Leaping are our hearts, as the race begins.

This moment has been itching at my heels for a decade, how much longer would I have waited?

Time is the natural equalizer–raising me to be brave and strong enough to race.

Weathered are my opposition, the time I took did that to them.

Waited, they have, to lap me and to break my crown.

Their hate spreads like fire on dead brush, touching my people, and replacing pride with disgust.

I see it in their gate, their art, and most of all their progeny.

No longer am I their Queen.


Her Series: Behind a name.

There’s a Snake on the Tree


It rested on her back like a snake on the branch of a tree. No one looked twice, they couldn’t see,  but when it shook its feathery skin, they felt it–scratching their noses and shuffling their feet. Every foot step she took stole breath from their lungs, but still they wouldn’t look, break. break. break.  It was unknown, spoken from the lips of her mother, they still couldn’t hear it, so they couldn’t hurt her, they couldn’t speak it, so she was free.