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Of all the loves I’ve had, I know theres a reservation in my heart just for you. If patience is a virtue, I must be a demi god. I’ve loved and deeply cared for many and I’ve taken a piece of them with me that I hold closely onto my heart. Those memories are always…

Sweat beads off the hills of my cheek. I wipe it off like the smile I hide when I turn in at night. I hold back deep, dried out wells of tears. I can’t bring myself to heave and sob like I did when I cried out to God. Instead, I tell myself to turn…

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I— I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference. .Robert Frost. I’m pretty sure that life is an enigma that I will never fully understand. When I compare myself to the journeys of others, my life seems like a complicated, unsolved math…

Kindness is an act of benevolence. So if being kind is one of the purest forms of altruism, why am I afraid? We’ve been conditioned to distrust from as early as our ability to comprehend and respond. Don’t talk to strangers they said, use the buddy system we were told. I find the line of…

Another day comes and goes and I’ve made sure over the years I’ve tucked you neatly in the deep recesses of my heart. Today was unusual. I was reading Us Weekly and Oasis came up so I wanted to revisit their songs–which of course led to Punk Goes Acoustic–which led to bawling my eyes out.…

They want a pretty girl, a quiet girl–someone who blends into a riot world. They want a Jesus girl, a peaceful girl, a go-with-the-flow, straight up meek-like girl. They want a square to fit into a square kind of girl, don’t make a sound kind of girl, be careful don’t make waves kind of girl.…

My nail beds crack at the seams as they hold on for hope–merely clinging to life itself. Bloody good for nothing stumps they are, attached at my delicate wrists. The faint painting of a light pink rose and galaxy hold my pulse in place, effortlessly. From my wrists blood flows up through my dark heart,…

I’m a shell of my former self. Empty space, hollowed out by the undoing of myself–the shameful biproduct of many lovers. Empty promises and empty love, even you I can smell on the tips of my fingers when they smell like day old cigarettes and no soap–maybe I just smell me. Never had a daddy…

THIS LIFE 12/29/11 This life lurches on like a heavy steel wound train, tracks below worn as we roll along Click-a-clanking, metal crunching the tattered ground below, when she’ll stop nobody knows. The massive machine sways and flows, a heap of armory– wind bellows and spills in every which way as the night sky nips…

You buried me six feet deep in a pine box, casually. Here lies another one of your ghosts, lying neatly. Save your parting red rose for your coal black heart. You set fire to me, emotionally. You said you loved me, but it was only conditionally. Long after you left, the embers blazed. Fire shot…