“You look at me and cry; everything hurts. I hold you and whisper: but everything can heal.” –Rupi Kaur
Diane Masiello is a part-time writer and a full-time mom, wife, daughter, and daughter-in-law. Like many who are currently part of the “sandwich generation,” – those who still have kids at home but are also taking care of aging parents—she is also trying to find the time to carve out some space for her own passions. In her earlier life she earned a Ph.D. in Education from New York University, and worked as an Instructor of English, then Assistant Professor of English at the University of Tampa. In 2003 she left academia to raise her two daughters—the longest, hardest job she’s ever held, and the most rewarding. During her time in academia she edited and contributed to a variety of academic publications, but her greatest joy was the publication of her first short fantasy story, “The Sunspot,” in CrossTime Science Fiction Anthology Vol. II. She has her own blog, “Afternoons with Coffee Spoons,” which started as a mommy blog but ended when she realized her daughters had become old enough that writing about them without their permission seemed invasive. She has just completed her first young adult fantasy novel, Keeper, and is starting on the maze-like road toward publication. She is thrilled to be a part of The Gloria Sirens and looks forward to the conversations her blog posts may inspire.
“Before I was formally introduced to my anxiety, I called it by a bunch of other names–nervousness, weakness, timidity. Employers called it laziness, distractedness, and ‘not being a team player.’ My ex called it clinginess. My mother called it oversensitivity and immaturity. But we were all wrong, and learning that we were all wrong, that there was an actual medical thing going on, overwhelmed me because it meant that it wasn’t a tornado of character flaws that landed me where I was. The problem was not that Ii simply chose not to be ‘normal,’ that I allowed my fears, baseless as they may have been, to conquer and dictate so much of my life. The problem was my brain. It was a chemical imbalance, something physical, not imagined.” –Tracy Clayton
My ride was not unique. It wasn’t surprising. It wasn’t fun. It was basically like me–comfortable, stable, and safe. No surprises. Reliable. Always there, waiting to be needed.
Here’s to the kids who live
who live and dare us
may they embarrass us
show us who we are . . . .
Here’s to the kids who live in us
to the kids who live and demand
in the doing
here and now
awestruck and unafraid.
I release you,
my beautiful and terrible fear.
I release you.
my beloved and hated twin,
II don’t know you as myself. . . .
I take myself back, fear.
You are not
my shadow any longer.
In the end she just wanted the house
and a horse not much more what
if he didn’t own the house or worse
not even a horse how do we
separate the things from a man the man from
the things is the man still the same
without his reins it rains every fifteen
minutes it would be foolish to
marry a man without an umbrella did
Cinderella really love the prince or
just the prints on the curtains in the
ballroom . . . .
I still feel that poetry is not medicine–it’s an X-ray. It helps you see the wound and understand it.
-women are some kind of magic
I’ve put up with too much, too long. And now I’m just too intelligent, too powerful, too beautiful, too sure of who I am finally to deserve anything less. –Sandra Cisneros
how is it so easy for you to be kind to people he asked milk and honey dripped from my lips as I answered cause people have not been kind to me –Rupi Kaur