Beanie pulled low, wild beard, sunglasses hiding the parts of me that still flinch at old ghosts.
My long poems are written in the dark, but they aren’t about staying there. They’re deep, raw dives that make room for the things that truly matter: the overwhelming warmth of family, the irreplaceable light of children, and the tender, absurd stories passed down through us—like sagas of fast potatoes and the everyday magic that holds a life together.
The dark gives the words their depth, but love gives them their purpose.
The harmonious alpacas, plotting parrots, and chaotic family tales aren’t distractions—they are the joy refusing to be silenced. Instagram and TikTok catch the quick fragments, but here is where the gratitude and the history breathe. Some nights the words still burn. But this family—and these stories—are the light out.