Life is a mistake
Like so many of us;
Beautiful, messy, unplanned.

From water-stained pages to ink-stained hands;
teary eyes with red faces;
broken glass & burning houses;
snoring & sex & sugar.

Like so many stars who remain unnamed
and unclaimed by any notorious constellation,
we flicker & smolder & die,
often before anyone even noticed we were there.
Often, without even having left any light behind.

Yet, insistent we burn;
Still, we glow.
Stubborn & stupid & hopeful & graceless;
floundering, bumping into corners, looking
for soft places to land.

Bruised & sticky & awkward.
Needing and wanting,
most of all.

And so full of love.
And so full of pain.
So full of our own brokenness,
warning others not to get too close
lest they end up bleeding
from our sharp wounds,
our damages,
that we can only sometimes manage
to haphazardly cement
back together.


It’s a mistake.
An error.
An imperfection.
An Existence-Essential Anomaly.

Flaws & tantrums & gunfire;
Screaming & dancing,
Singing & praying & painting…

There’s too much to feel;
Too much that needs fixing;
Too much that needs saying;
Too much to ever see or do
half as well as it deserves.

And we still keep going, knowing all this;
Knowing nothing.
Some of us.
Overwhelmed, gasping, laughing, crying.

There is nothing more than this mess.
Nothing more than that hope.
Nothing more than our hearts.

+ Katie +

(Originally written on 11/23/16. Edited at the time of posting.)

For National Poetry Day (UK)

Today is National Poetry Day in the UK, and as it is still October 6th stateside, I thought I’d mark the occasion with the posting of a poem. I can’t remember when I first wrote it as I didn’t have the good sense to date it when I did, but I would guess it was probably either 2015 or 2014. What with it being my favorite season of all (Fall) and the time creeping ever closer to Halloween, the theme of it seemed appropriate.



Feathers stuck on midnight
whisper softly in the air,
singing of dirges & hymns.

You should not weep for the transition;
the Nevermore
the illusory
our lives as ashes burnt by the sun.

It is, after all, a waste of a good mourning
to regret and chase
the Neverwas –
what cannot be.

Visions of dust catching light
as permanent as
fleeting glances,
as resolute as Midnight Masses.

Here, oh here, is where
we stake our claim
to carve out the niche
to bear our name.


+ Katie+

Thoughts & Prayers

Photo by me

I extend my thoughts & prayers.
May they shield you from the inevitable bullets unleashed
by money’s stubborn stronghold
on the souls of our politicians.

May these thoughts & prayers comfort you
as you dial a number that will not answer;
As you wait for a voice from the throat of your loved one,
silenced by metal held more precious than their life.

May these thoughts & prayers be drops of solace in your endless, salted grief;
oceans of pain with no horizon of relief,
no oasis of rectification in sight.

May these thoughts & prayers fill the void in your heart
that feels as though it will never stop breaking.
May they be a balm to your rage
with no outlet
no sensible resolution.

May these thoughts & prayers reach the deaf ears of the powerful,
their hubris and padded bank accounts
the only things which help them sleep at night.

May these thoughts & prayers be with you
through your unanswered questions, your doubts.
May they be thrown into the grave to rot,
as all the pretty flowers and condolences wither & fade,
while you’re left to swallow & endure the silence in their wake.

May these thoughts & prayers sustain you & keep you,
as the anxiety creeps up your throat
with the gnawing reality of no change coming;
As tomorrow’s sunrise infuriatingly lights up a new day
where you only see shadows and tears.

May these thoughts and prayers comfort you.
A paltry pittance,
Too little
Too late.

+ Katie +

Petrichor I


Fingertips drumming beats on glass
perfuming the air like the lingering breath
of a southern June.

Painting the leaves and moss,
the bark,
the sky,
a palette stirred by watery tides.

Streaking down cheek and lingering
in each isolated strand,
eavesdropping on lashes,
reminders of our own composition,
chilling us to the bone.

The lullaby of nature’s rhythm section
a symphony so sweet,
to think
at least briefly
that a harmony could be reached
rather than desecration.

Soft cascades of lazy kisses,
wet on breast and brow,
gently flows and fills this life’s long river,
winding ’round and down.

+ Katie +

A Bloodless Revolution


True forgiveness does not require payment.
Forgiving a debt is to void –
To void is to not hold a ransom.
Atonement is not a blood-stained piggy bank;
It’s not even an action.

The vapid vapors of smoke machines choke my lungs,
they sting my eyes
as they settle into soft & vulnerable membranes.
This is not the Holy Spirit that I came for
to settle in my soul,
gentle as rolling mist.

I do not wish to be washed by broken bodies
of innocent lambs;
To be made to feel guilt for uncommitted sins.
I do not wish to be told that I am worthless
while shining eyes never leave my checkbook.

My body is a temple which does not burn.
The sacred dwells within as surely as platelets.
This truth is what they cannot see:
Christ imbued in all,
Wafers and wine reminders of his humanity.

We are to take this our daily bread,
take Him in and take Him out,
To live our lives amidst the glorious,
the grit,
the grime,
His being the example.


+ Katie +