Me.

Mom. Triathlete. Yogi. Foodie. Writer. Boss. Coffee lover. Side hustler.

I run for team Oiselle Volée and Skratch Labs.

Broken Jar of Honey

Broken Jar of Honey

I think she looks like me and she’s crazy, like legit crazy. Her long, dark locks have a little wave and fall just below her breasts, but today her hair is loosely pinned up. She’s intelligent and loves; she’s patient and intense; soft and fiery. I saw some of myself in her. Maybe more of myself than I wanted to admit. She reminded me of all these things each time I set eyes upon her.

She’s like a broken jar of honey.

Maybe it’s the tough exterior that is protecting the sweet elixir encased a beveled glass jar. It kinda looks like a small, ruffled fish bowl. Sometimes, I pick up the jar by the white screw top lid and flip it upside down. I watch the honey slowly coat the opposite side of the jar; the lava-like material creeping down the inside, glistening and appearing transparent until it pools again at the new bottom.

But the jar and slow flow contrast suddenly. Through some external force, a disruption leaves slivers of glass injected into the gooey, amber substance.

It’s noticeable, the damage, but the honey is salvageable. Those truly invested pick out the slivers, and even eat around them. Be careful to not over indulge, as hints of glass glimmer in the light. Some might go to the lengths of finding a new container to preserve what’s left.

No matter what happened and where that honey is transported, it never loses flavor, sweetness, or color. It continues to move enveloping anything it touches. The protective jar is beyond repair, but the heart remains intact.

The Zombies

The Zombies

I Shouldn’t Tell You This

I Shouldn’t Tell You This