I’m a widow. I’ve got poems, a microphone, and a few choice words. 💜

In this Lynn Logic minisode, I’m sharing footage of my open-mic reading, followed by recordings of both poems I wrote for the night.

There’s love. There’s grief. There’s swearing. There’s a whole damn marriage I’m trying to fit into a rhyme.

I talk about missing Drew while still wanting to bust his balls, finding myself single in a way I never planned, and what loving him taught me about making room for myself, too.

You can miss someone deeply without pretending every day was perfect. You can grieve and still laugh, flirt, want things, and imagine what comes next.

For the widows, the divorced women, the single ladies, and anyone figuring out an unexpected new chapter—pull up a chair. A widow has the floor.

Chin Up. Tits Out.

🎤 Contains strong language and frank discussion of death, grief, alcoholism, and relationships.

#LynnLogic #AWidowHasTheFloor #SpokenWord #Widowhood #GriefAndHumor

Nobody hands you a manual for widowhood. Just the worst SWAG bag ever—and a whole lot of shit nobody warned you about.

In Part 4, Dr. Whitney joins me on Lynn Logic: Women Forged in Fire to talk about making life safer, kinder, and less lonely for widows. We get into the conversations we should be having before “till death do us part,” asking for the support we need, and the connection that happens when another widow truly gets it.

There’s also dating in the afterlife, badass angels, bourbon, and a little dreaming about bringing the worst SWAG bag ever to a funeral industry conference. Because grief and laughter can absolutely exist in the same conversation.

Stick around for the outtakes.

Chin up, tits out. ❤️

What do you do when a funeral home sends you home with your husband’s ashes in a reusable bag—with their logo on it? You call it what it is: the worst swag bag ever.

In Part 3, we get into the story behind the title—and what should go in a widow’s swag bag. Tissues? Chocolate? Wine? A little acknowledgment that we’re still alive?

Between the laughter and the funeral-home absurdities, we talk about the things people rarely prepare you for: missing touch, craving a hug, facing a second year that can feel harder than the first, and hearing wildly inappropriate comments from people who should know better.

It’s an honest, irreverent conversation about life after loss—and giving ourselves permission to laugh, want things, and keep living while we’re still grieving.