Stream of Consciousness


there’s a line


a definite line

and when we cross it

there’s no turning back

no erasing our footprints

no pretending the heart didn’t feel

mind didn’t realize

soul didn’t grasp the undeniable fact

that there’s no starting over


we can’t always see this line

sometimes it sneaks up on us

an intruder in the night

stealing what was

taking what could’ve been

and muffling the present

until it can speak no more


one false move

a single of the slightest changes

whether we know it or not

planned for the whole nine yards

or a solitary glimmer


one little line, crossed

can topple the whole castle


will we be inside

when it falls?



Stream of Consciousness

like a cat

i need a nap.

a break from the to-do-lists and never ending laundry. from dishes and cooking every meal and waking up all night long.

a break from emotional exhaustion and the world that tells me to suck it up and pretend i feel great.

from the constant pressure to have it all figured out. from dressing professionally and cleaning everything up again and again and again and again and


i need a nap. to curl up in a warm corner filled with cushiony pillows and soft blankets, with plushies of wolves and dragons and foxes and a curtain to hide me away, to dull the sunlight that reminds me to get up and get moving.

far away from screaming responsibilities that don’t really matter, from fake smiles and mocking faces, jeering laughter when i fall down. from ‘supposed to’ and ‘should’.


today, i need a nap that will make tomorrow better.

so tomorrow can’t rob me of a nap today. can’t remind me of to-do-lists and dishes, cooking every meal and waking up all night long.

i need to learn to nap like a cat. not a worry in the world.

only me and what i need. tomorrow and all its lists, today and all its to-do’s, gone from my mind. only warmth and comfort and the hope that tomorrow i will learn to enjoy life. i will learn to live. so i can sleep at night.


Stream of Consciousness

Humans Are Messy

(i know this is a long one, gals and guys, but i’ve needed to get this one out for a while)


I have issues.

I’m sure you do to.

It’s called being human.

But the world and all the social media and unrealistic read:fake news, reality shows, and images, etc., would have us believe that there is such a thing as “The Perfect Human”. And not only is this perfect version of a human being real, but there are loads of them, living daily, normal lives all over the world. In fact, most people are perfect and we’re just a rare messed up breed with issues.

So we should pretend. Fake it til we make it. Put on a mask. Ignore parts of who we are and shove them deep down inside where they will then technically not exist.

Because no one wants to see your “human”.




I don’t think it is humanly possible for me to roll my eyes any harder.


Everyone is messy. Emotions are messy. Life is messy.

We are constantly changing, adapting, growing, or we are becoming stagnate and atrophying.

Humans don’t come with a Non-Mess Version.

We have problems. We struggle. We feel a wide range of emotions and think a vast amount of conflicting things – all at once. We’re pretty amazing. So why do we look at this like we’re bad, wrong, or defective if we don’t only feel one thing?


I’ve had enough of feeling like I can only do a blog post, tweet a tweet, or record a video when I’m in a FANTASTIC mood.

At this point, I’m beginning to feel fake.

I’m not lying or acting as if I feel something I don’t. I’m not making stuff up or putting on a mask. But I AM hiding my entire personality.

A lie by omission is a lie nonetheless.

My struggle is thusly: I want to uplift and inspire and help others. I want people to know how amazing this life can be and what wondrous things they can do. That everyone has the choice of becoming who THEY want to become, no matter their circumstances and struggles.

Honestly though, I feel like a fraud. A fake. A phony.




Because I’m really struggling right now.

With my gut disease – which has literally taken over my life and made it hard for me to do any real living. I’m struggling with chronic pain and exhaustion from other chronic issues. With the reality that I might not get better and will have to figure out how to deal with the way my health is (and it’s gotten much worse lately) and still work part-time, participate in life, and still try to do things that I enjoy. I’m struggling with a lot of shame over not working full time because my body literally stops me. With the shame of not being in a good mood all the time. I’m struggling with bi-polar depression and anxiety that are swallowing me whole. I’m struggling financially and with the shame of not being able to financially support myself. With restless leg syndrome that won’t let me rest during the day at all and keeps me from sleeping well at night, even with the pills. I’m struggling with lack of sleep and lack of calories and not being able to eat anything I enjoy.

I went off sugar for a month, for crying out loud! And nothing happened. I swing back and forth between eating only what my gut disease lets me and getting physically sick of the foods to the point I stop eating – and eating something I like and suffering for it (and looking like I’m gaining weight due to inflammation, which causes a whole host of other internal pains).

I know people aren’t in a good mood 24/7. But lately, I’ve grown apathetic, angry, bitter, overwhelmed by depression, numb, and scared. I’m swarmed by these struggles for days or weeks on end. It’s exhausting to force myself out of bed.

I don’t want to be the person who is grumpy and drags people down. I don’t take my upsetedness (yes, I know that’s not a word, but I’m a writer, I’m allowed to make things up) out on others. But I’m not as peppy all the time any more. It takes a lot for me to focus past the pain and remember how to be a human and do the human things.




And no, I don’t look sick. My chronic illnesses are invisible. I’m not missing a leg. I don’t have swollen arms or oozing puss. I don’t have rashes or any sort of visible symptoms.

It’s all inside. And I try to ignore it as much as possible.

But it’s getting to me. And I feel ashamed about that too.


But I’ve had enough of expending what little energy I have on pretending that I’m not in pain. On being there full tilt for everyone else and ignoring my own health.  Expending my energy on digging deep into the optimistic and peppy reserves I’ve got left and forcing it out.

Something occurred to me.

You might be struggling with the exact same thing.

Maybe you’re a mess too.

Maybe you feel like you have to pretend to be totally okay and happy-go-lucky, as if it’s your responsibility to be in a great mood and capable of doing all the things everyone else around you can do, so that everyone feels comfortable around you or uplifted and supported by you. As if others’ emotions and happiness are your responsibility. (It’s not, by the way.)


I’m here to tell you that it’s okay to be an inconvenient truth. It’s okay to be a mess. EVERYONE is a mess to some degree. We are all struggling and pretending we’re not so that others won’t judge us or exclude us.

We, as a society, don’t like to look at things that make us feel uncomfortable.

But you know where the magic happens in life?

In the UNcomfortable moments.


So be a mess out loud.

I’m not saying emotionally vomit on everyone that walks past you. But be honest. Don’t exhaust yourself trying to be happy for someone that happens to exist in the same space as you.

The people who love and respect you will understand and support you. And what’s more, they’ll probably feel a bit more comfortable around you because you’re giving them the room and safety to be NOT perfect too.



Stream of Consciousness

The Hollow Hearted Society

Weakness is masquerading as strength, walking among us with flashy muscles and a hollow heart.

What’s worse, is it rubs our noses in it.

What’s worse,

is some stay silent.



Weakness has slithered into our

Subconscious and rewired our sight

It has ripped from the corpses

Of its victims

And fashioned a strong looking Giant

It whispers

And we don’t turn away

We listen

We don’t fight back.

Is that why some join in?

For the lack of having to care

Exerting energy, compassion

The possibility of vulnerabilty

is it really

that terrifying

the a person would prefer

to burn another alive

so they never

have to learn what

a paper cut feels like?


Those who cry from the loss of a loved one

Or a life they thought was real

But found to be lies stitched together by the soul of one who

Pretends to have no heartbeat


They are eaten alive

By this instant gratifying, short lived pleasure dripping mask

This charade

That somehow

They are weak.


We are told the ones who are weak

Are those who fall down

More than once

And sometimes don’t tell

A soul

That theirs is slowly breaking down

And they don’t know what to do


We are told the weak ones

Are those who

Wake every day

With the knowledge

That their demons are still

Inside their blood, their skull,

In the marrow of their bones

And they have to fight them off


and Again

And Evermore

Or cede one moment and

Never return to breathe


Those who feel

I mean Really Feel

And live like it all matters

Those who find life


Worth fight for

Worth spilling would-be murderous blood

Worth dying for

Those who hurt

When another hurts

When a human is ripped away

From another soul

When a dog is


A cat set on fire behind that building

Those who sob at home

When they see the pain

On the children’s faces

On tv

Those who ache

Because they can do nothing

For their love

Wrongly Accused

Wrongly Hated

Wrongly Treated

Battered and broken and treated

Like so much trash

Those who want life

But don’t know how to fight



Those who cry

Who hurt

Rage in their heart

Wish for some

Magical power

To make it all better


We are told that these people are the weak ones.


That the people who

Shoot for fun

Who hurt because they can

Rape like its a rite of passage

Lie to get what they want

Pretend they feel nothing

When inside

They are bleeding from every cell

That feeds into their

Battered heart

Hardly beating within a hollow

Cage made of bones and paper scraps

The people who give up on

Those who aren’t strong “like them”

The people who ressent those who


Who can’t get back up right away

Like they pretend to

Who have to fight the same battle every day

Like they don’t bother to

Who keep getting hit with the same car

In their living room

Where there are no streets

No reason for someone

To drive through their home

And attack

Because they think it is fun

Because it feels good to hurt another

Because they no longer truly feel


But blood lust

And arrogance

An urge to strike

To force down

To hold mouths shut

and remove another’s power


We are told that these people are the strong ones.

Because they pretend they don’t feel

Until they don’t

Because they take what they want

By erasing another’s life


We are told that the people who are weak

Are the ones

Asking for help.

What scares me most, is when we believe their lies.

When we don’t stand up

We don’t cry

For people to see

We don’t step up to and beside those

Who have echoed what we know is truth

And speak truth with them

Even thought it is terror in our blood

And our bodies shake

And our hearts pound

But that’s the difference

We let the fear flow through us

as we stand for what we know

is hard

but right

What scares me is when

We don’t grab the hand

Of those who can’t find the words

Or the sense or the hope

And are seeking an anchor

A lighthouse

In another soul

So theirs doesn’t

Burn out


Like Gandhi once said,

“A coward is incapable of exhibiting love; it is the prerogative of the brave.”


We are all strong and we are all weak. Simply in different places and at different times.

To pretend apathy, hate, the cold heart… is strong, is to end any chance we have at a life worth living. At a world we can attempt to call humane. To pretend we are not who we are, is to put the gun in our own mouths, pull the trigger, and keep walking around, like we are somehow real.