Blank Journals for Reflection and Creative Becoming

Where truth breaks open and sky rushes in.

The Blue Beyond the Bars is a series born from confinement—those long, unmapped hours when the only escape was found in thought, imagination, and the color of the sky glimpsed through wire. These writings carry the raw pulse of a woman asking questions too big for the cage that held her, pressing her heart against steel until it began to widen.

Here, the inner world is stripped to its essential truths. These pieces are fragments of resilience, flashes of clarity, and fierce reckonings with the past. Some ache. Some rise. All were forged in a place where freedom had to be invented before it could be lived.

Each book in The Blue Beyond the Bars is a window cracked open—a place where breath expands, memory loosens its grip, and the woman behind the words steps boldly into her becoming.

This series is not just about survival.
It is about the vastness waiting beyond the cage.
It is about the sky that belonged to her all along.

The Quiet Truths that Carried Me Past the Walls

In the stillness of confinement, words became windows.
Hope became light.
And the blue beyond the bars became a promise.

The Blue Beyond the Bars is a collection of reflections, fragments, and reckonings drawn from my prison journals. These are the whispered thoughts that helped me survive—quiet pages of clarity, ache, imagination, and becoming.

Here, each piece is a door cracked open.
A horizon widening.
A small rebellion against silence.

These writings do not retell prison.
They reveal what rose inside it.

For the woman searching for her own horizon,
for the one holding hope in trembling hands,
for the one rebuilding her story from the inside out—
this is where the light breaks through.

Click on any book cover to explore more…

Twenty Eight Trees

I peer into the green face
of a world that
might have been and
I turn back to what is

the road that leads
to the future, the road
less traveled as it winds ahead
sometimes no bigger than a trail.

So many times not seeing
the forest for the trees
Sometimes nothing
but a tree

The trees crowd around
like bars of a jail
pressing in, pressing down,
choking out freedom and originality

The road lies ahead
winding out of
the maze moving me
back to my self

I stop once more and look
back into the face of what was
and I move forward to the
crystal blue of what will be

Poem from my prison journals

The trees crowd around
like bars of a jail
pressing in, pressing down,

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