I’ve written poetry since I was a kid (with a couple of gaps). Originally, A weird a mix of Mother Goose and Edgar Allan Poe inspired me. In high school, I mostly wrote teenage angst. In college, I learned forms, the value of reading out loud, and tried to figure out who I would be as an adult. After college, my poems reflected how I tried to navigate the working world and my poor attempts at romance. When, eventually, I married, my poetry slowed down and I focused more on fiction, and then didn’t write at all. In 2015, I decided I was tired of not being a writer, and put pen to paper with the promise to myself that I would work on crafting my poetry.

I always used poetry to say things I couldn’t in other ways. I could be honest and still keep a tight rein on who saw my poetry. Family analysis was safely tucked away, yet I could express my feelings unfettered. In my “modern” phase (2015 to now), I’ve been less concerned about the visibility of my poetry. I regularly submit my work and have had a pretty good track record of acceptances. I’ve had two chapbooks published by small presses.

In the last few years, as I’ve thought more about toxic relationships, patriarchy, and the general need for self-expression. So many people, especially women, are shut down when they try to speak their truth, express their desires, or display their creativity. This is suffocating, both for the individual and for society. We use art of all kinds as personal pressure valves, venting grief, pain, loneliness, but also building connections and beauty. We hold up mirrors to society, protest the detestable, and show places filled with light. Doing so makes us strong. Individually. Collectively. We are faced with people who want to shut down creativity, or funnel it into approved channels. Painting, music, poetry, crafts of all kinds, are empowering, revolutionary, and vital to the human existence.