A Warrior’s Armor

They ask her if she’s alright.
And she laughs and says, “Of course!”
She tosses her head, a scornful swipe,
It’s not like they really want to know.

When she was a girl, she didn’t play with Barbie.
But in fictitious battles, a fearless fighter.
An armored traveler, over land and sea,
She played rough as a kid and never felt safer.

Of course, those villains were imaginary,
All were creations of a child, solitary.
So they would never hurt her like people could
They could never betray her like a loved one could.

People aren’t perfect, and they’re gonna mess up.
And if you’re right there, then they mess up on you.
So you learn about armor and smiles and “I’m fine”s.
If you don’t let them in, then they can’t hurt you.

But no one told her there was another threat.
She had armor for dragons and armor for people,
But no one told her she needed a whole new set.
A new kind of strength, and a new kind of skill,

To let the hurt hurt, until the pain could heal.


There’s something hidden in the in-between,

Something bound by inspiration and idea.

It’s neither emotional nor intellectual.

It’s not conceptual or concrete.


It’s an idea of an idea, or something subtler,

It’s that space no words can name…

because it’s the place before the words.

The place of creative gray and lack of form.


It’s the place where you know naught, and the muse knows all,

where Imagination excels at Hide and Seek,

Or perhaps a treasure hunt, a better metaphor

for the game before the art,

where something’s there; you don’t know what,

Where your only clue is a faint outline against the broad landscape of possibility.

Fresh Beginnings

They’ll always say,
“It’s a brand new day.”
But that’s false.

Yesterday affects today.
They’re my choices, come what may.
But that’s also false.

People offer me hope,
I become a cynic,
People offer me doubt,
I offer them hope.

But when the morning comes anew,
And while Time initiates a redo,
Let’s forget the past and instead pursue,
Dreams, Inspirations, and new Effects too.