The person I want to be climbed rocks

I went bouldering in an indoor rock gym tonight.  It hurts now in my hands, in a very ‘ouch’ way.  My palms felt like fire when I showered in the warm water, and it felt like I was rubbing them raw when I was merely soaping up my body and washing my hair.  I imagine that even more of my body will ache tomorrow, in a good way.  I’m glad I went climbing with this old friend.  Apparently I am terrified of jumping down while facing a wall… I’d never noticed that it made a difference to me, jumping down from something forward versus backward… I guess I just hadn’t ever considered a blind and backward jump for anything before tonight.  Anyway…

And now, since I gave the girls an assignment on it today when subbing for creative writing, I’ll throw in a bit of free poetry, slam style, but typed…

I got a few scrapes and bumps,
and even drew blood on one skinning spot.
But I climbed a lot
for having done
little comparable activity
in the past several months.

And it felt good.
And I felt like I was being
the person I wanted to be.
The person I want to be.
Yes.  The person I want to be.
myself, and I are good people,
but there’s more to me
to who I want to be.
And she
yes, she
stopped in to smile tonight
to show how I might
could be.
Would that she
come sooner
and wait no longer,
but it is I who must go to her.
Let it go, let it go, just let it all go…
Or Beatles-ly
let it be…
then shall I be she
proud and powerful and humble and beautiful
as can be,
being the person I want to be.


Post-a-day 2018




I am from…

Recently, in my cleaning out, I’ve come across loads of papers and files and folders and binders from almost all of my years of schooling.  While, I’ve found things from that same school year (lots of them today, actually), I have yet to find the original I am from poem that I wrote about myself in seventh grade.  When I find it, I will share it, followed by the one I wrote about myself during college, as well as the two(three?) that my friends wrote about me from their own perspectives during, I believe, high school together.

For now, though, I share the one I wrote during college about myself.  If you do not know, an I am from poem is essentially a work where one inputs pieces of information related to certain topics.  For example, the format could be as follows:

[First Name]
I am from [three traits you like about yourself]
[three traits you want to improve about yourself]
lover of [two things you love]
believer in [two things in which you believe]
who fears [two things you fear]
who hopes for [two things for which you hope]
brother/sister to [list your siblings]
daughter/son to [list your parents’ names]
resident of [the street where you grew up living]
[your city and state]
[your country]
[Last Name]

The original one I did was longer than that, but the point was just to explain the general format, so I’ll leave it at that.  The following, as mentioned already, is the version I wrote in college, which was following a rather free format that did not have distinct criteria other than being about ourselves (so far as I currently remember, anyway).


4 Sept 2011 ED351

I am from gentle, caring, lovable, wonderful
I am from sisterhood and subtle observations
from Music and Dance and Poetry
I am from contentedness with what one is given, blissfulness when around music, and the desire to do good
I am from hugs, laughs, and love, and recycling it all back
I am from giving harmony to life, consideration to call, and cheerfulness to one’s surroundings
I am from confidence: one so strong I fear only a loss of things or people whom I love and with whom I share my life
I am from Grace, in name and in action
I am from “How do you say ‘How do you say?'” in as many languages as possible
I am from connectedness and communication: be honest, be clear, be concise, lift up others with what you say, and mean it every time
I am from clarity: now inhale deeply and be with what is and what isn’t – identify the story and render it powerless in what happened
I am from when you’re on it, get off it; when you’re incomplete, get complete with yourself and with all those involved; and when you’re being inauthentic, be authentic about your being inauthentic
I am from live in the moment and remember what’s possible
I am from the long time sun, may it always shine upon you
I am from love, may it always surround you
I am from Woman, the greatest power, and from the one pure light within us
I am from a world to be treated with care
I am from mother: Earth and the human
I am from understanding, consciousness, choices, and freedom of self-expression
I am from mother, all-encompassing, all-loving, and ever-present
I am from God, the World, and the stars
I am from Mother


Post-a-day 2018

Cleaning out, finding magnificence

I found one of the boxes that contained my childhood writing yesterday.  I mostly did poetry, but this one had some of my vocabulary paragraphs and my topic-writes and free-writes.  Therefore, it’s about to get middle-school-original up in here, and very soon. ;D

Post-a-day 2018

A free association?

Money is hard.  In the middle of the boondocks is where to find I my life friend vest. Vestitude in the inn, bridgestone in the brimm.  Grimm Reaper, till the soil, seap what you sow, sew a new crow, home a new phone.

Alas, my money comes to you, my sweet, not bitter, blessed, beloved fluttering sister-bye.  My, oh, hi, lovely.  Lovely my, yes.  Thank you.  Goodbye, why.


My cousin told me about an artist (singer) who had a journal, in which she wrote words that sounded good together, sentences and phrases that sounded nice and felt right, but hat didn’t necessarily make any real sense as sentences and such.  She then made a CD out of the words in this notebook.  I’m not sure who this is, though I have wanted to hear this album ever since he first explained about it to me – I find the idea bountifully beautiful.  Or something positive like that, anyway – I like the idea.  This was my own sort of exercise in that same sort of writing.  It wasn’t about making sense, but about telling a story through the sounds, without the assigned meanings of the words.  I’m guessing my effort to be a mediocre outcome, however I am nonetheless proud of my accomplishing it.

Thank you for reading.  😉 

Post-a-day 2017

Poetry, I suppose

An aimless wandering does my life seem to be at present,
with no alteration in sight.
More of the same, and more of the same…
Everything is the same.

Except that I feel different from the rest,
and as though I am not meant to stay here
with this flowing, owing, wandering world.

I move differently, indeed,
but it is not enough – I know it is not.
I am still here, aimlessly wandering,
for something, for someone, for me?
I can feel that it is almost time to go,
and I haven’t the slightest idea where that means.
But go I shall.
That I know.
And then I’ll know.


Post-a-day 2017


What to write…? a poem

What to write…?  What to write…?

Of legends?  Of thoughts?  Or of tonight?

Do I analyze something maturely,

Or speak from the heart purely?

Shall I cry or weep with relief,

Or in a blow of deleaf… defeat?

What is the point (Shall I write about that?)?

My efforts feel pointless, and quite often, in fact.

But what does that matter, when the measure is of others, not myself?

For this is not just another trophy for my nonexistent shelf.

It is whole and complete, and perfect, you see,

for it is meant as a place to express for I, myself, and me.
Post-a-day 2017