And when the song is done, we drown ourselves in scriptures of promise... He may be dancing now, but whom will she dance with? And I take the batteries out of my watch. A funeral poem questioning time and God's faithfulness.
Day 10: Peter. Peter. Peter. – Walking in the Apostle’s Shoes
Three times I denied him that I love, twice before you... And for each time I denied him, there's a nail through his flesh and bones. A Holy Week reflection on Peter's denials and redemption through his eyes.
Day 9: Cruise Control – My Father’s Quiet Strength
Wake up 5:30 AM, walk an hour on the treadmill... Calculate the numbers and know they've been worth the load. A tribute to my father's daily sacrifice during my grandmother's battle with dementia.
Day 8: Cinnamon Stick Christmas – A Love Letter to Mama Joy
It's the cinnamon simmering on the stove, its aroma filling in all of the empty spaces that her love hadn't quite reached yet... Joy is in the garlands, glimmering in the lights, smiling through the snowmen.
Day 7: Il Messaggero – Finding Myself in an Angel’s Wings
Oh, but she is gentle and at peace, this 'winged figure' of exalted atmosphere... A man who watched me watching her found the resemblance quite uncanny, the only differences he saw were 'wings of faith.' Art inspiring art at the Art Institute of Chicago.
Day 6: Shoeboxes on the Top Shelf – The Dilemma of Dead Flowers
Come on, little girl, bring them flowers inside, hurry now, dry 'em and die 'em... Too good for garbage cans but nothing jist the same. What do you do with the beautiful memories when love ends?
Day 5: 100-Meter Dash – Seeing Myself Through Someone Else’s Eyes
Face set hard, cold somewhere beyond the finish line... explain me this: why do you run this race while I watch you? A college poem exploring perfectionism through the lens of someone watching me run.
Day 4: The Cliff – A Seventh Grader’s First Real Poem
The stresses build, forming a rigid cliff, off which I plunge, towards the raging seas below... My first real poem from 7th grade - raw emotion from a young girl learning that deep feelings aren't a death sentence.
Finding Words After Tragedy: Why We Write Through Grief
When Joshua died, I thought words were useless against such pain. But I discovered that writing through tragedy isn't wasted—it's how we make meaning from what feels meaningless.
Day 3: Form of Death – Raw Grief at My Grandfather’s Grave
I kneel before you, grass imprints on my hands and knees... The dirty, gray, aging stone tries to tell me you're not here anymore, but I feel you. A raw, visceral poem of grief written at my grandfather's grave.
Writer's Growth 