I am most inspired by poets like Mary Oliver, Rumi, and Walt Whitman—artists who capture both the rawness of being alive and the profound interconnectedness of all beings and things. Yet above all, nature herself is my greatest muse. I strive to see the world through the eyes of plants, trees, flowers, the ocean, the stars, the wind, and the sky. I believe our complex human experiences are reflected in the rhythms and cycles of nature, and I humbly aim to observe and transmit her teachings with honesty and reverence.

The most challenging part of this process has been simply beginning—overcoming the inertia and fear of the blank page. I often experience a kind of writer’s paralysis, wanting the first words to come out perfectly, unsure where to start or what I want to share. But through this journey, I have learned to step out of my head and into my heart. I’ve discovered that when I ask, “What does nature want to share with me?” it frees me from self-consciousness and opens me to the creative forces that surround us. In this way, I try to follow rather than force, allowing each poem to lead me where it wants to go.

As I continue forward, my next step as a poet for the people is to keep refining my craft. I aim to continue exploring the intersections between human emotion and the natural world, creating poems that feel both deeply intimate and universally true. I hope my poetry serves as an invitation for others to honor their own wildness, resilience, and capacity for transformation.

no longer exposed—

but not yet full.

Buds break through surface,

tender fists trembling, reaching.

Life quivers,

possibilities hum,

whispers of all that stirs beneath.

Change creeps forth.

A single flower blooms—

petals loosen their grip

in quiet triumph.

More will follow,

a surge of growth ready to burst.

One day, you will be a cascade of green,

clothed in leaf and light.

For now, you linger in the seam—

not stripped, nor lush,

but becoming.

You refuse to cower—

you honor the in-between, 

the shedding, the stretching.

Standing tall, you wear transition like a crown.

You are not waiting.

Even now, even here,

you are whole.

gather me in your fierce embrace.

Drench my skin with rain,

soak me to my bones,

pour your storm into every hollow.

Thunder cracks,
lightning splits the sky—

still I stand, open-palmed,

drinking in your chaos,

hungry to be made anew.

When the clouds break,

and the ground breathes steam,

my tender shoots rise—

soft and unshaken.

I reclaim my quiet strength,

rooted in your power.

We dance, you and I.
You let me think I lead
your winding path,
But we both know
you hold the current.

Whoosh, howl, rustle—

you lift me from the ground,

carry me toward places

I never knew to long for.

I yield to your wild route,

let myself be taken—

trusting the unseen map.

Where will I land?

Who will I be?

One thing is certain—

I will never be the same.

Sizzle, crackle, pop—
I give you all of me,
not by will,
but because you would take,
with or without my offering.

You blaze through places
I never dared to see.
Together, we vanish—
wildfire to soot,
ash spilling into silence.

Only this remains:
a seed buried deep,

waiting to be born.

Boom, shudder, break—
I tremble in your embrace,
rupturing with release.

You split me open
along invisible seams.

Stone to dust,

I collapse, scattered.

I gather myself,
fragment by fragment,
piece by jagged piece.
What strange body

will rise from these ruins?

search my hollows,

pound my bones—

still, I rise.

Cracked but not broken,

sunlight floods every fracture.

Rain chisels my edges, 

etches new life along my scars.

Even in ruin, I bloom.

My mountains harbor strength,

older than memory.

My ocean depths contain secrets 

no tongue could shape.

I hum with power.

I shimmer with beauty.

I crackle with magic.

Do not question my resilience. 

I have shattered and remade myself

a thousand times over.

I bend with the wind, 

but never break.

No force can erase me.

From ash and root,

from river and flame—

I rise.

Not broken, 

but reborn.

dance barefoot in the rain,

commune with the moon.

I close my eyes as the wind sketches secrets

across my skin,

whispering: 

you are wild,

you are free.

Drawn by the horizon, 

I walk onward,

untethered—

a wanderer,

pulled by the wild pulse of the tides.

In my heart, a garden grows—

seeded with every scrap of me.

Some parts are tended,

others left to tangle—

roses beside weeds,

rooted deep in the marrow.

I ache for freedom,

for beautiful chaos,

for love as deep as the sea

and as vast as the sky.

I long to be fully embraced—

seen and known,

not just for the shine of my stars,

but the mystery within my shadows.

Named or unnamed—

I remain:

the sum of all my seasons.

Wind-kissed,

moon-marked,

entirely whole—

simply me.

Who made the swan, and the black bear?

Who made the grasshopper?

This grasshopper, I mean-

The one who has flung herself out of the grass,

The one who is eating sugar out of my hand,

Who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down-

Who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.

Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.

Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.

I don’t know exactly what a prayer is.

I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down

Into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,

How to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,

Which is what I have been doing all day.

Tell me, what else should I have done?

Doesn’t everything die at last, and too soon?

Tell me, what is it you plan to do

With your one wild and precious life?

dancing barefoot in the rain, communing with the moon.

I close my eyes as the wind whispers sweet nothings,

tracing soft secrets against my skin,

reminding me that I, too, am wild and free.

In my heart, a garden grows—

seeded with every piece of me,

some nurtured with care,

others unruly, wild as weeds

that entangle and root themselves firmly.

I ache for freedom, for beautiful chaos,

for love as deep and boundless as the ocean.

Drawn by the horizon, I walk onward,

untethered—

a wanderer, pulled by the wild pulse of the sea.