Can i tell you a secret?

i was ready

to give


to someOne else.


many moons ago

years and tears

i use to write to:

a boy named TroY,

years of fears,

i wrote to no One.


and real,

and i’m pretty sure

that i am the only One

not having fun.

Even though

i got my teeth white,

my jeans tight,

my hair write

it’s still wrong.

and i want to know

when i can give up

and start taking it slow?

because i’ve had enough.

decades of teeth white,

jeans tight

being “RIGHT

i still don’t know what to expect,

i feel a disconnect

and in all my Years

i’ve never felt so Young.

and, i’m not going to break my back,

working until my bones crack,

when i’m not having fun



Stop asking me


i refuse so many

boYs + their toYs.


i refuse so many…

who trY to OWN

“me” = tiME.

time after time?

tiME! : tiME?

i don’t know?

and, i’ll still smile

when you shake

mY hand

and tell me You

are not happy

with me!


the battle with

this heart

isn’t easily won.

even if

the best boxers

avoid a ring….

sitting back

watching the fear

watching the fight

watching the world

the Strong go crazY

as the world

goes by

+ i


all by


while packing up

all these things, in this head 

& through this heart.


“me” away?


i’m ready

to give


to someOne else.





How is this world ever going to love me?

How is this world going to love (me)? When I consider the story of all the messiahs and prophets, including Jesus, Lao Tzu, Deepak and of course Oprah who came before me. Then, I wonder HOW is this world ever going to love a Spirit like me?..

“Do you love me?

Do You love me?

do YOU love me?”


Yes, actually, everyOne loves (you) me. Ok, not everyOne on the planet, but everyOne on my planet who knows (you) me, loves me deep down inside. All the way inside there, that’s love you are feeling, isn’t it?

Should I <repeat> the three questions above for effect? Or <pause> here to let <you> contemplate <your> love for someone <me> whom you may have never met? And is this just random love sent out in bottles to you about love for me or for you?

D) All of the above about love. You are love and I am love, but today I’m just wondering how (you) are ever going to love me when a lot of what I do is write words to (you), color in my journal, listen to positive music and pray.

That’s what I do all day = love, pray, sing, journal and color. Because prayer is work and that “healing work” is eternal.


Steph Bird

p.s. I still really gotta go mail my mom and grandpa that package filled with,

LoVE (alive) from California





Here i gOooo…

Creating things? I.t.s healing to me. It’s white and blackbird of me. It’s artistic, autistic, and BEautifully uniquely “me”. This is Card#One of Birdanity Deck#One titled “Take My Hand 🤚 & RUN 🏃‍♀️ 🏃 ♪( ´θ`)”

Secret? I made it when I was trying to figure out my heart conditioning. It’s when I was healing from the last heart break. It’s ARTfully weird?


“Take my hand 🤚 and run 🏃 🏃‍♀️”

<Ka!Ka!🦅 >

#birdanity #birdanityart #birdanitygame #birdanitywords #notforsaleortrade #copywrongtowrite #write #create #art #artoninstagram #birdanitytarot4kids_deckOne_cardOne #cardgames #games #gamestop #love #kidsgames #spiritforkids #spirit4kids #stillblessedyogi @stillblessedyogi #warrior #warriorsgame #lovingkids #lovinglife #lovinhwhatido #lovingwhoiam #lovingwhoimbecoming #lovingwhoyouare #insideandout #naturelovers #comfortableinmyownskin #skin #bruised #hurtinginside #kaka! #birdspirit #birdanityspirit





Trans/form/nation @Birdanity


Waking up this morning, I needed to tell someOne like you that I feel weird today. My head feels in the clouds, my mind is zen on overdrive and my art is bursting with color and child-like humor. What is wrong with me? This is too right. There must be something wrong with me because I need to have someThing wrong, write? Right…

I don’t think so much anymore. That legacy story is gone. In it’s place is this story about Steph/anIe_Bird. This One is still coded weird and some moments she speaks in 3rd person about herself, or she still wonders where these words are all coming from. But She still works, and this CHANNEL IS ON.

She is moving and she is creating this tribe that has been looking for Her.

They have been looking for Her for quite some time, and now She is here.

She has been looking for Them for quite some time, and now sHe is here.

Rising from the ashes of Phoenix, sHe moved to live in heavenly California.

sHe was an Idaho potato. sHe was a farmer’s daughter. sHe was a Bird.

sHe was everything you didn’t expect and every animalistic expression.

Revealed in this One were the Sun and the Moon. A god/dess of love.

Past tense? sHe was present tense too. That is who sHe was to love:

+ everyOne with Birdanity live(s)

happily ever after.

*let’s say Grace*


p.s. She was just a channel.

Just a medium of expression.

Words. Words. Words.

Art is art.



~ Steph/anIe_Bird





16-00027_Digital Cards Climate Change-v2

Look around,

there’s no one
but you and me

Write here and now
The way it was meant to be
There’s a smile on this face
Knowing that together
Everything that’s in our way
We’re better than OK
Walking the water
Riding the aftershocks
Beside you
Off into the sunset
Living like there’s nothing left to win
Chasing after waves
Crossing those lines
Hold on and take a breath
I’ll be here
Walking these waves with you

Take me now

Looking out to sea
The world’s such a crazy place
But when the walls come down
You’ll know I’m here to stay
There’s nothing I would change
Knowing that together
Everything that’s in our way
We’re better than OK
Walking the waves
Riding the aftershocks beside you
Off into the sunset
Living like there’s nothing left to win
Chasing these waves
Crossing all the lines we knew
Hold on and take a breath
I’ll be here every step
Walking these waves with you
There’s a smile on my face
Knowing that together
Everything that’s in our way
We’re better than being write
Walking these waves
Riding the aftershocks
Running into the sunset
Living like there’s nothing left to win
Chasing those old mines
Crossing these lines we barely knew

Hold on and take a breath
I’ll be there every step
The waves

~Steph Bird





I first met Dennis after sitting on a park bench at San Elijo Lagoon. Before I go on (and on?), let me tell you that Dennis is 73, I am the opposite of his age at 37, and just between you as the reader and me as the writer, Dennis and I were a pair to behold sitting in that lagoon.

I only wish I had recorded our three hour conversation to transcribe it, as those were the loveliest 3 hours I have had in a very long time. I laughed harder than I cried, and for a sunburn’s worth of time we stared at the lagoon and out into the ocean, then squawked with each other.

After that conversation with Dennis, I didn’t feel like crying into my sheets anymore about work or my personal life. Instead, I felt like being brave and strong, like I already was and just like Dennis. I felt grounded about the future and present with life.

Dennis reminded me over and again that this little Bird’s life has only just begun, things are just getting better (or even best). He reminded me I have a sum of lovely friends and family who are wanting, willing and able to help if I need that kind of support. They love me, as I love them.

Dennis was love. Though I’ve never met him before yesterday, he sat there and conveyed grace and compassion for the human experience as only a wise 73-year old angel could. He reminded me that I am more than OK right now, I am loved, I am love, and I am only making this wide circle of friendships expand as I write to the people I love write now.

Is that “you, love”?

I’ll probably talk a bit more about Dennis in the future since he and I became fast friends. He’s a good soul and I have good intensions and even some training on how to be a friend (to the opposite sex) and so does he.

I think and feel that everything is going to be OK with Dennis. I even feel safe around him. And the cherry on top of this sugar, he said I could write whatever I want about him and whenever I want. He doesn’t care because he trusts me, or he doesn’t care what people think.

Either way, in those moments yesterday with Dennis, I also confirmed that this writing thing doesn’t really matter. It’s about where I allocate my time in the present. He’s right (about write), and I want to be his friend presently with hopes of an agape friendship.

Loving what is, I want to allocate some of my time to hearing more of Dennis’ story this Sunday when we have dinner at 4pm. Perhaps in that “free time” he can teach me a game or two, or I can teach him a sour game of cards. Games will be fun with friends.

And, “mother may I” tell you one more story about love?

I hesitate to write about people that I really adore more than words, but Dennis wasn’t the only person who helped me yesterday. My friend Jim and several of my friends are really stepping up after that old crazy Scorpio full moon burst my life into billions of shiney pieces.

James or Jim? He happens to be one of my best because he can handle when things get emotional. I don’t mention him much here because I feel a little embarrassed sometimes to write to, or about, my closest friends. Often wondering what they will think and whether I embarrass them with my side of these stories. My friend Brian is like that too, and my friend…

“Jess” and
“Jesse” and
Carlos and
Sonserai and
Mike and
TJ and
Pita and
Nick and
Martin and
Egan and
Chris and
Kris and
Robert and
KS and
Daniel and
Justin and
Denny and
Gordon and
Spencer and
John and
Alejandro and
Ali and
Alyssa and
Jeff and
Kent and
Scott and
Christine and
Heather and
Charlie and
Joseph and
Andrew and
Tom and
Shoja and
Max and
Sandy and
Brad and
Shannon and
Greg and
Michelle and
Jonathan and
Leah and
Anna and
Jen and
Anthony and
Marcos and
fill in the blank of friend’s name(s) here).
So, _friend_?

If you are out there, you have a “name” and “you” are reading this now…

huMan, thank you for being a friend. Feel free to shoot me a message to tell me to remove your identity or change your name or even your story @Birdanity. Either way, named or nameless, “you, friend” astound me with your wit, grace, humor and kindness.

And Jim or James, specifically? Though we’ve only known each other for _____, on my side of that story  and for every day I’ve known you, you’re one of the good “guys”.

If it weren’t for “you”,

I wouldn’t be “me”.

Kindest regards,


Steph Bird


MAGICal words?

MAGICal words?


I do magic.

but tonight….

I killed again.

A harmless living snail 🐌

when I wasn’t watching

where I was going…

Lack of awareness


Garden snails…

But Look, 👀 I can do magic. I give life.

I even have energy to burn.

With the flick of a finger,

I create light, even.

Feels like magical

days upon days

of touching

a tiny


You too?

Magic? Magic, “you say?”

Tell you more about this P.C.?

But first, let me tell you…

What isn’t magic or P.C. is knowing what I know now as an “adult”. One who acts like the most loving child you might ever meet. I live out this story that I also co-create each day with all the people I play with (and secretly love). People in life, “my life” with others, and these series of small miracles that only recently started to make sense. What isn’t making sense is this present Revelation I also feel I am in.

What isn’t magic is knowing that the miracles have only just begun as I wait for one small miracle “of life” to return after another, with grace for what is _BEing human_ and almost every human’s deep desire to feel safe (and loved) by day/night. In these ways and more, I want to perform magic and even do miracles in this world (by way of words).

What isn’t magic is those old forms of manipulation we put each other through when we didn’t know what was up or down. When we didn’t know how to non-violently communicate our love, &/or even how to express that level of appreciation for a sisterly or brotherly version of love and recognition, you know “that old feeling”.

What isn’t magic is that old legacy version of vanity when we cared about what race or version they were, how much money they had, where they lived, what they wore, the kind of car they drove or even what they ate yesterday. That doesn’t feel like magic to think or believe that I am any better than any homeless man or woman sleeping in the park next to my bedroom tonight. There are no differences with magic.

What isn’t magic is that want to be different and very deep desire for praise, which often stings after. Particularly when we think about the planning and even the solicitation that takes place prior, and even here on the WWW. Writing here is weird in this way. It doesn’t feel like magic to want followers or even solicit money from people for this expression, this publication, and even this writing thing we do. That’s not a magical feeling to care about money, fame or followers.

What isn’t magic is getting on stage to play, sing or even read, only to be ridiculed and asked to step off because what is being said is too emotional, painful to hear, or even “offensive”. I am a perfectionist “on stage” and hidden within all this long story of “poetry”, there is a story about how I might somehow be OK to express…

All the above,

the killing of snails even

here in MAGICal_ifornia.

Where everyday

I see magic again…

and again and..

again, when?

I see “him”,

I see “her”.

I miss You, magic?


“Steph Bird