Reality Check

Reality check. This is it. People are going to hurt you. Family, friends, lovers. They will break your heart. Send you cruel text messages. Set unrealistic expectations for you and blame you if you don't reach them. Call you names. They'll play mind games. Give you hope just to string you along because it's fun for them. That is real and it happens because we don't love ourselves enough to let go of the pain. We expect different reactions from the ones who hurt us because ultimately we want to believe in the good parts of them the most. All I have learned from this is that these people do not change. It's time to let go. Be strong. Be invincible. Be love. Be enough. Be more than enough. And at the end of the day do not close off to all the things that make your heart skip a beat. Say hello to the butterflies and laughing till your belly aches. Say hello to love whether it simply be the breath of life you have or from a friend. Watch how the universe unfolds for you when you begin to respect yourself and love the little things.

Love Yourself

you need to love yourself. love yourself so much to the point that your energy and aura rejects anyone who doesn't know your self worth. self love. choose it. choose to say no, when saying yes hurts. choose to stay away from half closed doors. loving hard is a super power but only when you're fully prepared to love every inch of your self first. when you are ready, you won't have to continuously ask yourself why the wrong people keep coming in and out my life? they just won't. the love you have for your self will bring only those who are ready to receive what you have to give. and man will it be magical.


[There will be times]

There will be times where you love too much and others not enough. Times where you would lasso the moon in hopes to sleep forever in someone arms. Times where you walk to the end of the earth for someone just to realize there is nothing waiting for you to come home to. We have all been here, the times where what we give out to the world will never be returned. As many times as we have been here or even will be here, remain open. Continue to give. Love. Live. One day there will be a time where it will all be worth it, and you will be grateful for remaining open because of how full your heart is.


[I used to believe]

i used to believe that when things didn't work out it was because "it just wasn't the right time." i have now come to realize how untrue this may be. when things don't go the way you thought they were it's not because the timing was wrong. the timing was actually quite right. every experience you have happens when you need it. it's not because someone was not ready for you. or because you were not ready for that job. or because you couldn't make things work out in the long run. it was neither here nor there, it just was and now it isn't. i cannot pretend that i have never used this as a reason to keep believing in something far longer than i should have or that i've even used it to get out of sticky situations. try to keep from labeling experiences with good or bad and just let them be as they are. what did you learn? did you walk away knowing more than you came in to it knowing? this is what it is about. i realize now that the time spent upon each of these experiences was the just the right time. and they played their role for whatever time is to come. the next time

[For quite some time]

For quite some time I have heard the phrase "inhale confidence, exhale fear" or some other variation of the sort. love&hate. gratitude&stress. whatever it may be, i must speak out. for the energy we put back out in to the world is what we are allowing others to pick up on, to breathe in themselves. what if instead of breathing out whatever negative energy we are holding on to, let us begin to shape it in to something positive and then release that in to our world instead. inhale confidence, exhale confidence. inhale love, exhale love. inhale gratitude, exhale gratitude. let others vibe off greatness. positivity. beauty. i can only imagine how lovely the world would be if we only emitted good vibes.

Bridge of Locks

Maybe it's the idea that even after all the couples have left their footprints upon this bridge, you can still taste their love for each other in the air. And on rather windy days you can catch traces of their love drunk promises as the wind whips your hair. Maybe that's the sweetest part of it all, that you and the love locked couples are all staring up at the same sky even if they are half way across the world. And I think that is what threatens my sanity the most, the vast sky that connects us all. The love that comes in waves under silent skies.

[I know now]

I know now that blurred pictures are no mistake. They fill our photo albums, scrap books, and deleted files for a reason. Every blurred picture serves as a reminder of things that are not so clear cut anymore. No matter how hard we try to capture what our eye is seeing, sometimes a picture is just as messy as a thousand words. Maybe it's the blurred colors of the sunset as a storm rolls in after an amazing weekend comes to a close. Or fumbling fingers trying to snap a picture of something we see on the drive home and want to share with friends. And maybe it's why the pictures of you and me never turn out just right. Blurry enough to see what used to be, but never clear enough to know where we will be.

[Being drunk is easy]

Being drunk is easy.
You call me here
But kiss her there,
Like baby I miss you
And I wish you were here.
Her hand in one and your phone in the other.
I want to believe you because
It's all I want.
Then I wake up as the morning comes.
I know better than to ask, but
Did you really mean all those things you said?
Your response takes as long as I expect
It took for you to remember what you even said.
"You know how I get when I'm drunk, sorry about that."
I face my phone down as if you could see
My pain through your text,
But all I know how to say is I understand.
When really all there is to know
Is the only time you want me
Is when you're too out of it
To know who I am.

[Missing you]

Missing you comes in waves. It'll hit me at the smallest of moments, during a cup of coffee or getting dressed. Even on the best day of the month, all I want to do is cry. It is in the moments where you think you are safe that you are most vulnerable. I suppose I have come to believe that these moments stop us in our tracks to simply remind us that love is not always about the bigger picture, but that the smallest of details make it whole.

[It's the nights where I have too much]

It's the nights where I have too much to drink so I can finally close my eyes. The nights where I stand in the rain to wash off every inch of you. The ones that fade into the morning sun because I cannot close my eyes knowing another day has passed without you. Nights where I am numb to the world, and the next where I feel too much. The ones where I feel as if time drags on, a ticking reminder me of how much time has been spent on someone who has forgotten me many nights ago.

[Some endings are so clear cut]

Some endings are so clear cut it is as if they never existed. A page simply torn from your book, lost in the wind. While others are jagged, edgy, unfinished. They leave bits and pieces scattered around in our everyday lives - the song on the radio, an old faded note, their favorite scent, maybe even the nights when you are wrapped in their favorite t-shirt. Some endings are messier than others because at that point we have to write our own ending to a chapter that never got finished.


Go where the love is. Whether that be curled up with your favorite book, sipping coffee on your back porch with your pup, meditating, doing yoga, walking through streams in the forest, handstands, cookies and cake, or spending quality time with someone who knows how to put a smile on your face. Go there. Let yourself feel love. As humans we tend to get attached to painful memories, people, experiences. Instead of letting our future be dictated by those things let yourself be guided by love. Cling to the things that illuminate love, to the things that don't need anything in return of what they give you.


Being vulnerable does not mean you are weak. It means you have the strength to be true, authentic, and the best version of you without walls. It is strength to let go of the heartbreaks, struggles, and regrets. Love every ounce of your being. The crazy side, the emotional side, even the side that loves too hard. Be edgy, don't let anyone dull who and what makes you shine. Be open to whatever comes your way.


Things I have come to understand to be true. All is well. Love is worth it. Life goes on. I am enough. Respect lasts longer than attention. Some people are not meant to stay in your life forever. Smiles are contagious. Take time for yourself. Buy the damn pants. Be authentic with your actions and words. Coffee is a great conversation starter. Fight for what you want. Dream big, fear less. Trust is earned. Karma is no joke. Listen to understand not to respond. Live a life you want to share.


New beginnings often require us to hold on to some things while letting go of others. Let go. Trust. Breathe. Be balanced. Have faith. Who knows what will you find. When moving forward there will always be an equal balance of holding on and letting go. When you find it, you will know.


Ever loved someone so much you would do anything for them? Well, make that someone yourself and do whatever the hell you want.


The biggest lesson I have learned in life thus far is knowing the difference between happiness and comfort. We often mix up the two feelings and forget to ask ourselves is it the comfort you're happy with or is what you are doing the true source? Take a step back. Evaluate. Listen. Act. How many things are you holding on to because you're scared to let go and grasp on to something new? Why do we hold on when we know it is not for us? Stepping away from something we are familiar with is daunting. It's unsettling to leave what we know behind and to reach for something we have no certainty about. But you will grow. Adapt. You will create new comforts and have to start all over again. This is life so learn to be ok with being uncomfortable.


Every single second, minute, hour has led you to this moment. Every kiss, harsh word, touch, laugh, coffee date, sunrise and sunset put you forth on the path you are meant to be on. Did I know this when I was laughing till I peed my pants or sobbing my eyes out over a show or heartbreak? Absolutely not. During the journey we question, scream, make memories, embrace, and hate because we are in the moment and cannot see the bigger picture. We do not realize that we are learning, growing, and gaining every single ounce of knowledge that would make the moment we are in now possible. Our experiences in life do not define us but teach it is all for a reason. No matter if it was simply to trust in new beginnings or to fight until you push through, you are exactly where you are meant to be and that is something you can always hold on to.


I am enough. I am enough. I am enough. Three simple words that get me through the day. Some people might say or do things that make you feel unworthy or unloved. They might say this or that about what they dislike about you, flaws they see, or things they would change about you. It is BS. Anyone who comes in to your life not knowing and respecting the human that you are is someone who does not belong in your life. It took me quite some time to realize that I did not have to cater to be perfect for everyone. I am who I am and that is enough. And so are you. Yes, flaws exist. Yes, perfection will never be reached. People who point this out, bash you, or try to make you who they want to be have no room in your life. Make space for those who know your worth, respect your differences, and love you all the same.


Remember where you came from but do not let it keep you from where you are meant to go.


Do not let "someday I will..." rule your life. How many times have you said this and realize days, months, even years later, you have not done it? Whether it be painting your living room, trying salsa dancing, or traveling to another country-be intentional with your thoughts, words, and most importantly actions. Be present. Take note of your goals and set out a course of action to make them happen. Make the little steps forward so the big steps don't seem so big. Live in the "I am" and let go of the "someday I will."


Edges are a tricky thing. They give us a clear view of where we want to be or even who we want to be but quietly remind us of that to get there we must leave the familiarity of what we already know. Do not stand there forever wondering what waits for you on the other side. Learn to trust in the discomfort of gaps in between edges. You are growing, becoming, changing.


Recently my yoga practice has felt uninspired. I almost feel obligated to step on my mat. For the past couple years yoga has given me the passion and love that I thought I would never experience again after I was done playing softball. It gave me something to grasp on to when I had nothing. It has been my safe haven and escape from whatever life is dealing me. It has molded me in to the person I have always wanted to be and for that I am so grateful. As of lately with the many changes and hard decisions I have had to face I have been left wondering what the future holds for me. I cannot step on to my mat and let go of the world around me as I once did. So, I have decided to put the fun back in to my practice. For the next 26 days I am going to flip upside down, let go of the future, and get creative with this handstand challenge. Every letter deserves a rockin inversion so why not get back to the elementary basics and see where this takes me. Sometimes challenges come unexpectedly in life to test us or to push us down the correct path but who says we can't start making our own challenges and make our own paths? I hope that if you are feeling like something is off in your own life I challenge you to make a change in your life whether it simply be waking up with a grateful heart, spending a few extra minutes in the morning with your loved one(human or furry), or doing something funky like mixing the ABC's and yoga.

Cover Me Not

The clock strikes 3AM and I roll over to feel warm hands touch my back.
I push back into their warm embrace.
A smile slowly curls upon my lips as I realize you are finally home.
I was not expecting for you to be home this early but the feeling of you next to me sends warm comfort down my spine. 
Sleep takes me under as I curl into your arms.
I am woken again by the cold air being gently blown on my bare legs.
You are slowly pulling the covers off of me and I groan as my body shivers from the sudden coldness in the air.
I tell you to turn off the fan as I grab the covers.
Trying to pull them back over me.
Your strong grip resist my tired one as the covers slowly slip off of me.
l blink my eyes open.
What are you doing I whisper.
There is no answer besides your heavy breath.
I sit up ready to harass you for waking me but my words are lost in the dark as I
Realize it is just me and the pile of covers at the end of the bed. 
My eyes begin to adjust to the darkness of the room just as the closet door slowly closes.

109 Degrees

Can you feel the heat
Melting down those bones of yours
Burning up slowly

Nothing burns like this
Engulfing your body and soul
It burns away the walls

Smoldering the past
Ashes will be the rebirth
A future so new

Scars will never fade
And the heat will leave some fresh
Perhaps worth the pain

Time cannot tell all
That is what keeps it burning

The heat is rising
Will it reach that breaking point
Everlasting light that glows

Never ending hope
Keeping the dark far away
Warmth surrounds you now

Love burns too fast
At a certain degree of
One hundred and nine


My father claims he has
only two regrets
one which he will not
speak to me of
and the day he tried to kill me.

The second one haunts me
every now and then.
waking me at night,
short of breath.
Those nights I feel
his hands around my neck.
Hearing his words forcefully
smothered into my ears,
bitch you deserve this,
and spit dripping down my face.
Pinned up to the wall
he lifts me, 
feet kicking helplessly
against the white brick.
Maybe his screams
masked my pleading voice
to let me go, which he did
once my eyes rolled back
and my body went limp.

It's hard to believe my
father these days.
When we do talk,
I know I'm mainly
speaking to the alcohol. 

Sometimes he will tell
me he loves me,
is oh so proud of me,
look at the beautiful woman
you have become he says
what a life you have made
for yourself.
I never have the courage
to ask him why he never
has apologized. So I sit
and listen, wondering
if I was the first regret.
Does he drink to drown
out his failed murder attempt?

I'm sure the alcohol
would say no honey,
but what would my
father say?

Ode to Hades

Hades was a lonesome man, bored with the duty of catering to the souls of the dead.  So to keep things interesting he proceeded to confront his brother Zeus, a wife he plead, and a live one at that. Zeus, played a long, knowing that his love suggestion, Persephone would never agree.  Hades taking this to heart, swooped in followed faithfully by his three headed mutt, deflowered and kidnapped her from the garden that her mother Demeter reigned over.  Down they went, headed for eternal life.  Days passed and Demeter searched high and low, but her low would never reach the depths at where her daughter was trapped. Death began to possess the land; barren land was all that was left as Demeter fell helplessly into a death like state over the loss of her daughter.  Zeus, stepping in to cover his misguided advice sent for the rescue of Persephone only to realize she was forever trapped due to the ingestion of a single seed, for those who ate within the Underworld were bound eternally.  Making deals with death is never easy, try the God in charge of it; Persephone was to be bound for four months of the year under the world.  And as Demeter waits for the return of her daughter the land will cease to stop growing, flowers will die, tress bare, and the world is stuck underground just like her daughter.  So when the cold hits and life stops I find warmth in knowing I am not the only one full of sorrow.

Life of a Cold Miner

There are at least
one hundred little dwarfs
running around in my head
at any given moment.
An army of little men hi-ho-ing
happily off to work
Ten of them are in control
of operating the jackhammers
that will drill into my meninges.
Their little voices competing to be heard
over the err-ing of the machines
While another twenty open up the admission gates
for the water ride out of my nose
hopping on their inner tubes
and snapping their goggles tight.
Let's not forget about the guys
responsible for creating concrete creations
that keep my eyes cemented down
like freshly dried sidewalks.
Or the crew of miners that ride down
the shaft of my throat
and rub it raw with sandpaper sheets
creating that little constant tickle
that no one laughs at.
But possibly the crew that has the best job of all
adds coal to the fire behind my cheeks and forehead,
happy to be free of the oncoming cold.
They laugh at the liquid I pour down my throat
knowing their job will continue on
as long as spring is in the air
Then they will hide away in the deepest corners
of my brain until their favorite time of the year comes along

A Waltz Made for One

It was almost time for bed, the rest of the neighborhood
was winding down, ready to crawl into bed with their loved ones.
She instead got herself up from the couch and to the bathroom,
primping herself. The mascara wand curled around her long lashes,
curls bouncing free of rollers, and touches of perfume glistened on her skin.
She had not seen him for a few nights. Attempting to keep her worry lines at bay
she took a sip of wine and dabbed her cheeks with powder once again,
wondering if he would notice the dark circles under her heavy eyes.
The countless nights he had not shown up began to make her doubt her beauty.
Head lights flooded the window pane as a familiar car parked a few houses down.

Smiling, she walked across the room to press play to his favorite song,
she could tell by the way his face lit up how much he liked that one.
Hearing the car door shut softly, she let her clothes slip to thefloor,
stepping out of the pile into the middle of the room. She waited.
She could hear him, softly walking up to the side of the house,
tip toeing trying not to make a sound as he stopped beneath her window.
She wondered what the neighbors would do if they saw him
peering into her window, her naked body exposed.

She danced. Spinning around her room twirling away the idea
that he was using her for one simple reason. She let the music
embace her, feet gracefully floating to the beat of her insecurities that gave her a sense of belonging to someone. Even if she had no idea
what his name, or how many stops below other girl’s windows
he had made before her, she was on someone’s mind for now
and that was better than the satisfied smile on his face
as he zipped up his pants and walked away.

Presidents Strip Tease

Take off your shirt, Thomas Jefferson was the third president, not the fifth.
Your smile creeps on your face as my shirt lifts.
I curse myself for not planning ahead, how sexy this sports bra must be.
I know you ask me an easy one next to soothe my ego.
Oswald sarcastically drips from my mouth.
I don’t tell you I only know that one only because you brought it up
the night we swung for hours on the swings by my house.
You would be proud to know I was actually listening,
this would have been a sentimental moment if my thoughts weren’t
racing with images of you taking control of me instead.

You know I don’t know the answer to why Ulysses S. Grant was
fined during his time in office. So without a word I slip off my shorts
revealing the black boy shorts that hug my upper thighs.
I blame squats for my thick legs but judging by where your eyes rest,
spandex are obviously an efficient means of seduction.
You make me laugh when you tell me how dangerous speeding
with a horse and carriage must have been back in the day.
I wonder if he liked it fast everywhere.

I exhale sharply. I can’t decide if being completely naked or
having no idea which president served more than two terms is more embarrassing.
I know you are about over the idea of quizzing me about presidents when your
hand begins to trail up and down my thigh.
Answer this one right and we move to the next lesson. Who is my favorite pres-?
John F. Kennedy rolls off my lips before you finish,
moving perhaps at the speed of the bullet that pierced his body.
The shock that hits me as you grab my waist and pin me down
must have been close to what a bullet feels like as it burns skin.

Under the Influence of Opiates

If you have ever laid in a hospital bed

you know they are not the most

comfortable thing to rest

your sick body in.

Add a little morphine to your IV

and a stack of needles

would feel like heaven

had spread its self out just for you.

The nurse asked me what my pain tolerance was like, I

lied and said low

so she would push in

the rest of the injection.

When they rolled me down

the hall on my bed I could barely see.

Opiates and no glasses

left me thinking about how

even the blur of hospital

walls look sad.

The last thing I remember

before I went under

was how they spread my arms

out like a T, and that being


I was all ready to be sliced open

by a doctor who had a name

which I could barely pronounce,



Waking up after surgery hurts.

The bright lights above me

kept my drugged eyes shut

as they pumped more Morphine.

Waking me up again to command

me to breathe deeper because

at that point I barely was.

When I woke up next

to the nurse who continued to feed

me drugs. I wondered

if asking her if this would fix my problems or if the morphine

and codeine cocktails

were to keep me happy

until they could break the news

that they still had no idea

what the problem was, one

missing organ later.


You appeared into my life
like Aphrodite must have from the sea.
Dripping with desire,
bathed in beauty.
I look back now
and wonder
how I managed to stay off my knees
as you floated on by.

How could I not long to be yours
as waves of seduction pulled me down.
Sometimes I like to think
you taught me how to swim,
but deep down I know
it was how to not drown
in your words
as they anchored my feet
and whisked me to the depths
of this ocean.
I would let the murky waters keep me
if I knew that I would be closer to you.

But I am a lone sailor lost at sea for you.
For you love me like the tide loves the shore,
eventually coming back, but never will you stay.
So I find myself on an endless journey,
searching for the love you cannot return
because your heart keeps countless
sailors up at night, longing
to reach their destination
but you are not ready to find a shore.


The last time I saw you we were trippin’ on acid

I can’t remember what your face looks like.

It seemed to blend into shadows that scared me,

so I chose not to look at you.

It was hot that day but yoga felt good to our bodies

so we set up our mats on your driveway.

I felt inspired to try poses I could never do sober

but the sweat rolling off my body seemed to be magnified

so I stared instead, convinced I could see every oxygen and hydrogen,

until you told me to stop being weird.

When night came we laid under the tree

in your front yard where we stared for hours

at the shimmer bark and glittering veins

of the trunk and branches.

I liked the lights hung in your room.

I took out my contacts, I made you put on my glasses.

I told you to pull your eyes to little slits,

because it changed how the lights looked.


I am not sure how long

we sat there playing with our eyes

but by the end of the night we had

mutually decided that they looked

like neurons firing within our brain

and we wondered if we were

actually seeing the inside of

our head at that very moment.

I don’t remember falling asleep

but I woke up holding your hand

and my glasses still on your face.

The Christmas lights still on

didn’t look like neurons anymore

so I pulled out the plug from the wall,

a darkness covered the room,

I left without knowing

you would never speak to me again.


They tell me that love hides from those who look
turning into dark forms of hide and seek.
It lurks within the dark shadows of nooks
hiding from the brightness of the critique.

Only ones brave enough to face the black
will know the pain and suffering needed
to reach what most call the end of attack
Heartbreaks cannot be tamed by the conceded.

You see I tell them what’s the use
A game is meant for one to win, one to lose.
and the odds seem to be the dark's truce
for who even stays in this love’s abuse.


Tonight we will listen to
the harmony our bodies have
written to one another.
I don’t want to be scared,
but I am, want you to sing
to me how I sing to you.
It’s not the first time
our bodies have entangled
within one another,
legs wrapped around waists,
like notes around tongues,hands sliding among skin,
like fingers over strings.
This time it’s different,
I want to show
you where my heart is,
what sheet of music
my heart beat is playing.

Moving slower, savoring
the moment I see your eyes
close as I touch you,
becoming one with you
pitches finely tuned.
I want to remember the
feel of your breath
among my neck,
lyrics forgotten as
instrumentals play
Passion moves us,
a simpler form of desire
and love.
I want us to be stripped
down to the bone
souls exposed,
raw and selfless,
a piece in the making.
I feel you reach your peak
your body shakes
falling limp under mine,
the final notes slipping away.
I’ll kiss your lips
softly, my hand across your face.
Your hands might
tangle themselves in my hair
not to ask for more but to say
don’t let go.

Price of Silk

It is a steep wage to pay.
Weaving in and out
delicate patterns,
line by line,
just to
catch a

The food chain
has no remorse
leaving its mark
on the weak.
One must do
the least to live
so there will be
no guilt as
I spin
this line
around your
failing body.

If you had
the air to speak
I would ask
how does it feel?
My prey.
Your predator.


                  is said to lift our hearts
                  inflating us with hope that
                  weaken these walls.
                  They say that love will
                  out the pain of the past,
                  painting a picture of
                  together smiling
                  and laughing at
                  the right moments.
                  Holding hands
                  the most romantic
                  of places. Oh they say
                  heart will beat with love,
                  but no one makes it to the
                  to let us know what it sounds like.

Answer Me

           there a certain
           amount of trials
           must go through
           before one
           feels the love
           everyone says
           is provided
           to those
           who believe in

The Treatment Plan

They say addicts are always
in recovery from their past life,
never fully healed, just programmed
to live without their fix.
Day to day they move forward
through a program that dictates
their level of success
within their tight knit community.
By this time other addicts seem
more like family than your own,
experience makes for one hell
of a connection.
When you announce your month sobriety
they will clap and pat your back,
then turn to their neighbor whispering of how
you won’t make it another week without
shootin’ up another line
takin’ another hit
poppin’ another pill.
Families are supposed to make you feel good,
so they continue to smile and make you feel recovered,
which we all know is a much more acceptable
high these days


What’s wrong with your mind?
You used to be so strong.
So stable.
Does it have something to do
with those pills they gave you?
Shoving them down your throat
experimenting for that perfect
chemical equation that will explode
between your axons.
Experiments get old
with no new information to build upon
so they will ship you off
to figure out your shit on your own.
You just need a change of scenery,
someplace to warm the skin they say
though your heart may remain cold is what they mean.
And you will tell me of their plans to cleanse
you of the demons controlling your brain
but I am afraid I have already lost you to their power.
You are now just an experiment gone awry
shipped off to a place where you
will find others like you,
controlled by voices
no one else hears.
Good bye brother
I do not believe I
will ever know You


You are a mass of chaos hurling straight in my direction.
A gaseous substance at risk to burst into a fiery flame at any second.
My mind is screaming to run, but I am captivated by the beauty
of your flames that burn with such ferocity of oranges and yellows
that I stand still as the distance between us shrinks
What a thought to be at chance for consumption, to be engulfed
in sea of the sun’s dyes that burn your skin.
Would you leave colored scars among my body?
Forever marked by such destruction that would drown
me in heat hot enough to burn my soul.
You crash into me with such force that it knocks
me on off of my feet, flames consume my
body but send fire into my heart.


We were stuck inside a mall as the alarms went off,
a consistent foreshadowing of the horror that crept our way.
I ran to the nearest store I could find, I became a sheep dog herding my flock into the tiny room.
People who believed the threat ran towards me, joining me in the room of glass windows,
nothing more than a fenced in corral it seemed.
We could wait no longer they were here, we locked the doors.
Chains appeared, and the clicks of locks began to chime throughout the room.
We were locked in, safe.
For now.
We stared out at the crowd of helpless sheep walking aimlessly around wondering if the danger was near.
Then they came.
Our only warning was the screams of the unlucky ones still stuck outside.
We held our breaths as we watched people sprint by.
People chose to jump from the balconies instead of face the fate they had waiting for them.
I suppose instant death would be quicker than being ripped to shreds.
I could only watch with eyes wide open in fear.
But none the less, we were the calm in the middle of the storm.
Restless, I paced- drawn to the blood splatters that decorated our shelter.
Behind the smeared red I saw a figure slowly walk towards the window.
It started off blurry, slowly coming into focus as we walked towards each other.
Bleeding, it limped up to the glass where it’s blue eyes registered with mine.
My brother stared back at me, his eyes filling with hope as he saw me.
Falling to my knees, I reached out to him hand to hand the glass keeping us apart.
For there was no way to open up that door, a translucent barrier of cruelty
What a horrible sister I must be to throw my brother to the wolves like that.

Night's Game

Night surrounds us; daring any to gaze upon its vastness.
One look into the black and you will see the power I hold he says
One by one the Stars wink, don’t listen to Night they say
for he is just jealous of the masterpieces we create in the sky.
To prove teir point they begin to pulsate, tiny tremors in the atmosphere.
They dance around one another, twirling their points to a silent beat.
Throwing their light, each tries to outshine their neighbor.
Giggling, their combinations become more elaborate, pattern
after pattern of perfection flash in front of our eyes.
Night-You will never outshine us taunt the Stars.
I want to tell them-Hold their tongues!
Be grateful for their back drop of Night.
They do not understand.
Without Night’s help, their light would shine no more,
their fiery beauty extinguished by the bright of Day.
I close my eyes instead, surrendering to Night’s dare,
I am engulfed within the blindness it brings.
And listen to his chuckle of another game won.


The launch will begin tomorrow
Days of collaboration bundled into
a pink plastic box of perfection.
They enjoy playing God for a small moment,
Creators-- they call themselves.
They smile, playing dress up in their finest.
No thoughts other than this mass production
of the world’s finest toy will be their break through.
No concern of the destruction they bring
into girl’s dying to fit in.
Drinks in hand clink together.
Faces as fake as their check
that will buy them their perfect dream home.
Accessories included.

A girl coming of age
holds the latest model tight.
The doll will be old news by tomorrow
but that is of no worries to one
who could barely afford the first.
Examining her like a specimen in a lab
she sees the face of pure beauty staring back at her,
daring her to compete.
Deep blue eyes stare back at her, teasing the girl
for her misfortunate genes.
Her wood colored eyes will always come in last,
behind the lucky ones of sea greens and misty grays.
The girl runs her fingers along the engineered
waistline and sculpted plastic legs.
She wishes to possess this woman’s body,
anything other than this gangly thing.
One hand slowly brushes down the long blonde hair,
while the other self-consciously pulls on the dark curls of her own.

Placing the figurine aside she moves herself in front
of her toughest critic.
She stares down her reflection relying on wishful
thinking to change her flaws.
She gives up on this and moves on to one of promising hope.
A few bites here and there of tomorrow’s meals will
start her journey to perfection.
She smiles.
Teeth flashing like the camera’s
of the red carpet engraving each
desired body into the minds
of maturing females.
Down the carpet she will walk
to join a circle of beauties
according to society’s eyes,
nothing more than a manufacturing
business of plastic perfection.


As the water swirls around my ankles,
I try to find an answer to why I am drowning.
Why those pills aren’t inflating into floaties
like they’re supposed to
when I start to sink.
I hear my screams as the attack begins to creep.
The water streams down my red cheeks,
my body begins to shake and limbs flail
aimlessly for an escape.
I gasp for air.
My fragile chest moving up and down
begging for more-
receiving none.
My body begins to fade away, giving in
to the water’s grip.
My eyes close surrendering to the blackest of depths
I know I will be sinking to.
There go my floaties, filling up just after the worst is over.
How convenient for them to let me almost drown,
just so they can step in and lift me back to the surface,
only to prove they work.

Transitioning Breath

You tell me one night that
you know the exact breath I take

right before I fall asleep.
I wonder how many nights

you have stayed up
listening to me breathe.

I long to ask you to be mine
but scared to throw off

such a sensual moment
I close my eyes instead.

I know you don’t like to swim
but my dreams bring me

to an ocean. The Great Blue and Green
swirl their shades around me.

They call out, a siren’s
song lures me to the water’s edge

jump they dare, sink or swim,
the choice is yours.

Before I dive into their colorful
depths, I gaze into the painted

colors, a blended blur of
beauty with the danger

of suffocating my lungs, of
dragging me under. I hesitate.

I feel your arms wrap tighter,
letting me know you’re

right there ready to dive
in too.

We jump.

Breathing Art

Your arms wrap around me,
closing the space between my back
and your chest. I can feel you
on the back of my neck.
The paint dripping down,
staining my skin with the colors
you think look best. A chaotic mess that
will end up leaving traces on my white sheets.
I know I’ll care in the morning
but right now the brush is
leaving me breathless as it traces among my skin.
I wonder what you will paint
as you move down my back
lower and lower, leaving me restless
with the daunting thought of
the masterpiece you could
be creating on my body.
You tell me to remember to breathe so
I close my eyes breathing in the realization
that the colors flashing inside of my eyelids
are no comparison to the designs
already dried upon my skin.


The day you asked me
to be a part of your drug trade
was the day you gave me your
lawyers number just in case
something went wrong.
Writing forged prescriptions
was easy and rehearsing
others for the pick up
was becoming routine.

Corrupting the pharmacy
from the inside out was
thrilling, dangerous, brilliant
what a team we made.
We raked in hundreds a week,
messed around on the side,
loving every minute
criminal life.

The day the police showed up
was the day you called
and told me where
the stash was hidden.
Pinned behind the board
where we would create
fake patients names on.
It was over you said
and you didn’t have
time to say a proper
That was the day
you said you
would rather die
than go to jail.

But you only had one bullet
and reminded me to call
that lawyer, and you pulled
the trigger—the bullet
finally free from
its own prison.

Fresh Paint

Somewhere deep in the forest that
grows near your home
lies a cardinal.
It is not flying among the trees,
or residing in its proud home,
it rests its head among the fallen
leaves that coat the ground.
A blanket of red that masks the soil of life
seeps from its feathered body.
It quivers,
its feathers ruffled from its fall.
The life is slowly fading from his eyes
pain engulfs him.
Chirping over and over again
a call for help maybe but
there is no answer
among the silence of the trees.
Only the leaves answer
rustle, as the wind blows them into the air
covering the fallen bird
a blanket of death.

Everyday Life

They’d been planning a vacation to Peru.
Right there on the floor, where they would do coke, pop some E’s.
They use because it’s their back up plan.
It consumed them, for life offered them nothing better
Lies ruled them now, they worshiped their king.
Turning into peasants they begged at his feet.
He captured them, and one day she spilled words from a faraway place,
Why everyone is always collapsing who knows,
and tell me why your right hand seems pretty easy on Mother Earth,
but your left hand not?
They stared at her as she fell to the ground, cold and gone.
They got fast enough to the hospital, she would live.
They stood around staring at each other, a band of people thrown together.
They looked around and laughed.
This was life and it worked.
And that is what they did, and all they could think was that
life after death row was not so different.

Time Has No Speed

“Hurry, Hurry, Hurry,” she yelled.
Footsteps stomped down the stairs, sending dust swirling into the air,
creating our own dust tornadoes right at the base of the steps.
Rushing us to the car, she began to pray that the engine could be woken up from its death sleep.
Its’ eyes opened, and we were illuminated with the light of life.
Click, click, click. Safety first she always said.
We were out of the alley, down the streets, passing down the identical houses that lined our street.
Trees blurred, and the road zoomed by, and sure enough we were on our way.
The route to our second home is not long, but as the minutes drew closer to our deadline the roads stretched on farther than I could see.
The rear view mirror showed more emotion among her face than what the back of the seat would dare to give away.
She did not know I was watching her frantically weave in and out of the obstacles that blocked our way.
Or how the speedometer seemed to be rising with every second passing, or that I was keeping count of how many times she looked at the clock.
Finally we arrive, and she stops to let us out, thankful to have made it just in time.
That’s when I look down and realize my mother was about to be very disappointed in me.
For my socked feet, are missing an important item,
my cleats.

Trash Bags

The trash bags were slowly outnumbering the three people that walked through the empty room.
Empty as a cemetery on a rainy day.
It happened to be raining that day they decided to go through all the this and that.
Hidden beer cans fall out of the drawers and shelves in the closest, and she looks upon with a disapproving smile.
They sort through the piles, embedding each picture that crosses their path into their minds.
They keep the ones that are most special, adding to the pile of keeps and the unlucky ones into the trash.
They find gloves ranging in size, each an artifact from a time period of life.
Softballs line the floor, smudged words reading games of little importance now.
They stare at the balls for some time wondering what to do, and slowly place them in the good will pile.
The clothes are next, they keep the ones they desire and let go of the ones they don’t need.
Hours drag on, and soon it is almost dark.
All that remains is the art that decorated the room, hanging there on the blank walls.
They leave it there hanging, what to do with a piece of someone’s soul?
They get up to leave the room, taking a last look among the empty room with decorated walls.
Then the lights go off, and the rain beats a little harder among the graveyard in that room.