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Silent Growing

Silent Growing






Two girls

in a darkened wood

their silken skin close


mirrored a pale moon.

Thier eyes search.


They weaved

through trees familiar

summer hair awash


their bare feet touching

the warm earth.


Four eyes

watch from a distance

patient and unwavering


their fears and their loves

howling in night.



hearts within bloomed free

beautiful and fair


wildflower symmetry

they found home.


One moon,

sailing a horizon

of ultramarine,


guiding like a hope

high above.


They stood,

arms linked, writing

upon their open hearts


shared thoughts and travels;

a chronicle.


Two songs,

becoming as one

a slow, blatant melody


changing in its depth

a silent growing.


Two hands,

Two hearts,

Two bodies,

One soul

found Home.


This poem is for my sister, on her birthday, and based off a drawing I did. Sorry I’m late, sis. I love you. Keep strong.


What Is Love?

What Is Love?

So, I haven’t posted in a while. Partially because of the time of the year being full of working and birthdays and tasks left undone. The other part because I’ve been in a bit of an emotional slump lately. Half exhaustion, half more exhaustion. Plus, four percent loneliness for flavoring. That’s a hundred and four percent, kids.

So, I’ll write about something that’s been on my mind lately.



What is love?

How can we tell if someone feels strongly for us?

Are there factors, like symptoms, that show up?

With the great diversity of people, is the show of affection also supposed to fluctuate, or is the expression “Love” universal?

And if it is expressed differently, then how much fluctuation can we hack up to differences, and how much are clues that they don’t really love you?

How soon does love show up? Is it grown, like a garden; taking years to surface? Or is it bright and sudden?

I guess there are questions to ask yourself at some point. Questions that need answers or else sit like coils of snakes on the front porch of your conscience. Do we really not know the answers? Or are we somehow fooling ourselves? When you finally realize what happened, are you realizing what you knew all along? Or are you only acknowledging what should have been or what is right?

It’s never good to feel expendable. It’s never good to feel alone when you stand next to someone. It’s never good when they push you away for convenience and pride’s sake, making you feel disrespected and unappreciated. Is it real if you really never knew each other?  And if you never really did, was it worth it? Is it worth it to stay, to try? Or are you compromising? The truth is, it leaves you feeling cheated. The truth is, there seems to be no clear answer.

So, what is love, then?

Is it real? How many of us have experienced something so strong and real that it lasts and is more beautiful with every passing day? Somewhere between divorce and singularity, is there something good?

I can’t say whether I have experienced true love or not. At least romantically. I’m young and especially inexperienced because I was a late bloomer. I’ve experienced parental love, in both directions as now I am a mom.  I’ve experienced infatuation and obsession. I’ve experienced brotherly love. I’ve experienced unconditional love. But romantic love, I’m not sure. True love in that sense, no.

If it had been true, wouldn’t it have lasted? Wouldn’t it have worked out? Wouldn’t things be different?

What if I could take a picture of what my perfect love looked like; What would I see?

To me, I care about the little things. I don’t need a lot. I don’t need things or places or excitement 24/7. I’m happy sitting in the park and laughing as night blankets the grass, or read curled up in someone’s lap. I crave and savor the small moments. A quiet moment watching the fire, a walk in the woods, an early morning kiss. I want someone who’s easy-going like me. Someone who enjoys laughing, the movies, and books.

*Can he know my favorite movies? My favorite lines?*

I want someone who is family centered and caring.

*Can you love my son, just because he’s part of me?*

Someone who likes long road trips with lots of stops and taking pictures (whether we get a good shot or a funny one).

*Can we be adventurous together?*

Someone who enjoys history and music, singing out the windows of the car.

*Can he know my favorite songs? Can he dance with me and make me forget where I am? *

I want someone who wants to protect me.

*Just cause I act strong, doesn’t mean I am. *

I want someone who sees that, someone I don’t have to hide from. Someone I don’t have to tell, someone who knows.

*Can he care about me and how tired I am, just as I would him? Can he inspire me? Can he give me peace of mind and ease my sorrows? *

I just want someone to know me I guess.

I want someone to want to know ME.

Really know me.

Maybe right now all I have are questions with no answers and a dream of what I would want, but that’ll have to be enough for tonight. Maybe some people think I’m crazy, reaching for the impossible. But the way I see it, if you’re going to dream, do it right. Dream big. Dream gigantic. Dream the ultimate dream.

For now, I’m tired. Hopefully I’ll get past this literary atrophy and back to my old writing self soon.

Goodnight all.


May summer come swiftly on golden wings.


I’m waiting for the sun.

With Night

With Night






Hello Darkness

Hello Night

Where have you been?

Off stealing light?

What secrets do your lips ensnare,

Or moments tangle in your stare?

Do you know my secret thoughts,

That play together like slipping knots?

White teeth flash, out of reach

A laughter felt like vulgar speech.

Inky tendrils encompass me,

And call me to a blackened sea.

The siren wail. I crash ashore.

You liven limbs, once broke and sore.

My eyes alight, I dance in the dark

a heartbeat striking like ember sparks.

My limbs reacting to your melody,

as you move in close saying, “come with me,”

“I’ll take you to a place called home,

“where Midnight shouts and Dusk still roams.

“You can hold the sweet moonlight

“and the gloom will bathe you with delight.

“So take my hand, we’ll fly away

“upon twilight wings, beyond the fray.

“I’ll twine my fingers in your hair,

“and we’ll wrap ourselves in the evening air.

“Warm and sheltered by a shadow’s expanse,

“woven in an eventide trance.”

And so, I took the soft starlight,

like a velvet blanket, I pulled it tight.

And dove into the endless Night,

until the dawn rose, mauve and bright.








Heart sang

a tightened drum

willow strands of melody

whispering, rising, pausing

struck by Love’s affected beauty..

hot like irons



His scent

a summer’s breath

sand bleached by sun

singing, tickling, caressing

A breeze adverse to his steel gaze..

hot like irons



Chest rising

a beast within

wolf baying, set aflame

sharpening, curling, gnashing

desire within, her hunger unsated..

hot like irons



Silent pause

flash of white

the hunt comes, a triumph

biting, scratching, consuming

sweet flesh peeling free of separate skin..

hot like irons


Hello My Other Half..Whoever You Are..Vol. 3

Hello My Other Half..Whoever You Are..Vol. 3

Dear You,

Today I am sick with the flu.

Today I wished you were here. I wanted you to cuddle me, to make me stay in bed. I wanted to just bask in midafternoon, my face tingling and you brushing my hair away from my face or reading aloud from a favorite book. I needed you to tickle me and tell me bad jokes because laughter, after all, is the best medicine. I needed you to point out my favorite characters and tell me things I never told anyone, things you know because you truly know me.

I dreamed of you the other night. I can’t remember your face; I teased you as we cooked in the kitchen, getting lost in the confines of the house. I watched The Vow the other night without you. I was doing okay, imagining that you were somewhere on the brim of my vision, until the part where he played the guitar. I turned my head abruptly to find you not there and a girl crying beside me instead. I wondered what you would have said. I wondered if you would have whispered in my ear, “I had that moment. I had that moment with you. It’s imprinted upon my very soul. I am always there in that moment with you”. Truthfully, I cried. I was doing okay until that moment. I cried because I am in that moment with you, now. If there is no time in our love, I am there with you now and forever. We’re always there. We’re always together.

I miss you lately.

But somehow it’s changed.

I’ve changed.

I don’t miss you with a hunger. I don’t miss you in my desperation for completeness. I still feel that hollow, but somehow I’m eased. I know you’re coming. I know you’re out there. And everyday I push away what people have said, do, and will say. I push them away because they don’t know. They can’t comprehend me. I just listen. I listen and grow myself. I listen to the pulse of life and love and Him. I listen because the howl in my chest cannot fill me. If I want you, I must work on me; So that I’m ready when you show up.

I must let it come. Like ocean waves, like the breeze, like the sun pushing its way over the horizon. We may yearn for the golden summer whist the cold fingers of winter grip our bones; we may yearn for its embrace but we wait in quiet anticipation.

I have come to that place of patient waiting, a face at the window watching the snow come down. Perhaps it’s just a reprieve. A short stint of relief for my heart.

I walk around and search for you, hoping to be lit up; hoping to be understood; hoping for the music to stop and time to freeze. I step outside into the moonlight and I wonder about you. What color is your hair? How would it look in that luminous ethereal light? With your eyes staring at me hungrily, bright and fiery?

Will you count the stars with me? Hold my hand, breathe deep, let go.

Will you understand my obsessions, my moments of therianthropic thoughts? My poems of the moon and desire to get lost in the fields of Tuscany? My ramblings of Paris and when the characters in my writing and art come alive?

In my mind today, you stepped into the shower with me. Our bodies slick, hands smoothing the water off my face and arms around your back. We stayed too long, steam trapped and stretching itself across the mirror. In my mind today, we curled up in a blanket with my hair still wet, where I listened to your heartbeat and it drummed me into sleep. In my mind today, you kissed me softly to wake me up. You took The Kid into the other room and played with him where I could hear, and I smiled a knowing smile to myself. We walked down the street, an azure sky sprawling above us, hugging each other’s contours, moving as one. You held my face as you kissed me, snowflakes melting on my warmed cheeks, pressing tightly against you; and I didn’t pull away. You held me for 20 minutes flat, without trying to do anything. You were just holding me, loving me, wanting me to know you were here always.

I’m still here. Praying for you. Praying you find yourself, under the blanket of monotonous distractions our age group slides through the motions within. Praying that you are happy, experiencing and learning. Praying you know how amazing and beautiful you are. Praying that you are seeking and discovering. I’m praying your heart is touched and open.

Just love, baby. Love people and life and Him. Love adventure and nuance. Love being where you are and who He has made you. Love yourself.

I love you.

I’m here.

I’m waiting.

Come home.

Love, Me.

Deaf Culture and the Beauty of ASL

Deaf Culture and the Beauty of ASL

So, I know it may be so cliché to say this, but…I love ASL.

Okay, all deaf people and translators…you may now begin to rant about how much you hate “my kind”.

But I won’t apologize for how I am.

I love it. I love the language. It’s language that you can touch. It’s moving and alive and ever morphing. It’s honest and real. It’s beautiful.

My mom used to be in a “music” group where they signed. She’s not deaf, but the teacher was very supportive of their learning and their hearts seemed to all synchronize as one. I used to watch the videos of them in wonder. A language at my fingertips. Little “me” was enthralled. The performances were touching, a song you sang with your body.

So, in college I took a basic American Sign Language class. I fell in love. I’ve always been in love with languages, the small intricacies; each having their own delicate way of expressing a common thought within a unique truth. American Sign took this to another level. When we think of countries, we perceive a certain language. Americans speak English (of course, we have recently been suggested to have a language of our own. I’m inclined to agree), Spaniards speak Spanish, Russians speak Russian, and the French speak, well, French. But woven within our so-called English is Sign Language. It’s still English but with a world and a nature all its own.

So, I took the class. I enjoyed it greatly, much to the chagrin of my teacher. She was a deaf translator for the area and she HATED hearing people. She would cut us down and tell us how stupid we were, treating us like children who aren’t allowed to touch glass figurines. I was very put off. I was readily prepared to have a good time in the class, and doubly prepared to always be respectful for not only her teaching and expertise, but the deaf community as a whole. She was combative and abrasive. In general, I like to believe I’m a sweet-natured individual. I don’t have many altercations with people in public. But she and I butted heads.

I’ve never been a biased or racist person. I think each person deserves the benefit of the doubt and a clean slate. They should be judged on who they are, not their skin color or personal situation. But she treated me like a criminal, though I had not yet committed a crime.

I struggled with sight growing up (as if I need to reiterate. You guys have been getting quite a bit of my personal story and struggles lately). Blindness (or virtual blindness) kicks you in the butt when you’re down. You act like it’s no biggee. Like it’s not a hinderance. But the truth is, it’s a little scary. I sometimes am faced with the reality that if I ever lost my glasses somewhere or broke them, I would be helpless and at the mercy of whoever happened to be around. I could really hurt myself, or worse. Someone else could hurt me. I am faced with the reality that I am, at any moment, not only a sitting duck but a plucked blindfolded one-legged duck. If not for my faith, I’d be more worried.

I can’t imagine being deaf. I won’t presume to know what goes through people’s minds; what strengths or weaknesses they perceive that their own situation brings them. But, I guess I simply realize what it might mean to be on mute in a world of sound. Especially when I myself could be out-of-focus in a world of motion at any time, lost in a dubious pool of colors. I can’t imagine not hearing the sirens of an ambulance; the orders of a cop. And on top of it, the rude people barking at you like you’re stupid just because you’re different. I can’t understand it. It’s almost like they’re too functional.

I suppose I love deaf culture and ASL because, well, I couldn’t see. I understood how my own body worked. I knew how to get attention or communicate distress. I could trust my own body, it was others I didn’t understand. When little “me” watched my mother perform those songs, I realized that words could be motion too. That, though I didn’t understand American Sign anymore than the non-verbal cues I was foreign to, words could be physical. That they could be understood, like a language. Maybe  this non-verbal thing wouldn’t be so hard.


I get frustrated with the deaf community at times. I love the language and the way the deaf community interacts. But too often I find myself faced with the statement “We’re not all that different. Why can’t you see”. I’m boggled by this. It’s something I would expect someone to say about the difference between wolf packs and families; we aren’t all that different. Both groups have leaders who rule over the family and pups who are raised with love and care. Wolves, much more like humans than other species, ‘mate for life’. Not about two different languages. Please, come on. We’re all humans here, right? Why can’t we just put all that aside. I’m not that different. I watch movies and hang out with my friends. I have struggles and heartache. I feel love and pain and joy. Fundamentally, we’re the same. Why must we segregate ourselves?

Even with their own, I have the perception that deaf people can be harsh (of course, this is an outside opinion gained only from watching people in action and hearing stories from others. I’m more than happy to be wrong). They are such a tight-knit group that they don’t want any integration of the world. I get it, but then, I don’t. I always get this picture of the Amish when I think about it. In a land where everyone is shoe-less, the dude who gets shoes is shunned. You don’t need shoes..true. But maybe the dude just wants a pair of rain boots. I can’t understand. Each person has their own limits, their own extent of what they want or are willing to take. If the kid wants to talk on tv or get an implant, it doesn’t mean he hates being deaf or isn’t proud of who he is..right? I mean, if tomorrow I go and get lasik surgery to fix my eyes, does that make me any less “me”? Any less proud of who I am and what I’ve accomplished? Does it make me less strong? I’m frustrated that I don’t understand and that no one is willing to explain to me. But, I’m a very easy-going person, open to people and how they feel; Accepting of where people are, even if it’s not where I wish they were. But that’s just me.

It’s also amazing to me the struggle that comes with mentally grasping having a hearing child. There was a woman who came to speak to the class while I was in college. She had three deaf children. Her husband and herself were also both deaf. She had a baby while we were still having the class, and so one day she came in to “speak”. She talked about what it meant to have a hearing child now. That she still loved the baby but she struggled with it. It wasn’t deaf. All her friends were deaf. Her family. Her community. And here, this tiny baby was shaking everything up. You could tell she had struggled with the disappointment that her child was not like the rest of her family. But, more importantly, you could tell that she loved the new addition. They were making changes for it. She had to adapt her music volume. Deaf people listen to music VERY loudly because they “feel” the music. With a hearing baby around, she had to watch the decibel. She had to begin to become aware of how loud her kids were being. Deaf children are like any other children, they bang things around and play and stomp and have fun. They act like kids. But they can’t hear themselves and their parents can’t hear them, so they have no reason to be aware of how loud they are. My mom scolded us if we were too loud, what if she couldn’t even hear us? She commented that it was a change for the other three kids as well, considering that they now had to learn to be more quiet for when the baby was sleeping and such.

I had mixed feelings about her visit. I couldn’t comprehend how she could be disappointed the baby wasn’t deaf. I understood in some part, that she would want the best for her kids and that it would be harder to be the only one hearing. But at the same time I didn’t understand. I would love and be grateful for my kid even if he was deaf. Deaf changes nothing. He’s still mine and he’s still wonderful and it’s still my honor to teach him about being a respectable man. But I also marveled at her courage and desire to change. She still wanted the best for her kid, and loved it. No matter what, she was still a mom. We weren’t that different.

After halfway through the semester, I was dying to go out and meet people in the deaf community. I wanted to learn their stories and understand their feelings about the world. I wished to know their opinions and the depth of their character. First, I wanted to be an interpreter. But with my teacher being so brash, it kinda smooshed my hopes. Then I went through a stage where I wished I was deaf. I figured it would be better. To be muted of the world’s noise. But, we all must find the joy of being ourselves. I realized I would miss music and its flowing symmetry, like water over river rocks. I’d miss metaphor and listening to the throaty call of wolves in the distance calling to sister moon.

I met one or two deaf people who were happy and friendly and willing to interact with me. We had a dinner and they were patient to teach me signs I didn’t know and talk to me so that I could get used to seeing the language in action. They made my experience all the better.

Thank you for that. I love that you had the patience to sit down and converse with me. I love that you didn’t scoff or laugh at me. I love that you looked into my eager, bright eyes and saw that I was genuine and barely containing my energy and joy of being there at that moment. Thank you. You were more of a blessing than you know. You helped ease that ache in my heart. You touched my life. Even for just those few hours you gave.

But, I also met people who were rude towards me. They looked down on me and scorned my mistakes. They talked openly about how stupid I was. How foolish to try to speak their language. How ridiculous that I should think myself ever able to comprehend. I was deficient in their eyes. Lacking. And my chest tightened. I was discouraged and suddenly self-conscious about my signing. So, I just shut up and sat there and watched, sitting on my hands.

I don’t understand it. Not a day in my life have I been a bigot. Not once in my life have I felt someone was stupid because they didn’t know my language and therefore couldn’t understand me. Not once did I treat someone I didn’t know like that.

More often than not, when I’m talking to people about ASL and deaf people, I find that hearing people are just curious. And I’m patient in correcting them. I think the most asked question is “Can deaf people drive?”. For people who can hear, it’s a valid question. After all, we’re not technically legally allowed to wear headphones when we drive. So, they’re curious. They give me wild looks as they ask all sorts of questions.  People, I find, are really just afraid to ask. I feel a sort of responsibility to gently answer their questions. Ignorance is definitely not bliss. They should know so that they can be enlightened. What they do beyond that is their own choice.

I feel like there is such a large wall in front of me. I’m in love with a hands-on language. A language others try to keep me from touching. I need to watch people to learn it. I need to be able to involve myself.

But I can’t.

They don’t like me. They don’t want me in their communities and culture watching them. They want me to disappear, my imperfect ears and all. Meanwhile, I just want to learn. I just want to break the barrier. I just want to know their beauty.

I practice my signing where I can. While I’m watching TV, or while people talk. While I listen to music. I get lost in thought about deaf culture and signing. I have a passion for it that’s currently unquenched (partially just because I’m so tired all the time), and it is frustrating when I forget signs because I don’t use them often enough. For a while I just wanted to quit. I felt blocked and dejected in relation to signing. But I try, and I suppose that’s all anyone can ask for.

If anyone is looking for a cute show involving ASL and some issues in deaf culture and interactions between deaf and hearing people, I highly recommend “Switched at Birth”. It’s a little tv show, great for watching people sign. My favorite character is Emmett, who is actually deaf in real life and even gave an interview for the show. Made my day! I realize that some people might find it offensive or a little corny, but hey I’m all about the corn.

So, hearing people. Try not to be rude or biased against deaf people. It’s not a disease, you can’t catch it. So, go out there and learn about someone new. Someone with a unique perspective on the world. Put yourself in their position and treat them with respect. And find your passion! It’s always good to find something you can be passionate about, and to always learn. (p.s. yes, deaf people drive. They’re deaf, not deficient.)

And deaf people. No offense. I love your language, etc etc. But being  open to people a little can change the world. Can change your world. I realize people are mocking at times and rude more often than should be legal, but you have to give those of us with true desire to understand a chance. We want so badly to just know and learn about YOU. Dont’ turn yourselves into the people you disdain. Try to be open. Be the person you want to see others be towards you.

So, that’s my post for now. Apologies if I offended anyone, it was never my intention; and be sure to comment if I forgot something that you think should have been addressed. I love you guys, deaf blind and all the other flavors of our cultural rainbow.



ImageSee, there’s this boy who’s stolen my heart.

He’s funny and happy.

He likes my jokes, for once.

He thinks I’m a great dancer.

He loves my cooking.

He thinks I’m the cat’s meow.

He looks at me with adoring eyes.

His hands are soft.

He likes to sleep in with me.

He’s no couch potato.

He’s honest with me.

…….And he calls me “Mommy”.