Sometimes life sucks. Poetry helps.


inside i am

but all the
world hears
are the
sweet nothings
in the moonlight.


there is a gentle breeze
rustling the branches
of the trees
just a few feet
from where
i am sitting.

the sun is setting
over the river,
begging me
to join in the
darkness to come.

my feet burn to follow.


just once. turn.
smile at me.
so that i may
know that i
was loved
at least once
in this lifetime.
just once. as the
fiery gates close
behind me, god,
let me see that
not all was lost.


you are here today
without a word either way
and gone tomorrow.
i cry out, here alone,
tears fall.

everything is lost —

except that nagging feeling
of wanting something
that isn’t real.


there is a spark,
sitting right behind your heart.
it might dim a little
here and there.
tarnish and have
a scratch or two.

in its shadow,
hoping to be forgotten,
are all the mistakes,
the missteps, and
misfortunes of a heart
that loved without limit.

its light shines
when life goes dark.
lights a path
through the storm.
gives hope when
all feels lost.

we can lose sight of it,
misplace it or
try to snuff it out,
but it’s always there.
don’t hate that spark.
that’s the real you.


beauty is
the sparkle in your eye
after you’ve told a dirty joke.

joy is
cleaning up the mud you tracked in
after dancing in the rain.

peace is
curling up under a
blanket fort in the living room.

wellness is
enjoying the last spoonful
of mint chocolate chip ice cream.

life is
the unexpected, the messy,
the rain, and the sparkles.


let it all go.
let it all shatter.
let all the pieces
of the person you used to be
fall to the floor
and turn to ash.

now rise and
set the world on fire.


my heart bleeds
like ink through
a stained piece of paper.

if you look
close enough,
you can see
the memories
i’ve desperately
tried to erase.


it comes in time.
a thousand kisses
on forbidden lips.

you waste away
where, in silence,
you are laid to rest.

one who,
if death were the end,
could not be saved.


they whisper past
rustling a dream
forgotten by

Memories are a funny thing. Our brains take bits and pieces of events from our past, splice them together and call it a memory. They are more feelings rather than concrete images. I don’t remember kindergarten except for some flashes of being misunderstood and alone. I don’t remember my best friend’s face but the feeling of shock standing at her funeral. Past memories shape our future reality. We take all those bits and pieces of our past selves, add some water, and hope that we can shape the clay into something we recognize and can relate to. Maybe it will even be good enough to show other people. I think the worst of all are the things I do remember that I wish I didn’t. The embarrassing mistakes. The lies I didn’t get away with telling. The anger over a trivial slight. We seem always to remember the bad while the good slips by us like a gentle breeze through the trees. We know we felt it, we just can’t remember.

embellished. exaggerated. 
told over and over
so someone else remembers


i sit here alone
in gray shadows.
i cry these tears.
no one knows.
the pain is
breaking me.
letting out my
desperate cries.


you have time enough
to love yourself
after you have
given up
on loving them.
but you can’t
keep the world out.

—it’s always there—

like a dirty needle
in your vein.


i need
somewhere to waste away,
a rainy day.

i need
to wash away my pain,
this rainy day

i am
blurred, distorted, surreal,
my grief.

i turn
without a backward glance,
mercy passes by.

i try
to disguise the truth inside,
all my pain.


every fragment of me.
every shard of broken glass.

the pools of
misleading words.

small cuts. bruises
of empty color.

here. is. me.


i scream away my pain,
crying for the lost little girl
hiding inside of me.

knees drawn up, head tucked down,
small fingers pulling at little curls.
ribbons choking.

begging. screaming.
wrapped in chains.
held within the darkness.

searching for the spark
that can set her free—
finding only a void.


if you are a woman
and you say something
bothers you,
no one will take
you seriously
until those tears begin to fall.

they are currency—
and i am bankrupt.


words cause pain.
blinding rage.
words that tear
out your heart.
pieces that come
back to you with
grass stains
and broken stitches.
pieces that are never
put back together.

he smiles and
does not understand.


the souls of those who
i have touched
with my broken heart–

the sharp edges
now help
keep them away.


why can’t i ever say
what i’m thinking
to the people close to me?

everything just
in here.

all my words are written
on pages
they never see.


it was the same routine every night —
walk the halls.
check the stacks.
turn out the lights.
when the last door was locked
she saw her tired smile in the glass.

this night,
her smile was too bright
and her eyes crinkled
where they shouldn’t.

the reflection wasn’t hers.