and stories tucked into beautiful covers, is a dream come true and I suppose one I might not have found, if I hadn’t had space in my life to fill.
So maybe, in my darkness, in my social hibernation and retrospective quiet, the conclusion will balance out in favor of the light and reveal that the pain that hobbled me, turned me in a direction so much more deserving of my time. Maybe it will just give me time to stretch past the old scar tissue and discover my next adventure. Who knows. I only hope the rest will bring me back around to finding a reason to keep participating in the grand farce.
If you follow my blog, I’ll still be posting (scheduled). If you follow me, don’t think I blocked you if I’m gone for a few weeks. I wish you and yours a happy holiday season. We’ll come back around next year.
I wish you health. I wish you contentment and gratitude. I wish you warm coffee and good friends. I wish you hope. I wish you rest.

Found
when they find me
i will be alone
the questions and headshakes
directed in quizzical depths
to the loam and silt they cannot sort through
no reasoning to be caught
in bucket or screen
when they find me
dressed as animals are
in the skin i was in
the day i roared into the plain
i will shock in cold white
filled with trout breath
and minnow kisses
When they find me
broken shell
battered
lovely in purple and blue
head struck rock
knee scraped branches
lips in shades to make
mountain bluebell envious
they will lament
such wasted splendor
when they find me
the questions of why
i was lost to the brine
a jointer to the self-takers before me
whispers will static the air
of all the ways i failed
and too long loitered in futility
when they find me
they will burn the empty package
while I sneak,
soul-snake in water
down river bends to the sea
never to be found again
This Isn't a Poem for You
So this isn’t a poem for the broken hearted
it is not for those who were left behind
or ghosted
or dumped
or abused
or disregarded
This is a poem for those who watched
as another soul walked away
sat in their silence
was released from another person’s life
faced pain at their hands
or were simply ignored
into nothingness…
You are the warriors of time
you, who have felt the sting
of heart break
and disappointments
you are the carriers of grief
and the bodies made of scars
and you have lived through
every burning cut
and every lonely night
This is not for the soul they broke,
this is for the you that survived.
This is not a sermon from some high tower
that you are stronger for it
that you are braver because of it
that you are a better person
a heart bigger,
with these new and ragged cracks
to let the light in
I will only tell you what I know
You survived.
you packed up your heart and your mind
and you moved on
you accepted their silence
you treated your wounds and closed the door
you started paying attention to yourself
when they no longer did
and that carries weight
self determination
and the ability to move past
the fickle and soft-seated lies,
of a love always perched to flee
the very second things got hard
Your feet remain grounded
and you outlasted
You heart is a seasoned warrior
and it may never let another in
but it doesn’t have space anyway
because in their absence
beyond the echoes of their abuse
the pain of their mistreatment,
you’ve filled your heart
with the unfaltering love
of yourself
they can’t ever move back in
there isn’t room any more.



