On the Personal: Just a little Poem

There are worn paths in my mind
where we sit and rest and
breathe

It's the same wash of longing-
that cedar smell-
of a bunk-bed fort

The same sharp inhale of
new winter
when fog still feels foreign

yet wrapped in hope

There are worn paths in my mind
where I am alone, cocooned
birthed and
bathed

It's the same scent of waking
before a
fully pierced
morning

There are worn paths in my mind


(My photo of Option Model, Jen Sullins)

I am a proponent of privacy, so a lot of my public posts are work related or quite bouncy in order to maintain some boundaries between work and real life. I'm sure you get it. Yet, my life's work will always be a reflection of the internal, so I feel compelled to share some personal pieces here and there. This is just a little poem.