Part of my poetry and reflections project, Margins of the First Draft — a piece about feeling deeply, carrying small childhood truths, and turning them into honest writing.

(Authors Note)

13. Foolish girl

My foolish heart,

Like my mothers favorite vase

Plummeting from the shelf I could not reach

And beneath my feet

A thousand tiny shards

With my tears, flowing from my eyes

My love, a runoff I was drowning in

My mothers’ arms around my shaking, frail, husk

“All is going to be alright my child”

Poetry on the Margins #13 Tiny Hands, Heavy Heart

My own mother always told me —
whenever I told her that my hands are so tiny (which they really are) —
that my heart is full.

My father figure told me
I was floating, someplace far away,
not really here.

But being here was a tad bit painful,
and I guess I always felt every ache
very deeply.

I feel honoured and blessed
to be able to write about it —
in a way it still feels honest
and raw.

Links to more of my work:

If you like reading an emotionally packed short story here you can find multiple of them: Six-Sentence Stories, Short Stories, Romance and All That, Dead Poet

And a brand new addition to my poetry tab: On the margins of the First Draft

My band “Chaos in Spring” can be listened to on YouTube, Spotify and other streaming services.