Feb 23


I stayed up late talking to the moon
because she's a good listener
and she promised to keep my secrets safe.
So I sat at the window
and whispered to her
about how his smile makes me feel whole again
and how his presence makes me forget how to be sad.
He drew constellations from my battle scars,
telling me not to forget the pain,
but to turn it into something beautiful instead.
He danced with me in the twilight,
and giggled when I stepped on his toes.
He holds me when I have broken my wings,
but lifts me up when I want to fly.
He put the stars back in my eyes,
miss moon.
He pulled my explosion into his own
and made it glow as one.
What do I do, moon?
I am gone aren't I?
in my supernova of a boy. 
Jan 26

Talking to the Stars

Dec 29


Dec 08


I can feel every blemish on me.
Every place my body lumps and curves
where it shouldn’t.
Every mark that reddens my face and my back.
Every inch of shame etched into my smile.
They are like knives slitting my skin;
every mistake I've made,
everything I'm not.
They are like an infinity of shining blades,
slicing through me.
And I bleed
and I bleed
and I bleed.
I bleed all my sorrow,
all my happiness,
all my hope,
until all that is left of me is an empty shell of
skin and bones.
Empty eyes.
Empty mind.
Empty heart.
And then there is only bones,
in a box 6 feet under earth.
Bones so hollow
that the air whistles through them
and dust braids through my ribcage
and death knots itself into my fingers.
Bones that have shed the slashed skin
but kept the noose around the neck.
Sep 09

She Is

She is bomber jackets 
and tousled blonde hair.
She is combat boots
and confidence
with her heart on her sleeve.
She is an animated overload.
She is go big or go home.
She is all or nothing.

She is safety
and warmth
She is an embrace 
that holds me tight,
and tells me,
"Just breathe.
Everything is going to be all right."

And some nights, 
when she isn't there,
she keeps me alive,
regardless of the streets separating us.
Her voice in my memory, 
her smile dancing before my eyes, 
keeps me from swallowing,
to the end. 
Because even when the demons keep me up,
and want to battle their way into my brain, 
into my heart, 
the fear of never seeing her again, 
keeps me fighting. 
Sometimes, she is all I need. 
Sep 05

wish in the darkness

It scares me now
when I lie awake at night
staring into the darkness,
my hand over my mouth
to deafen my monstrous sobs.

The light seems to dull.
Once again,
I start to slide down the slippery slope 
of terrifying thoughts
rattling in my brain 
and screaming voices 
hidden in my throat behind a smile.

I either feel much,
or I feel too little, 
but never the sane amount.

So I sit still
as my hope begins to fade.

I watch, 
as a genie leaks in through the window,
glowing with moonlight and stars,
and offers me a wish.

I tell him,
"I wish for her,
because she will hold me close
and pick up my pieces
the shards of my smile
and place them back together again.
She will soothe my cuts and tears,
until my pain fades, to
scars shaped like stars
and bruises the color of galaxies."
Sep 03

The Girl

I want to be someone they tell stories about.

About the girl with pencils in her hair, 
and poetry on her lips.
The girl who wore cowboy boots
and bright colors.
The girl who smiled,
and laughed,
and cried,
and screamed,
until she was free of the past, 
head held high, 
marched into the future. 

I want them to say: 
She was ready for broken hearts 
and stinging words, 
accepting that life,
was a bittersweet adventure, 
and she wanted to experience it anyways.
The sweet and the sour.
The good and the evil.
She could get through it, 
because if she had done it once, 
she could do it twice, 
or a thousand times more. 
Aug 08

Breathing Gets Hard Sometimes

Aug 05

Angel With Green Eyes

The golden days raced ahead of my heavy heart, their glow distant on the horizon as I walk through fog. Their hand is outretched, their arms open and welcoming, but when I reach out to touch, they are always dancing just to too far from my fingers. So I watch the light slip away. My chest is tight with tears but my eyes are as dry as paper flowers. My tongue is slick with cries for help but my lips are sewed shut. I used to search for a helping hand to hold, but in fear of squeezing the fingers so hard that they broke, I pulled away into my own self. I had lost hope, my dear. But you fought through my haze without me noticing. You tapped my shoulder until I turned around. Your smile, your simplicity, your sweet broken sentences made me breathe a little easier. You stayed with me until I smiled. You lead me to the light and brought me back to the golden days. But short days make short weeks and all good friends must say goodbye.
May 01

140 Singing

Recently I was honored to be included in a choir of around 140 middle school girls from all over the world and sang 10 songs of from different cultures. It was an incredible 5 days and I had to write at least one post to describe an aspect of it.

We stood,
140 of us,
staring into the blinding stage lights.

We stood,
140 of us,
young women 
of different race 
and color
and age.

We stood,
140 of us,
each one a powerful individual person,
each one our own voice.

We stood, 
140 of us,
and listened to the accompanist
across the keys.

We stood,
140 of us,
together breaking our silence,
parting our lips as one,
breathing as one,
becoming one,
no longer waiting but,