A Poem for a Rainy Day

Everything seems brighter when it rains.

Maybe the trees feel like they don’t have to compete

with a bright blue sky

(because today it’s gray).

The trees get the chance to be

unapologetically themselves.

I think I’m trying to do the same.

And maybe I am the same as

the trees—

when I can hardly see past the gray,

something bright comes along

(like a friend or two).

Maybe sometimes you have to cry

because you’re so frustrated

and confused

and angry (righteously angry?).

And you try to keep in the tears

so other people feel okay around you.

But then you let them out and

the beauty reveals itself to you.



Who am I to talk to Him,

to ask Him for things,

ask Him for love?


Confidence is a funny thing. See, you’re supposed to have some of it (otherwise you just seem pitiful) but not too much (you just seem pretentious). It’s a very delicate balance, and I just don’t know how to get there.

My physical body often portrays confidence. My mouth says words that mean I am confident. My smile suggests that I am happily confident. But my gray matter is often full of thoughts just as dismal. Thoughts of, “You’re not good/smart/pretty/[insert quality here] enough.” I don’t mean this to sound pitiful. I mean this as truth.

I was recently reminded that I’m pretty much the only person who sees my lack of confidence, my insecurities. I’m the only one who hears my self-deprecating thoughts. I’m the only one affected by my shortcomings. I apparently display a healthy level of confidence.

I’ve had people tell me (heck, I’ve told other people): “Fake it till you make it.” I’ve believed for so long that if I just pretend, I’ll eventually think that my (better) make believe life is reality. But that’s a lie. I don’t feel any more confident at the end of the day – I feel worse for not letting people see my shortcomings.

Confidence is a funny thing.

a little extra

Today I was shown a little extra kindness.

People gave me a little extra time,

spent a little extra money.

I was given a little extra time

and a little extra attention.

(Attention I don’t deserve but

is nice nonetheless.)

Because of those around me,

I am a little extra powerful,

a little extra wonderful,

a little extra thankful,

and a little extra loved.


i often worry with

my fingers.

the bitten nails

paired with the scars

from nervous habits

make for some ugly hands.

my fingers are also

pretty round

and they don’t look like

the fingers that play piano

or paint

or hold hands.