May 01

Night drives when melodies weave into miles

Headlights skim the landscape,
showing off Night's shy, rolling figure.
The speakers drip with soft enthusiasm
and surround eager ears as Night settles down.

The velvety yellow on the road reflecting back into my eyes 
causes my eyelids to dance as they shut out the bright lines,
only wanting to see the black of Night.
Only wanting to see the music's colors
scrawled across the dashboard.

A sense of serenity blankets me and
my mind fills with melodies
as the miles tick by.

The darkness shivers 
as the bass shakes and bounces off the cold glass
The Night trembles
as the treble drowns into the leather seats.

The harmonies slow 
and the wheels accelerate.
Gnawing on the road,
spitting back rubber and lost lyrics.

The voices falter
The rhythms smooth into silence
and the movement slows to a stop.
I reach a familiar street and
May 01

Setting fire to our insides

The haze settles into our eyes once it leaves the air
and rarely does it ever leave our lungs.
Trapped between veins and skin, ashing our insides
and toasting our brains till they're medium rare.
The glow on the end lights up every addict 
and fires up every non-believer.

We are setting fire to our insides
and it's for fun.
We are killing the little kids inside of us
and we do it with a laugh, getting lost in the high.
We are disappointing our mothers 
and it's far too easy.

It's just one time.

Come on, it's fun.

Stop being such a wimp. 

Do it. 


Sep 24

before i grew up too much, this was me

Everyone has heard small funny stories about them when they were younger. The one I’ve been told throughout my childhood and the one I’ve heard my mom repeat to her friends had a lot to do with literature. In fact, it had everything to do with it. She says that as soon as she knew she was pregnant, she would read her child a story every night. So from even before I was born, I heard about the cow jumping over the moon, an extremely hungry caterpillar, a very generous tree and where the wild things lived. Perhaps this is what has made me the avid reader and writer I am today, but either way, I don’t think I will ever be able to un-memorize those books.
Aug 29
poem, fiction 1 comment challenge: One

eavesdropping on momma's phone conversation

     Momma picks up the phone and dials some numbers. It rings. I count... one, two, three, four, five, six rings. Momma looks relieved when someone picks up. 
     "Can I please talk with you?"  Momma pauses. I can't hear what the man says.
     "No seriously, I need you to listen this time..."  Momma has her 'I'm About to Say Something Serious' face plastered on.
     "It's really hard for me to tell you this because, well, it's just been really hard on Angie and me."
     Hey, that's me! I love being talked about
     "You stopped..." Momma sits down in a blue plastic folding chair. Momma wipes her brow and sighs. "The money, the support."
     I've never seen momma like this. Momma looks...worried? scared? Well, Momma says even strong girls cry.
     "She's your dauaghter too; I really need your help." Momma never says that. Momma never asks for help.
May 19


How do you fit a feeling into a sentence?
How do you describe something that leaves you breathless?
I'm not sure how to portray this feeling that's invisible,
I really must say, it's inexplicable.

I keep searching my head for a word that fits
but my brain lacks the phrase and the two sides conflict.
Can someone please tell me how to describe
that feeling you have when you're truly alive. 

You are the reason for all of this.
You are why I'm in this confused bliss.
I can't describe how I feel in just that 4 Letter Word
because you matter more than the world.

So I'll keep searching for how to explain the inexplicable,
and I hope my brain can think of the unthinkable.
Just know I tried to depict this feeling being with you has given me,
but the definition? That I can't guarantee.
May 03

The 5 Stages of Grief

The hue of your death spilled over the bed
and splattered itself on the walls.
it gloated to the corners in every crevice it hid in.

I tried to paint over the color it had left on the floors,
but each time,
that putrid thing found its way through to greet me when I looked down.
I scrubbed my skin so its aura would leave me alone,
but all it did was push it deeper into my pores.

No matter how hard I tried to move on
it would find a way to slip a tragic dagger into my heart.
Each day I thought of you, it twisted the dagger and 
screamed Pain into my veins that were already boiling with rage.
I hollered and shrieked at the top of my lungs 
to get its words out of my mouth.
All that did was bury the taste into the folds of my voice.

I bartered with it, 
giving it chunks of myself just for a piece of you.
Each part of myself I ripped away left a chasm,
May 01

What Trust Did to Me

You took your soft hands,
placed one on my shoulder.
Your creviced fingertips
slightly brushed my eyelids
as you told me to close them
and trust you.

So I did.

With both hands rested on my shoulders,
you gently nudged me forward.
I took a step,
not realizing where each one would lead me.
I hesitated as the warmth surrounding us turned colder. 
No, not bitter,
but a bit nippy.
You noticed the falter in my step
but told me to keep walking 
with my eyes closed,
and trust you

So I did.

Your hands gripped my shoulders,
fingers dug into skin.
A small tear lurked in the corner of my eye
and when you saw it, you loosened your grip.
Just a little.
You said to me to just get over it, just keep stepping
just trust you.

So I did.

I really shouldn't have.

Your hands broke skin,
Apr 20


Am I truly lost if I don't want to be found?
Because I can't seem to wrap my head around the idea
of being lost if I tried to get here in the first place.
I tried to run away from everything,
I was successful.
Because now I am "lost"
But really, I'm Found.
Because I found something a didn't expect to
when I packed my bags and fled.
I found myself, or at least pieces.

I may not be able to get home, 
but at the same time,
I'm right where I need to be.
Because, if Home is where the heart is,
and I just found my heart and soul,
then I'm Home.
So if I already have a Home in myself, do I ever need to build one to surround me?
Do I truly need a house?
Or can I just stay on the run,
continuing to find myself as I get even more lost.
Lost through the woods, through the city and the ghost towns.
Each step gets me further from home, but closer to Home.
Apr 20

Insomniac with an Imagination

I can't fall asleep at night
because I'm too busy trying to figure out
what the color is on the underside of my eyelids.
What is it called?
It can't be black.
Because it always is changing.
It seems to be flashing,
and I'm a bit scared that when I'm older
it'll give me seizures.
So please, someone tell me what it's called,
what it is.
Because I would really like to stop wondering and
get some sleep.

I can't fall asleep at night
because I'm too busy counting the sheep.
They go on forever,
jumping the fence to freedom.
And I always wonder if they will ever stop.
Where are they going?
What could possibly be so terrifying?
So terrifying that they all had to run away,
but not too scary because they take their turns going over, single file.
So please, someone tell me how many there are.
Because I would really like to stop counting sheep and
get some sleep.
Apr 05

Life's Too Short

Life's too short to worry about the little things,
you have to take a chance and unleash your wings.
Because what do you do when you wake up and realize
that you don't have much time left to be alive?

You start living the life you wish you could've,
you see the world in ways you should've.
The ways you should've when you were much younger,
when you looked at the world with much bigger hunger

But now all that's left is shriveled and cruel
and somehow you know, you were such a fool.
Because you let everything pass you by,
it was all gone in the blink of an eye.

You spent too much time being concerned
and you didn't see how much the world had turned.
But it's never too late to live out your time
Because life's too short, and wasting it is a crime.