Don’t dream it, be it.

10599634_10205180568300584_4567363331679933899_nHAPPY HALLOWEEN! I hope your days are filled with candy, scares, friends and awesome costumes.

I love Halloween. It’s one of my favorite holidays. I love the food, weather, traditions and genre of movies. I love horror movies and haunted houses. I don’t mind paying to be scared, I crave the adrenaline.

But Halloween is not complete without The Rocky Horror Picture Show.

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Dear Mom,

11990581_10205168698563848_3433530527862273560_nRemember when I went through that whole stage where pretty much anything you did was stupid? I didn’t want to dance in the kitchen with you or make cookies or jump on the trampoline? Yeah, I’m really sorry about that. If I could go back and answer, “Do you want to put on some music and bake with me?” with “HECK YES, MOMMY!” I totally would.

For a while there I took you extremely for granted, and I still do even though I don’t want to. Sure, some things come with growing up but I hit fast-forward when I should have hit pause. I’m sorry for rolling my eyes. I’m sorry for ignoring your simple questions or not putting away that last dish. I’m sorry I forgot for a little bit that you’re my best friend.

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12 Examples of Internalized Misogyny

12140714_10205103138364884_8250405799328955531_nI get a variety of reactions when people find out I’m a feminist, which lets be real, everyone knows. I’m all for people just naturally being a feminist but it not being something they are actively talking about or fighting for. For some people, the extent of their feminism is answering “yes” when someone asks them if they’re a feminist, and there’s nothing wrong with that. We can’t all fight against all the injustices in the world. There’s just too many. We have to find the select few that mean a lot to us, the few we feel we have a voice for, the few that hit us hard. Ending sexism is just one of the things that I happen to spend my time fighting for, and it’s not that for everyone. That’s okay.

But it is for me. So people KNOW I’m a feminist.

And one of the big things I get from people is the statement “but sexism is ended.” Or the question, “what are you fighting for, now?” Continue reading

Coffee. Blood. Two Sugars.

(Check tags for warnings.)


The heat woke me up again this morning. Usually it’s dogs barking or kids screaming. Sometimes it’s my husband, kissing my collarbone with a smile on his face. Lips tender soft compared to the sharp smell on his breath. One time it was our next-door neighbor peeing in the corner of our bedroom.

This morning it’s the heat. The air-conditioning is broken. Has been for two years, I think.

My back is damp from laying on the sweat-covered sheets. When I move, I feel my legs sliding against each other with ease. Freshly shaved and dotted with my own perspiration. I groan, sure to keep the sound as quiet as I can in the early hours of the morning.

My fingers get stuck halfway through my hair and I have to yank them free. I’m reminded I’m still wearing cheap mascara when I rub my eyes and pain instantly shoots from under my lids. I nibble on my nails, around the pale yellow color and shredded sides.

I drop my feet onto over-worn shirts and crusty underwear. My hand nudges used needles and empty bottles on the nightstand.

I don’t pull on pants. The smell of coffee is too strong and tugs me towards the kitchen.

“Morning.” My eyes blink open to see my grinning husband leaning forward on the table, lip swollen and eye beginning to darken. Blood drips from a fresh gash on his chest and hand. He must owe money to the Guthries again. His bare knees are caked in dried mud. I roll my eyes and reach around him to grab my own cup of coffee. Bringing it up to my lips I wince at the copper taste.

There’s blood in my coffee again.


Fear Number One.

12105768_10205111968185624_3404399200046185137_nI was looking at how many views my blog gets, and I noticed something.

The more personal a post, the more views it gets. If I really get uncomfortable, the amount of views shoots skyward. This was not good news to me. I was not excited. I did not go “Oh, well then I definitely need to start being more personal!” because no. That’s not something I do. It’s not something I can handle. In fact, the idea wakes up my anxiety and gets it screaming again. I have to calm myself down. And recently I found out why.

I have an intense fear of vulnerability. Continue reading

The Beauty of Selfies

12096545_10205098382926001_5142038122986194139_nI love to poke fun. I’m a sarcastic person. I like to laugh. I’m learning to know when to be quiet and when to laugh. It’s a process.

Anyways, I like to joke. So I understand the fun that comes with laughing about selfies. They are everywhere. We put so much faith in them, how many likes they get, how many comments. We mess with the filters, we find the perfect captions. They get so much attention that they’re easy things to make fun of. I get that. I’ll laugh. I’ll make fun of myself. I will open my phone, stare at the thirty selfies I just took and crack up. I will go through them, find my favorites, send them to my trusted selfie critics and eagerly await their comments. I will then post them with a caption that fits and watch the likes. I, of course, care about how many I get but truly and honestly I don’t care too much. I don’t put my identity, confidence and value in the number of people who click the like button. My big thing is I NEED the likes to be divisible by five. So 18 likes is not okay. It needs to be 20. Not 21. Not 19. 20. Go figure. Continue reading

Dear Writers,

996165_4934805614743_232075109_n-1Your craft is so important. It is difficult and it is an art. We are so appreciative of it. Don’t let anyone tell you what you do is not important. Don’t let anyone tell you it’s easy or you’re not good enough or it will mean nothing. Because none of that is true. It means so much to us. Your work helps us get through hard times in our lives. It lets us know we are not alone. It entertains us and helps pass the time. It helps our imagination grow. It takes us to new worlds. It helps us see over the fence. It helps us fly and fight evil and live an epic romance or save the world. You put our thoughts on paper. You help us connect with people we may never meet. You make us smile, laugh, cry and yell. You build friendships and bring together families. You’re art is so important.

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Quick Thought On Planned Parenthood

pparenthodFirst and foremost, we have to look at this argument for defunding planned parenthood from the eyes of a female who may not have access to affordable healthcare often aimed at finding and protecting against STI’s. It’s extremely difficult to look at this as a middle class male and have an informed opinion. A man can walk into any clinic and get a test, while a female cannot. Planned parenthood is an affordable organization aiming to helping women and keeping them safe and healthy. They are not a crazy ‘abort all the babies’ clinic. The argument against Planned Parenthood is essentially saying that no organization involved in abortions should get public funds for anything it does. Continue reading


birdpaintingHow many stages of sleep are there? When is the point that you’re so asleep someone has to shake you to wake you up? At what point do your dreams become so twisted you won’t remember them in the morning? How long does that in-between stage last? The one where you’re not fully asleep but you’re not awake either. When you’re aware of the world around you, but in a distant sort of way.

            I wish that stage lasted longer. It’s my favorite part of sleeping. My mind wanders to anything and everything yet I still have a small amount of control as to where it goes. In those moments, I’m no longer awake, but I know that my feet are still crossed one over the other. I can still smell the food that Max hasn’t eaten yet. I can feel the sheet on my bare shoulders and I’m aware of the breaths I take.

I can hear the steps outside, coming up the stairs. Continue reading