Subtext | Writing life

I write from the places most people avoid—

the restless thoughts, the soft hurts,

the unexpected beauty hiding under the mess.
Subtext is where I put the things that keep me up at night,
make me laugh at the wrong moment, or teach me to breathe again.

Where the unspoken
becomes undeniable.

A place where we whisper
loud and refuse to behave.

I didn’t grow up thinking I’d be a poet. Honestly, I spent most of my life trying very hard not to be one.

I’ve always written. I even switched my major to English because it felt like the most practical choice — not because of the job outlook, but because writing is the only place where beginnings, middles, and ends learn how to hold each other up. That made sense to me. Still does. Everyone else called it impractical, which I found hilarious, because I used that exact logic to talk my way into every job I ever had. I tried other roles for years —

IN CASE YOU'RE NEW HERE

I write poems and essays about the mind, the mess, the beauty, and the quiet rebellions beneath everyday life. Subtext is where I let the truth come up for air.

Holy Basil

This afternoon I harvested holy basil from my indoor garden and steeped it in a pot of simmering water. The steam rose slowly, fragrant and slightly sweet. I sat at the counter sipping it like this was something I’d always done. I hadn’t meant to grow a tea garden. The hydroponic system was supposed to be practical — super greens, tomatoes, cucumbers, fruit. Winter survival. A hedge against the slump that usually arrives when the light disappears and the days narrow. But some

Field Notes

Metronome

I’ve been thinking about repetition lately — what it feels like to build pressure without knowing where it’s going to land. I sent out my twentieth submission this week. Another rejection came back. Polite. Brief. Efficient. At the same time, a new business I launched — something playful, something that felt like me — is still quiet. No orders yet. No proof of traction. Just the hum of effort waiting for response. This is the part no one romanticizes. The stretch where you ke

Practice Notes

Late Morning, Key West

It’s late morning and I’m sitting on the balcony of our hotel, the ocean stretched out in front of me like it has nowhere else to be. The light is sharp. The air is already thick. Everything feels startlingly clear.