“What’s in my heart is what you hate.

 Freedom allows choices, the press to speak their mind.

Since January all I’ve felt is suffocation in the land of the free.

 Is brave, now pointing guns at those you disagree with and blowing them away? Why is it right for some and wrong for others.

 Don’t speak of morals for they are being lost as each star falls.

 And they are not only journalists but all of us.”

-AKC ©6/28/18

From pain comes art.

“Everyone matters and has something to give.

For those hearts that see this seeking out others with the same.

I bow to you in acknowledgment of wholeness, understanding, kindness, and yearning to connect.

Inside my soul burns to meet others who wish to collaborate in this search for universal light.

Let no one take your candle but instead let’s hold it together up high so that all can see. Let us heal each other in spite of the hate and lies surrounding us.”

Angela K. Crandall
© 1/3/18


My heart is spilling out poetry profoundly
Over analyzing
Every evening
Tempting fate
For a solution to debates
Problems, troubles, conflicts
Pleading that others see beyond their own biblical perceptions
The more I see
I want to be
Agnostic again.

Angela K. Crandall


Social needs

                 Filling up with unneeded things to replace what we cannot find. Is it wasteful? Useless? But it does make sense. An attempt, to fill a gap, an empty space, a void in life. It isn’t often it comes to a person without hard work. However, what happens when you’ve tried so adamantly, a hole is worn. As if, you’d kept that pair of sneakers on for months. Never taking them off, you continue to walk towards your destination. One never reached. Each time you stick out your hand to greet someone, embrace them, attempting to make contact you’re denied. When you’re not, it’s a passing by of acquaintances. It’s always, we should do coffee or let’s hang out sometime. Then time passes and nothing occurs. You yearn for new relationships of liberal knowledge. Friendships that cannot be overturned by differences. Still, those sneakers are wearing pretty thin. The souls shot like old skin. The paths I’ve chosen are unlike many. People turn their heads away. When they turn towards me, it’s in pity. When it’s not that, it’s for a need. I am there for you. I always am, I say. I’m not at all perfect. I am full of faults. When I thought I’d found a friend again, it was false. I used to think-most people were good. Now I am leery. Even now, I quickly open up. What’s wrong with me? How can I be so compassionate about others and their lives? Yet, when I am. I feel I’m in the wrong. Asking for someone to listen, to understand me. So it is easier not to upset the masses. I turn to those I have always known. Deep inside there’s a spark of hope. That I, will someday find a best friend again. One who lives close. For-there, are still a few who get me. They are just so far away. It seems impossible to connect. Facebook isn’t friendship, and I know people say don’t let distance get in the way but it does.-Angela K. Crandall©11/28/16


I’ve been looking for a place where freedom exists
Free from the restraints of what others think of us, holding us to things that consume us
The people tethering us to their needs
Or those that need us and we need them
How can we be free when we need a roof over our heads
Food in our stomachs
Bills paid
Is it true that one who is totally free is one, who has nothing
For it is he, or she that isn’t restrained by the demands of society
Even though they cannot feed, nor clothe themselves
They are the ones told they are worthless
They are free
From everything except judgement.
Angela K. Crandall

Resistant riged

This world often makes me feel like I’m not me.
A wannabe somehow intermixed with society.
Reins, in my mouth, a horse led
I attempt to spit them out and keep failing
The only way to break the bit would be to lose it all
A double edge sword
A record on repeat
My heart, skipping beats for who I once was.
You revel in your power of exploitation
A nation, fighting to be heard
Now demeaned
Some by work, others by politicians
We wave our hands above the quicksand
Struggling to get out
The more we fight
The more we sink
It leaves me asking
Is there a way to win back our souls?
~Angela K. Crandall~

Dirt and Blood

“You dig the dirt to lay on top of me.

You pile it high trying to push me into the hole you’ve created.

I take my heart. The pumping blood that moves inside me filling the void with red.

I’m deep, profound, motivated.

I use the dirt to build myself a garden.

In it, I plant my words which become stories that feed souls when food is unable to nourish us.

When loneliness takes hold, you can pick up a book and feed.”

~Angela K. Crandall~