A Message from a Furious Teacher

This country is out of its damn mind if the only solution we can come up with to gun violence in schools is “arm the teachers.”

I became a teacher for a reason: to educate. To nurture. To inspire. To take care of your kids, and yes, jump in front of a bullet if I have to. But I shouldn’t have to.

I did not choose to become a cop or a soldier or a security guard. I am not a fighter. I am not a killer. I don’t want that on my hands.

You cling to your right to own guns but you have NO RIGHT to require me to take up arms that I don’t believe in.

I already have given up any chance at wealth to teach your kids. I have given up my free time and half my sanity. I come home exhausted every day, sometimes sobbing over somebody’s kid being abused or neglected or trapped in poverty or bullied because even though I know I’m doing the best I can, I can’t protect your kid from everything.

But now you want me to wield a gun? You want me to put aside my personal beliefs and have that responsibility forced on me too?

You want to ask that of me so I can keep YOUR kids safe?

I’m not the one failing your kids. YOU ARE. If you believe more guns are the solution to school shootings, go buy a gun and keep your kids home. Teach them your damn self. YOU be the one ready to stand in front of a bullet and stop demanding other people do it.

Many teachers already HAVE done it. Teachers lay dead right now from defending your kids. Has that stopped anything? If I kill an active shooter, does that do anything to prevent the next one? You think school shooters will be dissuaded by the chance that they will be killed? They’re suicidal. THEY DON’T CARE.

So don’t expect me to lay down my life for your kids when all you’re gonna say when I’m dead is “she should’ve had a gun.”

No, YOU should’ve done more to make sure YOUR kids weren’t at risk and asked yourself why OUR government doesn’t give a shit enough to do anything, and is content to let TEACHERS continue taking the bullets.


I has a podcast! And it’s not about poetry!

Do you like wrestling? It doesn’t matter. You like silly party games! You like listening to people talk about butts! You like that a person who was once a serious poet is now co-hosting a ridiculous podcast about wrestling with her boyfriend and BFF! You like that this world is a crazy place and you appreciate a good WTF moment. Well here it is.


A few years ago I would’ve said wrestling was a dumb fake sport that only preteen boys cared about. But a friend dragged me to a live show and I was immediately hooked. I’ve probably been to at least 50 live shows including NXT, Raw, NJPW, PWG, PCW, and Wrestlemania. I know way more about wrestling than probably any teacher should know and my students LOVE IT.

I’m also like, working on a book of children’s poetry but that’s a ways off. So in the meantime you can hear me and my buds play dumb games like:

  • What food does this wrestler’s hair look like?
  • Which two random wrestlers should totally date?
  • Which wrestlers would you take on a road trip?
  • Which dog breed would this wrestler be?

And more!

Subscribe on iTunes, follow us on Twitter, submit your own silly games or tell us your answers!


Love In My Sneakers

I didn’t know then that I was California-bound
except the fibers on the back of my neck
knew something was wrong
with where I was

and love didn’t make me stay.

I was levitating in the rabbit hole,
pleading for someone to choose for me
because everything I wanted
wasn’t enough;

it was love in my hands
but it was also love
in my sneakers.

And it let me go
just like I watched you go,
tired of holding my feet
to the floor.

I had love still dripping from my shoelaces,
dragged wet traces across the whole country.
I stained every sidewalk I found
with the love that I left.

But I was California-bound,
I was always heading here,
and the love that I couldn’t keep
steered me on.


I don’t write poetry anymore. You’ve probably figured. Priorities just change, y’know?

Here’s some stuff I did this year:

  • Read 19 novels
  • Saw a bunch of PETA protesters get thrown out of Sea World San Diego
  • Wrote a short script about Jehovah’s Witnesses and my bf directed/filmed it (I got to be an extra)
  • Learned how to make really good chili
  • Went to Wrestlemania
  • Lost 17 pounds
  • Started my Master’s Degree (Reading Specialist)
  • Got a jaywalking ticket
  • Saw Tim & Eric live (!)
  • Accidentally poisoned myself with caffeine
  • Attended a 4th of July wedding
  • Hit the jackpot on that spinny-light thing at Dave & Buster’s
  • Dyed my hair funky colors (blue, purple, pink, grey)
  • Took my parents on a Caribbean cruise
  • Built a dresser
  • Helped my SIM become a famous author
  • Saw Gaston at DisneyLand
  • Found out I have extra low blood pressure
  • Had a birthday pool party
  • Started a wrestling podcast. You can listen if you want: Trios Champions
  • Some other stuff, probably.

Life’s pretty good right now. It’s about to be Fall in the valley and I can’t complain. What have you guys been up to?

The First Try

On the first try I had
too many kids
and couldn’t get them all
to sleep.

The second I looked down
at my pelican legs
and thought
“Now that I think,
who are you anyway?
Who are you
to have this many kids?”

Last week it was
fussing at a wedding,
you can’t play that song in here,
and since then I’ve listened to it
twelve more times
and that’s just one more
troubled kid
I dredged up.

If they ever sleep,
they live to wake,
oh lord,
no rest for me.

Yesterday it was #5,
today it’s back to #3
and the time in between
I didn’t learn.

If only I’d been super then,
sober then,
saner then,
safer then,
smarter back then.

I suppose I’d have
different children now,
baby elephant legs besides.

On the third try
I remembered that
and here we are,
look what I can do

’til the next,
oh lord,
child wakes.

Day 45 – Welcome to the Junkyard

It only would’ve lasted
until I knew for sure-
fascination ended by
an answer, at last-
a thirst for the truth
to settle things
in their right place:

“What happened?”

The gears would turn,
try to paint it in different lights-
the liar, the troubled, the confused-
which mask would it come down to?
But I didn’t expect

the least interesting mask of all.
The least helpful, least true
this mask of spared feelings-
to dishonor with lies
for fear of the hurt.

“Was any of it real?
Was it always in my head?”

A half-truth implied for protection.
A flimsy excuse to keep using.

I placed no blame on the blameless heart,
but the mouth who said nothing
and kept eating, who kept
accepting gifts, so easily

You were just an open box
I couldn’t pack away
because I didn’t know what
to put in it.

No friend should ever lie
so effortlessly;
no one who needs
should use so much.
This, now
I know.

I put a flask
and a pack of cigarettes
and a mask-

Be well

welcome to the junkyard.