Change

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Just over a year ago, I wrote and posted a poem that greatly affected my career and relationship with my boss. At least 8 people I thought were my friends sent it to her the following morning.

Did I think that so many people would see it and send it to her? No. Did I enjoy the immediate backlash from posting it? Obviously not. I hate conflict, and boy did it create conflict. Ultimately though, do I regret posting it? Absolutely not. I find that writing is how I can be most vulnerable and how I can share my truest feeling about subjects that are affecting me.

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i’m here for you [a poem]

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“i’m here for YOU” you say
in front of the crowd
of teachers who can’t see
that their future will be full
of frustration
of blame
of pointed fingers
of shame 

“i’m here for YOU” you say,
but not when students skip,
not when students fight,
not when students cuss you out because
“they cuss me out all the time”

“i’m here for YOU” you say,
but not when I wanted to die…
did you care when I thought about suicide?
or were you just checking the boxes
to say you tried

                            …in case I tried?

“i’m here for YOU” you say,
but those students who destroyed me,
i’m teaching them again?

“i’m here for YOU” you say,
but can’t have a conversation
before that decision
because “budget cuts” and “certifications”
as you remind me I can look elsewhere
like that’s what you wanted all along

“i’m here for YOU” you say,
…but not for YOU, Danielle. 

Poetry Month Day 4 [embers]

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all i wanted was to show you love,
that family isn’t all about blood,
but i was just a roof over your head,
snacks, phone, Gatorade, and a huge comfy bed.

all i wanted was to keep you safe,
to fight your battles while you changed,
but with fists you fought over words that didn’t matter,
and with your own words, sliced through me like a dagger.

i gave you a chance after you told me to die
but if i’m honest, my love said goodbye,
for then began the wait for the day you’d leave.
i was naive to believe it’d be easy to grieve.

my love for you, still embers of a once-burning flame,
i think of you often and hope you’re okay,
and that you’re learning what really matters in life,
at least enough that you can finally thrive.

*Two years ago I fostered one of my students, a teen. It was one of the darkest times of my life because I would’ve moved mountains to see her thrive, but she needed more than we could give. I started this poem right after she left, and found it in a journal last week, so I decided to finish it.

Sometimes I still wonder if we even helped, or just added to the trauma she endured.

Poetry Month Day 3 [moonlight]

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the true nocturnals
the night owls
do their best work in the moonlight.
sun sets on the horizon
stars scattered through the sky
and with it comes the quiet,
the peace in the silence.

always tired in the morning,
groaning while wiping the sleep from my eyes.
i despise the nine to five;
would thrive if i could work at night
but nursing and gas stations
don’t fit my aspirations.

if i could change the world,
there’d be more occupations,
more accommodations,
more considerations
for those who thrive in moonlight.

Found Words II

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Tired
Be the best everyday –
mold minds and inspire,
try to light a fire
in the minds of students
lacking the desire to learn
or try.

Why?

I’ve tried it all –
it’s like trying to captain a ship
but all the crewmates panic
because there’s no cellphone service
on the ocean. I can’t do it all.
I’m tired. Slowly, we sink together.

TRIED = TIRED

March 2023,

an anagram poem inspired by anagram poetry in Long Way Down by Jason Reynolds

Sharing poems I find in old journals or my Google drive

carousel [a poem]

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safe.
the one ride i know i’ll survive –
no bumps, turns, flips, drops,
no sudden stops.
one speed,
round and round
again and again
and then, the end.
get off or stay on, 
ride one more time because it’s

safe.
why take a risk,
a chance you might break
down and lose it all?
fall and fall
until there’s nowhere to go
all because you left your comfort zone.
all alone
future unknown.
you wanted an escape,
left behind what was

safe.
round and round,
again and again –
all fine until that moment when
the monotony of it all sets in.
you’ve lost your happiness from within.

Found Words I

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I knew enough about hangovers to stop me from opening the second bottle. See, the days were already rough, the heat like roasting in an oven. To add one more problem would be like cutting the grass when it’s already dead. But what else would take away the pain of what I’d lost that day? My dog of six years, the ultimate snuggler, my blanket on the coldest nights, now across the rainbow bridge. What else could help me ignore the empty spot on my bed? In my heart?

8/8/2023

sharing the found words in my various journals over the years

mature [a poem]

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as we grew up,
all we wanted was to be older:
to be sixteen,
  eighteen, twenty one.
we soldiered through
the challenges we faced then –
unaware of the wilderness
  life becomes when mature1.

now we reminisce,
wish we had taken time to savor
being free to feel unsure
of where we’re going.


borrowed poem2 i found in my journal from 2022

1 from “I Am Offering this Poem” by Jimmy Santiago Baca
2 a poem in which you borrow a line and build around it