Survivors Day

Today is the day of the club

The one I didn’t want to be in

I am a Survivor they tell me

Yet I don’t know where to begin

Facing a pain that is enormous

The one that just won’t go away

Suicide is not painless

To the ones who are left far away


Some day I hope to be a light

For others left behind

Until that day

All I can say

Is I still haven’t mended my mind


I see a red door

And I want it painted black

It will shatter in a thousand pieces

I’m afraid there’s just no turning back

The pieces are wind blown

All scattered about

I chase after them, pleading…

Someone help me out

Like my heart

The pieces are broken and torn

Blowing in the wind

To the sky they have flown


Has anyone seen

The shards of my heart?

Please bring them back to me

Perhaps I can start

To piece them together

With Love as the glue

Until that time

I will despise the wind that blew

Blew you away

Along with my heart

Yes I am a Survivor

Hey, that’s a start!

I am a Survivor

And it just doesn’t end

I am a lonely girl

Chasing the wind


Has anybody seen him?

If you see him, could you ask him to stay?

Tell him my heart is missing

And I need him to show me the way






A beautiful piem by a very talented friend!

The Tape House

red chameleon beckoned me out 

entranced me with its glossy glaze

matched the blood that fell from me

walked past the broken grill

with the torn black cover

said hello to the baby leaves 


let the purple tendrils wrap themselves 

around my knees

“Stay with us forever!”

I pretend to hear them plead

What beautiful, caring creatures – I think 

look up at the black

feel the moisture run down my back

marvel that it’s too humid to even breathe

watch the red chameleon crawl into

a place that I cannot go 

we all can’t be Alice that gets to fall

into that glorious rabbit hole 

look away – rip my eyes from its gaze

feel the purple tendrils unwrap their grip

from my knees 

go back into my crumbling house

ignore their saddened stance

ignore their fictitious pleas

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Stigma sucks

I should know

Sometimes it follows me

Wherever I go

Some say it’s my own fault

Don’t ask and don’t tell…

Keep it in the closet

And all will be swell

The notion is caustic

To live life in shame

It gives me the message

I’m filthy and lame

But I will not hide

My light under a bush

I will not pretend

But I will not push

If you want to know I’ll tell you

I’ve nothing to hide

I am not crazy

And I still have my pride

So up goes my head

As I walk with a swagger

You can keep your stigma

‘Cause it just doesn’t matter

It don’t matter to me

It don’t inhabit my mind

So go stick the stigma

Where the sun don’t shine.

Yes, up goes my head

As I walk with a swagger

You’re stigma can’t hurt me

‘Cause it just doesn’t matter.



bpHope magazine blog

So excited to share my post for bpHope magazine. I have been an avid reader of their online magazine, and for years followed articles about Carrie Fisher. When she passed away, I decided to “go for it’ and apply to be a part of the writing community as a guest writer. I was inspired by her bravery and candor. If you are interested in reading, here is the link:


“I grew up in this kind of fishbowl existence and I figured, if people were going to say it about me, then I was going to say it first and I was going to say it better. It’s my way of trying to own a situation.” ~Carrie Fisher




Ode to Saint Donna

All mothers are special. Incredibly special. Outstanding. They all have their own special talents and attributes and we should be so thankful for them. As for me, I am especially grateful that my mother is a Saint. She may not have been recognized by the Pope, (yet…), but she is forever recognized in my heart and mind.

Growing up in my mother’s household, our clothing and blankets were sewn by her hands. Our costumes for ballet, elaborate and dashing, were made by her hands as well. She decorates and cooks better than Martha Stewart, only she doesn’t have a staff to help her. Her house is always immaculate.

If there are three main lessons that I have learned from my mom, the first is that there is a God, He loves us all, and He does not discriminate. She taught us to respect and value all religions, and to never act like we had “all the answers”. The second is that all people should be treated with respect and dignity. She deliberately taught us not to subscribe to the stereotypes, labeling, and prejudices that the world tried so hard to ingrain in us. The last was that she taught us to believe in ourselves and follow our dreams, whatever they may be. And this is a good thing, because she had three daughters who were quite the dreamers. She encourages us in whatsoever we may aspire to be, no matter how big or small.

Growing up, she was our biggest cheerleader. Any activity we were involved in, from school to extracurricular activities, she volunteered to help with. She was very popular among my friends, and continues to be, for there is just no one like Donna.

No one.

My mother, she is a smart cookie. Brilliant really. This part might make her blush, but she has almost a photographic memory. She knows a lot about just about everything. She remembers every face and every name, and incredible details, no matter how long it has been. She owned a hardware store when we were growing up, and faced the inevitable sexism that she encountered with grace, courage, and gumption. Because, at the end of the day, she knew more, gave more, and cared more. And people respected that.

The greatest gift my mother has given to the world is her love and passion for people. She has never met a stranger. She would give the shirt off her back to anyone, in a heartbeat. She is generous with her money, time, and talents. She is an artist. She is talented and special.

Oh, how I love my mother….

So yes, my mother is a Saint. For she worked and sacrificed for our family with every ounce of energy that she had. I don’t know where she gets that energy, but it is abundant. Everyone who meets her just loves her. And why? Because her love and positive energy radiates wherever she goes.

I can never even hope to be half the mother as the one that I have. If I am just one percent of the fabulous mother/grandmother that she is, I will be a fine one.

So to Saint Donna, I say, I love you. I admire you. I honor you.

Happy Mother’s Day!

Girls Trip- Nashville, USA

May is Mental Health Awareness month, a time to reflect on various conditions that we encounter, either in ourselves, or among those that we know. It is also a time to reflect on coping skills that help to ease the psychological burdens that we encounter in this life. Because we all have skeletons in our closets, traumas in our past, and psychological ghosts that come to haunt us on our journeys. No one is immune, but none of us is without help and relief.

I learned this past weekend a remarkable tool for coping with tough times. You see, I live in a household of all males. Even the pets are male (well, maybe not the goldfish). I get so lost in the day to day tasks of being a wife, mother, employee, etc., that I sometimes neglect to take time to be with my sisters in humanity. My experience this past weekend reminded me of just how important it is for my health and sanity.

Last weekend, I took a girls trip to Nashville with some of my middle and high school friends, and a new friend as well. Some of us had not seen one another in thirty years. We had a marvelous time, it was as if it was just yesterday that we saw one another, we picked up right where we left off. Only better…

Lots of things happen in thirty years. As I gazed into the beautiful eyes and faces of the lovely women that accompanied me on the trip, we really didn’t look that much different. In fact, if I may say so myself, we looked darn good. We all still had the twinkle in our eye, the strut in our walk, the mojo in our spirits. We danced as if no one was watching, without self-consciousness or insecurities. We owned our femininity, we wore our experience with wisdom and pride, and we bonded.

The truth is, though, that we wore that pride and wisdom, because we earned it, having been through so much. We wore the scars of  relationships, unrealized dreams, forks in the road.  We talked about our joys and disappointments in life. We talked about our challenges. The inevitable things.  Yet we reminded each other, time and time again, that in reality, we are all blessed. And we laughed, and we cried, and we giggled, and we sighed. But through it all, we held our heads up high….

We visited George Jones’ grave. We walked up and down Broadway. We danced in every spot we could find, to the honkey tonk bands. We posed for pictures. We shopped for boots and souvenirs and such. All the usual things one does on a girls trip.

Only we were doing more than that. We were healing.

Healing from the traumas of childhood and the teenage years, that all women encounter. Healing from the insecurities of the “Wonder Years”. Healing from the pressures of childhood, teenage years, and yes, the present.

So, if you want to heal, look to the Spirit of Woman. Her touch is a Healing Balm, her gaze is a reflection of Reassurance, her words are like Honey, sweet to the Soul. Never forget your bond, and utilize your connections when the world is trying to tear you down. In the company of Women, there is much Love, flowing like a River, in the Dessert Sands of Time.

I love you my friends….stay courageous, graceful, and strong.