Jun 24

At That Moment

At that moment,
all that mattered was this little dead chick in my cupped hands.

I looked at her sweet eyelids, closed for the last time. 
Her soft fuzz, never to turn to feathers. 
She had become stiff, and I placed her in a ceramic bowl I had made in art class,
laced with soft white tissue.

I ran outside and picked tiny wildflowers,
placing them around her,
giving her a pretty place to rest
until we could bury her. 

And then I cried, harder than I have in a long time. 
She was all that mattered,
at that moment. 


Jun 02

My Sun

Jun 02

We're Doing This

May 25

From My View

From my view,
down here
I see the green trees through my window sway 
in the beautiful way only they and dancers can seem to achieve. 

Flecks of white drift in the wind
tiny little petals from the backyard apple tree,
their destinations held by the control of the wind,
her careless and spontaneous nature tearing them apart. 

The sky is not gray
or blue
or white
but instead a mix of all three,
and maybe a color that hasn't been discovered yet.

May 01


"I have to go.." He said hurriedly,
following her down the stairwell,
the cold air seeping into both of their skin. 

"Okay, okay. Go then," she said, turning back to him.

Suddenly his eyes became something that couldn't be contained,
and took her into his arms. 

He kissed her like he needed something more than she could offer,
and although he didn't know that,
she did. 

Apr 29

His Shoes

I was younger 
but I still remember clearly 
how when you were over 
you left your shoes by the door. 

You and my brother were 
and I made sure no one was looking 
when I slipped my small feet 
into your worn Nikes,
several sizes too big. 

I smiled and realized this was how close 
we would ever be. 

Published In: The Voice
Published On: 06/30/2017

Apr 26

I'm Sorry

I had my head down
for some reason
I don't know exactly why.
I mean I should have been looking up
but I guess I was too busy 
concentrating on each step I was taking 
down the stairwell
as my backpack swung loosely from my shoulders.

And then you appeared
out of nowhere,
blocking my path.

I knew who you were,
I didn't have to look at your face.
I saw your light colored jeans and shoes,
and knew.

I panicked for some reason,
when you didn't move immediately.
When you finally shifted over
I whispered two words I never thought I say to you again.

I'm sorry.   

Apr 23

80 Miles an Hour

He told me that one night
you drove 80 miles an hour 
on a straightaway.

He grinned and laughed, 
"Ha, he's such an idiot."

I stood there, pretending not to be affected by this.
Pretending I never really knew you.

Because I guess I never really did. 
Apr 22


I picked an orange 
from the tree in the backyard
its porous skin felt warm in my hand
baked in the Californian sun.

The thick grass beneath my bare feet radiated bright green,
a carpet catching my every step.
I took a breath of the floral air,
making me feel taller and stronger
as I began to peel the fruit in my hands.

Juice dripped down my hands,
streaming onto the ground below
sweetening everything it touched. 

And then I woke up.

I tore away my heavy covers and hurried over to the window,
and I sighed 
when all I saw was rain and mist
blocking my view from everything I knew.