Shady sunshine falls on a bright green hill

Chubby cheeks and ringlet curls

Frolicking around fat squirrels and dandelions

Spinning on a rope swing,
A blurry canopy of trees and laughter

Big smiles make us feel young

So we frolicked and danced

under the sun.

I wear a paper crown and a blanket as a robe

I bare my big front teeth with a grin

My voice echoes when I roar

My feet stomp carelessly, shaking the floor


I am not a king, possibly a prince?

I am wild and unruly and untamed

I am loud and rude and mean

Yet my fur is soft and my heart is clean


I am Max - or Maxine

King - or prince

of the Wild Things

To be loved is to be known

wholly, completely, and unfalteringly known

to be naked in front of one another


not with skin, but with one’s soul

Exposed and raw, shameful and afraid;

Beautiful and flawed, unabashed and free


To be loved is to be known,

Achingly, deeply, painfully known

to venture far past thorns and briars,


into dense woods and icy mountains.

To cut and scrape and climb your way through,

to wander into the unknown,

to shiver under blankets of snow.


To be loved is to be known,

to search the vast depths of ocean and sky and earth

looking for you-


-looking for the good and the bad too.

Attempting to harness, not capture, your heart.


Attempting to feel-


-the ever-changing seasons-


-of your soul.

I may not be gifted in painting
I may not be taught, like the masters, how to ‘properly’ create

But with my words, unsteady and scribbled, flawed and broken,
I paint canvases beyond sight.
I imagine art more beautiful than any Mona Lisa,
I create masterpieces without ever dipping my brush.

My craft is greatly imperfect, cluttered, and poorly expressed,

But still I attempt to write the words that sit waiting deep within my chest

Often I do not understand what I write,

but I must allow my fingers to scrawl each thought

For each word, each story,
is an expression of myself;

a world in all its beauty and ugliness,

and I must share.

Even if no one is listening.