Poem I wrote today:


We are so very different
Struggling so deeply to be the same
Not seeing the beauty
In the flux of this life

The variance is what gives us
The many trees
A forest makes.

The sparkled sand
Each a different shade
A tiny glass parade.

The stars grandiose
Expansive blots on endless night
Both brilliant and faint
Oh the beauty
Varity makes.

Why do we try so hard
To be exactly the same?
Why do we ache to tell a tale
For the difference it makes?

Why must we hide our truths
For the comfort of others;
For sameness’ sake?

Why must we dim our shine
Quiet our heart,
Why must we lower our voices
When passion strikes?

Why must we tip toe around truth,
Lest the façade break
And we see truly
There is beauty in the variance
Our lives make?

Speak your truth boldly.
Stand firm in your priceless self.
And above all and always,
To be you,
Be proud.

-Angel Marie Russell



Emotions are the tide
Niether good nor bad.
They are the lull
That pulls us
Push forward

When the landscape
The waters part and recede.
The rift opens
And we run
Cavernous feelings
They can feel ominous
But emotions as the tide
Swift and sway
Over and through
Just as the rivers
Form Canyons
Beauty within our landscape.

Breathe as the Earth pulls
The tide
In and out,
Up and down
and recede in the knowing
All will rise again.

-Angel Marie Russell

Remember Love

You have got to remember you
In all things,
Where you end
And begin.
Where your roots descend to
And where your wings
High above can rise.

Where is your equinox?
Where is your compass
Where is your foot step

What lulls you to peace,
And what pulls you to stand alert,
ready to impart a quick wit,
A furrowed brow, or the
Swift depart.

Where is your center
In the storm that rages
About you?
Where is your pillar within
On which all of you
So nobly stands?

What calls you to honor?
What whispers misdead?
What voice do you run from?
What voice do you heed?

Where is your center
In all this storm of life?
Where is your placid
Glassy lake?
What imparts you to find the calm
In a world gone mad?

I have found a tether
Rooted cavernous deep,
That in all things
It guides me,
It lifts me on wings,
It shows me the right answer,
When in pain, it’s voice I need.

It is my compass,
My nightingale,
My morning dove,
It is,

And this is the center
Truly of all
And of you.
It is the electric pulse in static,
Lighting, and all that binds us,
Even me, to you.


The liquid shimmer beneath
All joyous eyes;


The rest after deep breath
And the warm embrace;


The quickened pace of joy,
And the scurry towards what excites;

There is love.

It binds us,
Enthralls us,
It lulls us to lullaby sleep.
It fills us up within, without and

The electric pulse,
That jolt of heart beat rush.
That hum of all voices,
That rise up
Instead of hush.
It is my compass.
My purpose.
My direction true.
It is what binds the world.
What keeps me rooted.
And always and ever
And true.

-Angel Marie Russell

The Linger

Never forget,
There is a center
To every storm.

There is a hollow
To every forboden want.
There is a void
To every encompass.

There is a want
To every lack
And an empty
To every full.

There is never light
Without shadow.
There is never joy
Without sorrow.

This phenomenon,

Both Up
And down.
And the tempered air
Between the two.

The awe,
The wonder,
The gasp,
Breath held,
The pause
Before the leap.

The linger lives
In the center
Of every storm.

And both exist
Within you.

-Angel Marie Russell

The Schism

Asking one to feel
All that aches
Is asking to split
A schism
Molten wide.

The depth with which
We all can feel threatens
Like the void
That whispers,
You are mine,
It is merely a matter of time.

And oh,
How do our hearts quake
With fear at this space,
That threatens to engulf us

And we quiver alive
With electric energy,
That begs our hearts to beat
Our lungs to breathe,
And our legs to run
Far and Fast
Away from that which threatens.

And we jump into bottles,
Into waton embrace.
We jump into too fast cars,
And relationships destined
To break,
Just like our hearts,
That always feel
Just. Too. Much.

And they say
In order to heal,
We must feel.
They say,
We must rip the schism wide,
And jump in despite
The burning,
The flame,
And the ash.

Who could blame
That we avoid
All that feeling.
Who would dare
Take such a leap?
Who would so callous face
Such an undoing,
As to feel
So very much.

In order to leap
We must know we are held
In the fall.
We must know someone will catch us
Should we dare to leap,
To birth from the crack, anew.

So, I say,
We must learn how to hold
Each other
When the cavern
Threatens us to leap.
We must rise to flight
And catch our loved ones,
Before they so nobly
Dare to release.

When they feel too much,
When the pressure steams,
And the tears begin to fall,
We see them crashing down,
Under all that weight,
We must hold them,
So they don’t fall alone,
So they know they can rest in our
Winged embrace.

And so that they know
We are all in this together,
There isn’t a need to run.
There is no cave of emotion
So deep, lonely and isolating,
That they may never be found,
In all that feeling abyss.

If we might be brave enough,
We might find
That they through feeling,
And we holding gentle space,
The schism no longer rages,
And healing begins
Where the rift threatened,
To burn it all away.

-Angel Marie Russell



When we echo out
Of the cocoon,
Less the old,
And more new,

With eyes slitted,
Winking awake to find
Our reflection

What came before here?
What strange creature
Stands before me?
A stranger me,
And far more beautiful.

But who is this,
That is I,
This unknowable new,
This timid glance at all,
That’s changed?

And who is this
Thing of beauty,
Staring back just as me,
Who stares behind a face
I barely recognize
Who is me?

And in those eyes
In the mirror I see,
Wonder, shock, and fear.
How can this that I see

How can I,
But a creeping and crawling thing,
Transform thusly,
Extravagant, winged, and free.

How can it be that I,
Caterpillar, could dare to
Dream of the stars,
And learn to fly?

How is it that I
Could be staring back
At all this beauty, at this self,
And it be me?

With all these thoughts,
My wings have dried
From their birth of cocoon shell,
And I feel them unravel,
I feel them and for the first time,
I really feel.

And my feet lift
One by one,
Toes tipped up and off
The ground.

And the Earth unfolds beneath me
The sky unhindered
By blades of grass,
And I soar untethered,
And free
And as ever,
More and truly, me.

-Angel Marie Russell



I became


I didn’t know

It made me prey

For wolves

With tempestuous


And they ate

Of my flesh

And I died,

Unfurled, bright red,

Passion and fear,

They did me in.

And I cried

So many rivers

Of broken sobs

At the injustice

Of the dance

Of beauty and death


Like the most

Delicate lace.

How cruel that

The moth craves

The heat of flame

And the wolf

Seeks to destroy,

Whilst the sun burns

Molten in the void.

But as the flame

Ignites the last

Bit of wood

In a pile of ash,

I grew warm

And sparked


And the death

That deemed

The beauty then

To die,

Also caused the me

I am now

To rise.

And again beauty

Links itself arm and arm

With pain.

Do I weep


Do I let the ache

Cause my spark

To void?

Do I lament

At this world that

Both devours

And births?

Or do I rise

Like the smoke

From the flame?

Aloft and away,

I can no more look

At this play,

Than my eyes can

Bear the sun,

And I’ve left rivers

In my wake


So lift me up

Tender heart,

Hold me long

Rib cage embrace,

And reach

Nimble fingers

Up and out

From charcoaled ash

And tempt the beast


Beauty has learned,

Crowned with thorns

And a heart

Through pain

Made brave.

-Angel Marie Russell