Heart Traveler

A human heart is quiet possibly the most beautiful theory that has ever existed.
Capable of loving deeply, feeling wildly, and aching sorely

My heart is experiencing something new here

It’s dividing.

Microscopic cells are building a barrier, right down the center of my heart…between here and there 

These cells are forming a new section, one that has been slowly filling itself up without me even noticing.

This new section is exclusively for here.

For the love here

The feelings here 

The achings here.

My new fragmented heart has doubled while simultaneously breaking itself apart.

The double isn’t a twin, it’s an expansion. 

It’s the street signs hidden by flowers that smell like spring herself.

It’s the laughs shared in a low budget office building.

It’s the tears that fall into the laps of humans that somehow share one singular soul.

It’s the inconsistent emotions that bond strangers close together

It’s the way we lay closely but refrain from taking it too far too soon.

It’s the drip of sweat that forms while music pounds onto our open chests.


Maybe I am this way.

Forever traveling from home to home

Realizing it’s home, and leaving it.


My physical body leaves, but this mystery quadrant of my heart will remain. Both in me and there. Teasing me with the stability I don’t want. 

Or I do want. 

Constantly searching for a new place to connect with

New people to cry with 

New trees to smell.


How many segments can a heart have? 

Maybe as many as an intricate mosaic.

Mosaics are beautiful but somehow incredibly fragile


But legendary and memorable in the lives of those who see them

Interesting but not something you want to see everyday


Something tells me I should only expand my heart so far or else it will burst, 



One heart is incapable of experiencing all types of love

All forms of sadness

All shades of jealousy 

There has to be one type that just works.

One hand that feels the best 

Or just enough

One bed that holds you the best

Or in the right places.

One passion that satisfies you

Or occupies you. 


Maybe I’m like this.

A heart traveler.

Opening up shop somewhere/everywhere/anywhere I can 

Until something catches 

Until I hurt so bad that only one remedy will cure me

Until I dive so deep that only one tank will last me

Until I fall so fast that only one place will catch me

Until I shake so hard that only one touch will stabilize me





Until then, I’ll keep traveling. 


When you walk through the door, all of my stress is dissolved
Like stirring salt into water
Stress, swirling away, into a cyclone of warm, healing substance

Thank you for being so unlike me that it actually distracts me from the pressure of myself.
too much work, too much pride and passion, too much everything, just, too much.

But, for me, you are just enough. 
Which is 10x better than more than enough. Which is 1000x better than not enough. Which is my ideal version of enough. 
you are so incredibly enough. just.  


There is some kind of indescribable connection between us. 

“You are just like your Mom!” they say…

“Well, I am my mother’s daughter, that’s for sure” I say…

And I feel that. In my bones/my spirit/my heart, I know that’s true. I know they are right. 

But, until now, until just now, I didn’t realize the extent and weight of the compliment that I’ve been regularly receiving. Casually receiving. 

These strangers and friends were complimenting my core, my upbringing, my soul.

If only I could be just like my Mom.

Her all-knowing mind, predicting the future before the present even considers happening.

Her well-timed presence, allowing me to experience emptiness and intervening just in time for that very emptiness to get too heavy for me to carry alone.

Her ever-moving mind, that mirrors and accentuates my own, constantly discovering something that would make everyone happier/better/more engaged. A place to go, a thing to see, a person to meet.

Her generous nature, letting me fly freely into a really big world without questioning my ability (even though sometimes I question it).

Her natural beauty, which I desperately wish she would let others see. Let the universe see. Which I wish she would see.

Her opaque sadness, never bleeding into the pores of my life, but existing…just like everyone else’s does. Vital, alive, and necessary.

Her ferocious bravery, going into each day with a very natural fear of loneliness and ending it sometimes with the same, sometimes not. If that’s not bravery, I don’t know what is. I don’t want to know what is.

Her quaint, abundant, and conservative humor, bouncing endlessly around each and every room she has ever been and ever will be in.

Her genuine heart, defining her every action. 

She is the woman who taught me how to be a woman. 
Or even better: a human, a lover. 

She gave me the ability to love so deeply
the ability to cherish each moment,
the ability (and desire) to think. for. myself.

She made it okay to embrace passion, 
to laugh and cry in the same day or at the same time,
and to always make lots of breakfast bread.

She inspired me to move wildly across the country, 
to follow an impossible dream in hopes that it maybe/might/could/oneday work out, 
and to run openly into the unknown with just the right amount of fear.

When people look into her eyes that have planted themselves on my face in a slightly rounder way and tell me “you are just like your mother” … I should hug them. I should dance and sing with them. Or at least smile. The same smile that she told me was beautiful and perfect just the way it is (after braces helped me out with a few problem areas)

I should let them know: “that is what I’ve always wanted to be.”

I should say “Thank you”

Now that I’ve realized what it means to be like my Mom, I should cry more because I miss her so much everyday… even if haven’t spoken in weeks.

I should call more. Write more. Think more.

I should express more.

I will. 

Each and every day I find myself living to create a legacy. One that she would be proud of. 

The legacy is taking me a little longer than I had initially envisioned…just because I’m working some other, simpler things out first. 

Things like: Why am I here?  Is this what I really want? Who am I, really?

But even when I don’t know the answer to those daunting existential questions, I’m never too lost/ too far from me/ too confused.

Because if there’s one thing I know for sure, it’s that I am my mother’s daughter.


And I will never disappoint her. 

Because she has never disappoint me.

Lost In My Body

Thoughts pour through my heart
Pulse through my soul 

But when they reach my fingers, they get jammed
Stuck inside of me

And they have no place to go.

So instead of escaping through my fingers, they get lost within my body.

Thoughts in my wrists
Thoughts in my forearms
Neck (lots of thoughts in my neck)

And they bounce back down, away from my mouth 

Slingshotting down to my heart again

But by the time they make it back to my heart, they are different 

The journey around my insides has changed them 

These thoughts are jumbled and ragged. They are easy to tear apart and they are unclear. They don’t make sense to anyone and they don’t make sense to me. Where did they come from?

Oh… Me. 

If only they would’ve come out my fingers like I asked them to in the first place. 
And my fingers continue move with nothing to say. 

All of the things I have to say are lost in my body.