I wish my words
weren’t whispers
and instead
loud screams
selling love
not loss.
But they are only
gray raindrops,
fat with fancy tea cups
filled with sad.
These echoes
scratched into
zeroes and ones
only sigh out
in fast eyes
and bring pain
to more pain
and I want them
to shine
like misty starlight
inside white-tipped waves
but they merely sink
in sticky mires,
sucked down
by quicksand.
They are
as confused
as swallows
in snow
and as lost
as I am
on this path
to stuck.


Maybe god
is really just
a human
the meaning of life,
where he is so beaten,
so broken
that there is
nothing left
but understanding.
And he sees
the meaning in living
when living seems too hard
and the fear vanishes,
nothing but a shimmer
in the distance,
and he knows
what it means
to have faith
in what the universe
Maybe when people say
they’ve found god,
they really mean
they’ve found themselves.
Maybe they just need
to give someone credit
for the magic inside of us.
Maybe that’s god.


Of course he cares.
No he doesn’t. You’re an idiot.
I’m pretty sure I’m right.
I love how you’re so confident yet you stay buried in this secret poetry hole like a child. Sure he loves you. Right.
Maybe he does…

This is what it’s like
inside my brain,
a perpetual war
between love
and forgetting.

You love me.
You don’t.

I love you.
I don’t.

The conversation
never ceases
between these
two armies of doubt
and they play chess
with our minds
and roulette
with our hearts
and I can’t help
but believe
and disbelieve
one moment
to the next.

You love me.
You don’t.

I love you.
I don’t.

Florida Heat

This breath catches
in sticky places
where you’ve left
your prints pulsating
on my insides
I watch through
hazy sentences
and wet hands
and wonder
why I can’t breathe,
why I can’t seem
to move
yet I keep moving
and you’re there
and it seems so close
but the miles
wind together
in sparkly circles
and I keep holding
your face
in my mind
but you are
a mirage
in the Florida sunshine
and other people
get to touch you
and I’m jealous
of strangers
because they feel you
when I never will.

Christmas and Bus Rides

It’s raining again
and it makes me think of you
even though we never knew
the rain together.
That roof-shaking shower
that turns the world
gray and black and moody
comes in
on stampede feet
and tramples my jolly.
Those holiday houses
blur behind the drops
and I wonder what
Christmas is like
in Florida.
I can’t imagine
winter in shorts
but so much of the world
knows the holidays as hot
while mine have always
been filled with ice.
And music plays
and I wonder why
it’s sad songs
instead of carols.
And as my hands
plunge into soapy water,
I’m back on that bus
with your words
riding next to me
and sad songs
of loss and longing
pumping through
discman headphones
because that’s how long ago
you loved me.
So I watch the rain
and do the dishes
and remember
how it felt to know
you loved me.



Photo Credit:

I imagine this moment when my sister asks me how this flame could stay burning for so long when it wasn’t ever real. I see her lips moving and her blonde hair shifting in the breeze, and I watch her stare at me in expectation. I see her waiting for an answer I cannot give. Instead, I hand her my phone and show her these words, these pages and pages of pain that leak from my fingers in daily bursts of agony. She scrolls, her green eyes growing larger with each new revelation of a love I can’t explain. When the reading has abated her curiosity, she stands and stares into the distance. Her eyes glaze over and I know she is not really seeing those mountains or oceans or deserts stretched to the horizon. I know she sees the past but now she beholds it the way I do. She knows why I still love you. Her eyes refocus and she turns with a smile curling the corners of her lips and igniting the light she carries into every room. Her words come out clear and firm and they fill my body with a warmth, a glow, a desire to finally believe. “You must tell him. Even if he won’t listen, show him these words and he will see.”


Breathe….let it go….breathe. Easier said than done. I’m full of clichés tonight it seems but I guess I’m just one big cliché anyway. I’m too sensitive and cry too easily. I’m filled with so much self doubt that I can’t imagine being good at  anything yet I know that’s bullshit. I can’t trust my own emotions in the real world yet I haven’t spoken to anyone about you in years. I talk here. And when the pain stings like millions of bees, like my blood has been leached from my veins, blood letting at its best, I do not cry….ever. Except in seclusion and only a few tears yet I weep when I fail in life. Maybe all this agony leaks out into reality which is why I’m so insecure, so desperate to be liked, to be the A student since I’ve always been an A student so how is it that I keep failing so miserably at life, at interacting with other humans? God, I’m a fucking mess.

Fog and Sorrow


The fog
hangs heavy
at my feet
and the air
is thick
and slippery. 
Dreams fade
to hazy
and crooked lines
reach out
with wrinkled fingers
like fog
in this witching hour
between good
and darkness.
And shadows flit
to and fro,
back and forth,
their wispy limbs
prickling my skin.
have followed me
back from the depths.
They hang on every step.
I’m sinking in
this mire of mist,
my useless hands
grasping for rescue.
But dank forest fingers
swallow me whole
in their extreme sorrow
and there is no escape.

Make Believe

What I hate
is the pretending.
You pretend
that I’m in the past
when I’ve always been
the present.
Your words betrayed you
too many times
for the facade not to crack
at least a little.

I never forgot about you…just so you know…not for a minute.

A simple sentiment
that spoke
a lifetime’s worth
of regret.
But you still pretend,
hide your truth behind
quiet ballads
sung by your fingers
and guitar strings.

I pretend
that your silence
doesn’t hurt,
that this separation
will ease someday
when I know it never will.
It never could.
I meander through these
blue and white days
hoping people
can’t see your apparition
hovering under my skin.
I smile
and wave
and die a little more
because this haze
of unreality
won’t dissipate
or dissolve.
Instead I keep pretending
that your words
mean nothing
when they actually
mean everything.