About

When words fail, I tend to swing my sword. Bright shiny cutlery is as important as exquisite moisturizer, good hair products, and a fantastic pair of stunning stilettos.

Struggling writer – in every aspect of the word struggling. How shall I tell of me? Perhaps I’ll let a poem explain the nuances contributing to the passages inside the labyrinth of my mind.

Song Of Me In The Key Of ‘P’

A head of tousled golden hair

frames a face considered fair,

with pouting smile unless it’s wide,

upon my cheek small dimple resides,

but what about the eyes,

those windows of my soul,

the colors wash across them

in a spectrum of the sea,

from gray to green a

multitude of blues lie in-between,

expressions like storm clouds

gather until relived by calm,

but what goes on inside the mind

some just consider blonde.

What do I witness when
watching from the deep
recesses of hidden thoughts—
do my hopes, dreams, daily passions
decorate my guileless face with pleasure
others have unsuccessfully sought, or
what of the horror of which I write,
is this what turns the mischievous beckoning
of my eyes impish without a guiding light
from above, or is it the revelation of
God’s light that allows me to search
through darkened evil without fear.

Singer, artist, author,
math award winner who can no longer
balance a checkbook, sometimes doesn’t bother
anyone sure I can struggle through
convinced it will make me stronger.
I laugh at that wild imagining,
struggle only makes me tired.

A mystery I am, a conundrum of indignation
and grace, a tightrope walker without a net,
quiet soul with boisterous laugh in constant configuration
of how life is approached, never satisfied, and yet,
what makes me tick within the shell
of a woman few will ever know?
Could it be that I will never tell,
afraid misperception of unwillingness
to divulge my inner man is always
misconstrued, allowing hurt and pain
from those who only want a show,
or, is it the discomfort I feel from
those with whom I invest my trust
and they refuse to honor it.

Friendly, helpful, unsparkling conversationalist,
funny, thoughtful, rarely makes a list,
and back to God, I never really answered
that burning question—my faith runs deep,
my trust in Him has never wavered,
I’ve witnessed hate, and love, and anguish,
heard myself speaking of the insanity of me,
though here I sit, writing out this wish
for a new day that will end in eternity.

I’m sure some wonder what became
of the chubby, blonde little girl—
she grew up, conquered, faltered, and altered,
and even to me I’m an enigma in this world.

†

Welcome to my Labyrinth. The twists and turns inside my mind at times convoluted with sudden dead ends, darkened thoughts which reveal nothing but more darkened thoughts, endless runs of barren ground where nothing sparks creativity, padded walls where I beat my fists and scream into the ether hoping no one will hear my anguish, wishing someone would hear my anguish, sparkling passages filled with accomplishments and dreams, places in the cleft of a wall where I lay my head and rest from the persistent highs and lows of life.

As a writer I have many blogs to share my writing with others, hoping people will take an interest in my stories and poems. I have never kept a journal. However, after much consideration, I decided to share my personal experiences as I journey through my head. I do not guarantee days as bright and shiny as my sword, I fear many days will be dark and dreary, but that’s the dual side of me I continually deal with.

Laughter, horror, mysteries, joy, puzzlement, doubt, angst, self-introspection will fill my pages. If I’m to be truthful in my writing, I have to be truthful with myself. All in all it’s what I mentioned in the above poem – I am a tightrope walker traversing a frightening divide.

This is who I am. If you aren’t frightened, come join me as I walk the Labyrinth.