I write for the moments that do not come easily into language—
the quiet ache, the love that goes unspoken,
the parts of us that fracture and, somehow, learn to breathe again.
I am a Texas-based poet, though my roots trace back to a small town in Upstate New York, where I was raised in a large family that often felt louder than I knew how to be. I was a quiet child—watching, listening, holding more than I ever said out loud. I found my refuge in books, but not only in their stories. It was the words themselves that called to me. I would linger in dictionaries, searching for the ones most had forgotten—turning them over, keeping them, letting them become something living in me. Somewhere in those pages, I began to understand that language could hold feeling… and that I, too, had a voice worth finding.
My work lives in the in-between—
between love and loss, faith and doubt, breaking and becoming.
I return often to themes of healing and the quiet resilience of the human spirit, trying to give shape to what lingers just beneath the surface. I write honestly, sometimes gently, sometimes not—but always with the intention of reaching the places in others that feel unseen.
I am the author of Scar Tissue & Stardust, a collection that follows the path from brokenness toward something softer, something whole. It is a journey of fracture and light, of learning that both can exist in the same breath.
Beyond my own writing, I am the founder of BFF Youth Network, where I have the privilege of helping young writers discover their voices—sometimes for the very first time. Through writing, mentorship, and shared storytelling, I try to give them what I once needed: a space where their words are not only heard, but held.
I believe words can be a kind of healing—
a bridge between what we carry and what we are ready to release.
And so I write…
to sit with the unspoken,
to honor both the wound and the wisdom it leaves behind,
and to remind myself—and anyone willing to listen—
that even in the most broken places,
there is still something here that endures.
Something that, against all odds,
still reaches for the light.
View my blog "Notes From the Quiet Becoming" at The Journal | Scar Tissue & Stardust