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My writing

My writing explores the places where lived experience, resilience, nature, and storytelling intersect. Whether I’m reporting on community issues, crafting personal essays, writing poetry, or creating fiction inspired by mythology, I believe stories have the power to foster connection, understanding, and healing.

My work often examines themes of trauma, recovery, identity, mental health, domestic violence awareness, and the restorative power of the natural world. Through journalism, I strive to tell thoughtful, compassionate stories that inform and amplify voices in my community. Through creative writing, I explore the emotional landscapes that facts alone cannot always capture.

I write to ask meaningful questions, challenge impossible standards, and remind readers that even after loss, there is always the possibility of renewal.

Poetry

There are things
I need to tell you
 before the world
teaches them with its teeth.

You are younger now—

still soft
 where life has not yet reached,

still standing
 at the edge of becoming,

believing survival
 and living
 are the same thing.

They are not.

I write to you
 from years ahead,

from a body stitched together

with grief,

with rage,

with love,

with endurance.

I write from the branch
 of an old dead tree,

where crows gather at dusk,

with smoke in my lungs,

winter in my bones,

and enough distance

to finally understand

the girl we used to be.

You believed

you were difficult to love,

because love always arrived

carrying conditions.

You believed

silence was safety.

That shrinking

was kindness.

That surviving quietly

deserved a medal.

Little crow,

hear me now—

some cages

are built

by other people’s hands.

Some

are forged

from your own fear.

Both

must be escaped.

Listen carefully.

I am going to tell you

the truth

about fire.

One day

your ribs

will become a birdcage

for every grief

you never buried.

One day

you will mistake exhaustion

for peace,

because chaos

will feel more familiar

than quiet.

One day

you will stand

before a pile of peaches,

and every forgotten version

of yourself

will return,

asking to be remembered.

I wish

I could tell you

survival

makes people holy.

It does not.

It only teaches

how heavy

a soul can become.

But even tired things

still sing.

Even broken wings

lift toward morning.

Even crows

must lose their feathers

before they learn

how to fly again.

So remember this—

Do not mistake hunger

for love.

Some people

only recognize light

after they have tried

to extinguish it.

You were never

too difficult to love.

Only

too easy

to wound.

And you,

little crow—

you were always

meant

to survive

the winter.

Young Adult Fantasy

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Non Fiction/Self Help

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Crow and Flame •

The Morrígan: Finding Power in the Dark

There is a reason crows have followed me for so much of my life.


People often see them as omens of death. They see them as Harbingers of darkness. They look at crows as creatures to fear.


But mythology has a way of reminding us that death is rarely just an ending.


Sometimes, it is the beginning of becoming.


In Celtic mythology, the Morrígan is one of the most misunderstood figures. Often called the Phantom Queen or Great Queen, she is associated with crows, ravens, battlefields, prop...