From a very young age, I knew that writing would play an important role in my life. I used to hide under the willow tree in the way back yard, had taken out all of guts and supplies from the Fischer Price Dr. Set my mom had given me, and filled it with paper, pens, pencils, crayons. I couldn't write words yet, but the spirits around me wanted me to write their stories for them.

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I wrote wavy lines on each page, making up my own stories. I'd take the paper to my mom and so proudly say, "Look Mom! I wrote a story!" She'd look at the wavy lines, and ask me if I remembered the story. They come to me like a movie, completed already. I'd recite each story to her. Her reply was always, "No. I don't like it. I doesn't rhyme." After a few times, I didn't bother sharing my writing with her.

 

I grew up in a home where I was to be seen but not heard both in public and at home. My thoughts, needs, and dreams of my future had no value. I was called stupid and that I was white trash because I associated with friends who my parents considered white trash.

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My older brother was constantly in trouble, very angry and also abusive. We spent most of my childhood in therapy for him, but we were told there were things my brother and I were not allowed to mention: my parents are lesbians, not roommates; my mother's wife alienated us and killed our self esteem, confidence, and told us everyday that we were useless children who had brain damage because we never learned what she would say before making a decision. She tormented us terribly, abused us every Saturday, because we never saw her during the week. But she and my mom forced her voice to take over my own thoughts. Our absent father was never to be talked about! And our mother never did a thing to help us. It's really hard to be successful in therapy under those conditions, when those were all the things affecting us. Just differently. He acted out, I retreated inside myself until I could get to my friend's house, whose mother did give me the love and support I needed.

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I discovered my talent and inspiration--no, NEED to write poetry when I learned it doesn't have to rhyme! My mother was wrong! I stopped trying to sharing my work with her sophomore year in high school when she told me she hated my poetry, and unless it rhymes she will not read anymore. But with the help of my English teacher, I had been published twenty times in two years, one best poet at a high school level in Forensics, and had written three collections before it all happened...

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I love experimenting with various writing styles and techniques as I get lost in my poetic voice. I'm not afraid to tackle challenging projects or find new, creative ways to come up with something fresh and original. Whether you're interested in learning more about my work or seeking professional advice on your own piece, please feel free to reach out anytime.