I’m standing by the ocean
and the wind here refuses to carry my sorrow away no matter how much I whisper panicked into her vibrant coolness. I guess I am meant to carry it with…
Author: Barbara Powell
Building a relationship with my inner child through poetry, storytelling, and love. Runner, coach, and - of course - lover.
Amputation
Just like a phantom limb, you leave me here my brain trying to send you signals and feeling as though you could be there, should be there– without you there…
My Potential
I dreamt I flew in an airplane knee to knee with the other passengers but when I awoke I felt an ache in my shoulder blades and realized my very…
I had forgotten
I had forgotten that my mind could create billions of new things that my heart kept on pumping regardless of bruises, dents, or dings. That goosebumps rose to keep me…
To my Mother on Mother’s Day
I’ve chosen over the years to live in many places, claiming my identity again and again. Ever in search mode, I’ve looked for comfort, for love, and most all —…
My honey leaves me love notes
My honey leaves me love notes sprinkled through our home: one is by the coffee pot another in our room. One tells me that he loves me another says he…
She Saw the Fire Through the Window
Crack. Splinter. Pop. Someone’s at the door. Instead of politely ringing the bell she’s decided to barge right in wether I am ready or not for her. She is wrapped…
The Runner
There’s a new softness in my belly. At fourteen, this would frighten me. Thinness and hardness indications of worth an inner *cha-ching* as my body sells the world an idea.…
