Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Writing

I Am Still Here

The sky was still blue and beautiful at six AM, when I respawned, refreshed and ready to try and live again, so, I got the idea that maybe the sky is stronger than I gave her credit for, and so am I.

The sun still rose. The cool but pleasant air of early spring still played with my ponytail as I walked down the street, so, maybe, just maybe, the world does in fact go on, even when you think it’s ending.

I am still here. I am still here. I am still here.

Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Writing

An Astute Assessment Of My Continued Stupidity

After midnight,

meeting the gaze of the mirror,

my summer skin stings and sings,

with every wandering of the whip hand,

sweet forehead kisses stay on my mind,

long after you leave,

never really here,

just a shadow that stood somewhere in the room,

someone that I needed to see,

to remind myself that I will always be a captive of Cupid.

Don’t worry if you don’t understand me,

all the intricacies,

all the invasive interests of my imagination.

I didn’t need to be understood.

I didn’t need to be seen.

I just needed to see you,

so I knew I still could,

so I didn’t feel so stupid for still seeing something in you.

Someone else told me that intimacy was hard,

but I heard it in your voice,

as if,

for a second,

it had been stolen,

and from you,

it made all the sense in the world,

almost felt a little soothing,

but then I felt a little stupid again,

because I knew I understood, to an extent,

but I knew I’d never apply all the things I had begrudgingly learned.


Instead, I am making plans while streaming Montero,

and that new song I wrote for you,

knowing that nothing is possible but putting myself in that place where I play dumb,

so it doesn’t hurt so much when I return to real life.

Is it okay if I say that you hurt my feelings?

Or do people find it demanding and unpleasant when I do that?

I honestly don’t know,

but I’ll balance it out by saying that pain isn’t the only thing I feel, when it comes to you,

and maybe I can hide the helpless, sleepless nights behind the ones where I slept peacefully,

sinking into sweet dreams and fantasies I now struggle to conjure.

I don’t mean to get real romantic (ha),

but I did it anyway,

because seduction is like sedation for me,

and I need a muse to make it through,

otherwise I wake up, midway through life tearing me apart.

Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Writing

The State Doesn’t Love Your Children

Joe’s number came up,

and he never came home.

Homesick for the innocence of teenage summers,

driving his dad’s truck down to the moonlit beach,

with a couple of cans that they shouldn’t have had,

and a couple of friends he’d never see again.

Joe’s sister was an unwed mother,

but he still wrote to her at the home for wayward girls,

trying to make conflict sound like the games of soldiers they’d play together in the back yard when they were young,

but Mary heard the ricochet of the rifles,

and the screams of children,

miles away,

she sobbed into her pillow,

a blood soaked letter on her bedside table.

All the girls used to like Joe’s long blonde hair,

they said he looked like a movie star,

but in his last few moments,

the long hair was long gone,

and he was cradled in a crater,

like a frightened child.

Joe was a frightened child.


with dreams that were never going to make it out alive,

and neither would he,

but what was it for?

What was it all for?

Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Writing


Burning inside as the bright morning arrives,

branding your beautiful face with my lipgloss,

cherry telling you, that I choose you,

just in case you needed to know.

I hold my hand to my heart,

hearing it whisper your name,

sleepless and seeing stars,

as lightning leaves a mark on the sky.