I wish we could communicate in poems.

Forget the gifs and memes

and emojis

and hashtags and the newest slang

that I still don’t understand.

Let’s only speak in metaphors and iambic pentameter

(if either of us is feeling brave)

and push beneath our surface and really get

a good look under the hood

and see what’s what at the end of the day.

I want to take your breath away

and all that jazz.

Let’s bare souls and see who’s still standing

when the dust settles.

Hopefully I used enough idioms for your fancy.


There’s a man in that animal’s face –

or perhaps

it’s a devil of some kind,

given the horns.

Or maybe a creature from another world.

Or a fictional character –

perhaps it’s Beauty’s beast who is lost

and needs to return home.

Or maybe,

there really is a man in there,

trapped in that animal,

all burly and rough and gorgeous and graceful.

So much power

and not enough legs to slow things down.

But somehow,

he does stop himself,

both the animal and the man,

and glides like a Thoroughbred who just won the Triple Crown.

That blue shimmer makes him seem

like a super hero –

strong and dashing and ready to save damsels.

But if those azul eyes could talk,

they would probably ask for water instead.

He must be thirsty by now.

Mostly a Free Write

Disclaimer: “mostly free write” means that I corrected typing/grammatical/spelling errors

I think things are changing and I’m not quite ready. But who ever is? Who sees change charging down the path like a Clydesdale on steroids and says “hooray – I was hoping this would happen”?

But I also want the change. I used to joke that my Native blood kept me restless – since my people (Pawnee) were nomadic, then it was in my nature to be also. Kind of like my fascination with buffalo. I think they are beautiful and majestic and unique. I can see a picture of painting of a buffalo from across a room and I will make a beeline for it. Maybe I just like bison, but I also like to think it’s something in me…my Native-ness that pulls me to these animals.

So I want the change, but not quickly and all at once and right away. I want a few more days in my comfort zone. I thought I had shaken its bonds loose a week ago, but I can feel myself being drawn back.

My zone has a person. It’s a he. We’re not “together” now. Used to be, and it was wonderful and painful and weird (good way) and stressful. Now we’re just friends, but he calls us peas in a nutshell (since peas share the pod with other peas and we are unique to each other). I want away. I want to stay. (I greatly dislike rhyming). I want to not feel like I am going to miss him when he goes home after a night of chili and Clue.

I think change is coming mostly because I feel the space between us. It’s kind of exciting, but I also cringe to think of being somewhere where he isn’t.

Done for now.

INFJ Rules

I want to be outside and also inside,
not close
but not completely cut off –
not crowded
but still a little contact.

I want silence –
need it, crave it, bask in it.
but not too much.
I don’t always want to hear
my own thoughts.
Sometimes I need a break
from the world,
sometimes I need a break
from myself.

Some communication is okay,
if you’re on my list.
I’m sure the list is a little unfair,
but it’s not my fault –
it’s just how my brain works.

I want you to reach out even if I don’t.
And I want conversation –
The kind that turns on the light
in my mind and makes me smile
even when I am alone.

Lastly (kind of) – I need it to be okay if I act
like a ghost sometimes.
I hope it’s okay.
It’s just one of my personality quirks.
It’s really not you – it’s me.


I almost feel euphoric
in my solace, my quiet retreat –
closing the doors
to the outside and letting it all pass by
as I sit in the melody of silence
and let my mind run amuck.
I’m over all of the forced conversations
and keeping the shark
afloat because if I don’t keep things going
then the whole thing might sink.
I don’t care anymore
because it’s not how I work anyway.
I want to just pull back
and stay quiet and let the wheat stalk
glean itself.
Took a long time to realize that
I’m not lonely. Who knew?
The void isn’t there if I don’t make it be there.
I’m not lost or broken
or desperate for a warm body.
I’m like a cat and I’m okay with that.
My tabby is pretty cool
when he’s not leaving love scars
on my forearms.
I’m finally content with my own company.
Took long enough.

mea culpa

I’ve been terrible with not posting. I miss this space and how I can dump anything here and not be (openly) judged. I appreciate that you are out there and reading my rants and actually liking some of them. Thank you. I’ll be better with this.


Remember when life was simple

and all we did was enjoy our freedom,

churning our muscles

and begging the wind to give chase.

You were so beautiful in your fury and glory,

matted sweat and thick blood

from centuries of warriors crowding

to give life to your heart.

Too much time away from

dirt and clay beneath your feet

has tamed you.

Forget your civilized self

and let the stars lead you home.

cake wars

Ever have to choose

between two of your favorite desserts?

They’re almost the same thing –

cake pops and store bought birthday cake.

Both make you feel so great

when you have them.

You want both, crave both.

They’re almost the same,

but the cake pops make you bare your soul,

know your heart,

and can sense the slightest change

in your voice.

The other one has potential and is nice.

So nice.

But it doesn’t know your soul

like the cake pops do.

But it also hasn’t broken your heart

and put you through

months of emotional turmoil.

The birthday cake is just really nice,

and really stable.

But it doesn’t sing your tune and know your heart.

But it could, if you gave it a chance.

Everyone likes birthday cake,

especially you.

But you love cake pops.

And you can only have one dessert.


Full steam ahead –

without flinching or thinking,

without looking up to see the damage

I might do.

I got red in my eyes

and a scent in my nostrils that burns

like sulphur.

Remember that story

in the Bible

about the cities that God judged?

Fire and brimstone.

I wonder if they smelled it coming?

Wonder if I smell like that –

judgement, damnation, a reckoning of sorts.

I’m all in a rage and can’t shake it –

gargantuan beast who tramples the ground

and doesn’t care.

Maybe I don’t want to stop,

or shake loose the crimson in my skin.

Maybe I want to be done turning

the other cheek

and let someone else carry the scar for once.

painting by Eric Tippeconnic


Where were you during the storm?

When the wind shook the sky

and bullied the trees, and that old windmill,

just bare bones,

took the brunt without a word.

And then the darkness bellowed and taunted the light

like a petulant tyrant.

And the rain battered our skin as though

we were made of paper.

Did you see the clouds puff up,

all arrogant and full of fake machismo?

But the sun smirked and pushed the squall aside

like it was nothing and I felt okay again.


photo courtesy of Tiffany Simmons

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