Jan 06

thoughts to myself

i've greatly improved, i think
from when or who i was before

i have many people around me, both physically and in spirit
offering support, help while i do the same for others

it's nice, being needed, giving help as needed
i'm just helping people.

that's all there is to it.
Jan 05

poem at 12:18am because i can't sleep

faces by the door
hanging on the coathooks
depending on which company
that dare knock on the mahogany

coats of all colors
set on the backs of chairs
some pockets filled, some pockets not
a few more well-worn the rest combined

shoes in any size
heels scattered about next to boots
sneakers beside some well-loved slippers
socks peeled and fallen beside some, but not all

people, of all
lying, on the floor, to each other, to God
as they forever remain there, in that basement
as she goes to greet another guest

this time, it looks to be a couple girl scouts
a nice change of pace, maybe
a smile on her not-face,
she doesn't open the door all the way.
Jan 03


the snow, it falls
thick yet thin
sheets upon the ground
a blanket on all

the wind, it howls
whipping yet caressing
all that dare walk
within its limitless bounds

the trees, they weep
branches down yet skyward
snow slicing between
where leaves used to be

as winter drags on
boots leaving white footprints
across the land and sky
no one seems to mind

they'll brush off their car
pull their hats down their ears
shrug on gloves
it's just another season, it will soon give way

the old man ignores the fickle decisons
shaking white dust over all
children play, laugh as the wind hits them
parents, friends, send their children rocketing down hills

it's winter. 
Jan 02

background music iii

eyes closed in lackluster solemnity, 
hand outstreteched to the floor
leg aimed to the heavens
fabric around her waist, falling,
she dances.

the brassy tones of the trumpets do nothing, 
her spins and twirls so graceful
not even touching the ground, 
bending to pick up a tear and let it
trickle down her arm

the cellos and the violas play together
but she, but you, are apart 
moving with yet against at the same time
you don't belong, she doesn't belong
not with them, not with the music

notes not meant to be danced to, no
but you, she, manage it somehow,
frills of yellow on your skin and silver shoes on your feet
nothing affects you, her, her and your inner beat
as you two flicker apart and the scene fades

your, her, eyes open, alike and yellow and hazel
split down the middle, parted by each other
as the orchestra stops
Dec 31

Back for a Minute

"Oh my God, he knows."

"How the hell does he - Abele! Did you tell him?!"

"What, no! I haven't seen Rhys since, like, a week ago!"

"..calm down, calm down, Alleta. It'll be oka-"

"Like hell it will! How can you be so calm about this, Priscilla?!"

"He's my brother. He knows literally nothing."

"Except how to drive!"

"He got a speeding ticket last week."

"..how to breathe?"

"Abele, Rhys has sleep apnea."

"Oh, I remember that."

"How the hell do you know?!"



"It was one time, Alleta! A birthday party! Ow, don't hit me! Priscilla, help!"

"Alleta, calm down, he'll hear you."

"Oh God, you're right."



"Happy birthday!"

"Abele..that's just Cordelia."
Dec 30

new year's

look at me.
i made it.
12/30/19, and i'm still standing
still repairing myself, but still here nontheless

my foundation is patched,
scaffolding still up
up with people, myself
working to repair cracks and smooth edges

my eyes are slowly opening, slowly opening to the new dawn
to the future, to the fact that i had one
the light is oh-so-dazzling

i am not alone
i can advance
i can redo; i can repeat
this life is mine for the taking

sometimes it gets confusing,
the water, murky, air heavy
but i must push on
cannot allow ice to trap me in inaction

i'm here to see the new dawn, here to witness
the sun coming up into 2020;
a year i cannot quite fathom exists
it does. and i do. so i'll be there to see it

alone or with family, i'll see it no matter what.
Dec 19


this is an assignment for my psychology class, on the musical dear evan hansen.


never alone, but lonesome
constant company, but by myself
surrounded by people who love me
but not for who i am

it's a façade, a false persona
i'm not this! 
i'm not confident, i'm not social,
i'm not this fake person everyone sees

bundled up inside, i can't let
anyone see this
but i have to, 
don't i?
Dec 14


vines crawling, hardy leaves open to the sun
all up and down your body, curling around all the muscle
and underneath your hat, pulling your hair

but you don't protest, eyes ever shut as they writhe
and grow as the days pass you by.
your skin never tans as Helios runs

every once in a while, he visits you
you, on your stone slab, hand outstretched
with a white bud blossoming in your palm

he'll pray, pray for forgiveness
you've both lost friends, friends in that fight he had to win.
and now you stay, a testament to them

one day, your eyes will open, black as pitch
onto the green, green grass of the world he created [home]
and he will be waiting, lithely relaxed, waiting for you.
Dec 13


it takes two to tango
three's a crowd
and four's more

shouting uno! is fun, yes
but is it when you're sitting alone
at your worn, wooden table, cards set for your friends that didn't show?

five's a jive
and six - a mix
but seven? heaven.

a solo sounds pretty
but a full orchestral sound
with layers reaching as numerous as players; that is what's pretty

eight, bring a mate
nine - wait, he's mine!
ten, let's do it all over again

one foot in front of the other to move
slow, aching steps
but movement once again

one, you're done
two, we're through!
three, don't ever look at me

a pure painting is not painted with one color, one stroke
style is not mastered with one lesson
to mix it up, there's gotta be more

four - no more
five, how am i alive
six - a bag of tricks in disguise
Dec 05

social media ;

this is an assignment for my psychology class.

i don't think it that bad,
but that's just me
perhaps it's just a fad
we shall see

a place for me to post my writing
a place to like others
maybe it's not exciting
but to me and my brothers

i can look at art
i can look at those that
you can't tell apart
from characters; they don't fall flat

but i know that some
find themselves 
coming undone

they see women, men
looking so great
again and again
and it is themselves they learn to hate

for they are not them,
those models and actors
they're people, thinking themselves dumb
because they do not look like them.

or, sometimes
people will cry themselves to sleep
for people, oftentimes, are so 
terrible that they can do nothing but weep

attacking, scathing