I’ve been writing poetry since I was four years old. I was given a floral cloth-covered journal that I loved dearly. I carried it around everywhere even though I couldn’t yet write. I asked my mother if she would help me write a poem one day, so I told her what I wanted it to say and she wrote it down for me so I could copy it into my little book. A poem about snowflakes, of all things.

I was always writing then and for many years to come. Short stories and poems and snarky bits of dialogue. Paper scraps shoved into every pocket. Funny or moving things people said. Quotes from books I liked. Despite all of this, I was slow to find my way into being an English major in college. But there I landed. In all of those blank bound books I filled, there are still a few poems I like today.

Please enjoy a few poems from the archives.