Real and Honest Feelings Friday (Sometimes on Sunday) Poetry Extravaganza Not For Little Babies

It’s officially Sentimental Sunday, which is a close relative of Feelings Friday, which mostly means ‘hi, I ate excessive amounts of cereal and watched re-runs of “Amazing Race” instead of writing poems for the last two days sorry not sorry’

HOWEVER This week’s poems were my favorite of this whole series, little lambies. Even the ones I picked of my favorite favorites, I found so hard to pare down!!

So much love to my favorite favorites Susan Manners, Kaitlin Boatman, and Clara Johanna for their beautiful writing, and to all of you for your bravery and thoughtfulness with your writing. Excerpts of their work are posted to below.

This week’s Real and Honest Feelings Friday (Sometimes on Sunday) Poetry Extravaganza Not For Little Babies is our FINAL prompt. I’ve had so much fun reading your writing and loved being included in your processes. It’s been an honor to feel so connected.

Today is International Women’s Day, and there is a campaign going on called, “Dear Me”. I thought- WOAH DUDE THAT’S A POEM WAITING TO BE WRITTEN.

So your final challenge is to write a poem to your younger self. It could be you at 16 or 19 or 5. You could warn yourself about that burrito that smelled kind of funky but you ate anyway, you could encourage your younger self to watch more educational videos (especially maths), tell your self to invest in google, to hug your mom more, whatever you want! As always, you can submit your work to

Look out for a video of A BRAND NEW POEM that I’ll post later today based on this prompt!! EEEEE HAPPY WRITING!!!

I love you, cute little lambies.

Happy Sunday!





I never miss a chance to hike the rolling hills & covered bridges of the Laurels, or Stroud’s yellow and pink wildflower fields or The Meadow Garden at Longwood. Thank you.

I never miss a chance to see and cuddle babies Eloise, Ben, and Wyatt and big girls Grace or Ella. Thank you.

I never miss a chance for watching a pink and orange winter sunset with tunnels of sunlight touching the sky. Thank you.

I never miss a chance for a good morning kiss, the last of the day, hand on cheek, good night, sweet dreams my love kiss, or the in-between, I’m heading to work, hello, I’m home, or I’m walking past you so let’s kiss, kiss. Thank you.


There is this girl with bright blue hair

And electric cobalt lipstick

I swear tacky has never looked so good

She is sometimes the only silence I find on bad days

When the world is too loud

And my brain refuses to rest.

There is this girl who dons a clean face

She owns a pair of loud green sweat pants

Proof that beauty can’t be found in a bottle

I catch myself over-sharing

Spilling everything

I’ve never dared say to anyone else

I freeze when our knees bump

Shoulders touch

Hands brush

I can feel the chemicals rushing through my body

Hoping for just a few moments more


“You know, if you hurl clay with the right velocity at a cement pavement, it sounds almost delicate.

The blue mosaic pot that you made during the summer you said I need to keep busy.
You’d said, I’m recreating the ocean, in concentration your tongue curling like a wave over your lip.
Cyan and azure and aquamarine and deep, black-blue.
Palms scratched and running red rivers.

The red sea parting.

Hands soaked.

I had always been a horrible swimmer.

Après moi, le déluge.”