I held the Bible,
once blanketed in fragile red and green--
my parents with furrowed brows
as I sat and forced my nose into each page.
I was 7.
My legs strode down the street after the slumber party.
Smoothing my sweater and shaking,
I feared being shunned within sacred walls.
"Honey, you don't have to go with them."
I was 12.
Smiles came free with my new camaraderie.
Being filled with the gospel of hatred,
"Keep doing good, you're going to hell."
My chest tumbled through my abdomen.
I was 16.
I learned that my heart could skip beats
as he held me on that skinny hard mattress.
Little did I know I wouldn't be Godly enough,
at least my lips didn't taste of deceit, too.
I was 18.
Slight contempt flooded my veins
as he lied to protect me.
"She's not Catholic, Dad, that's all,"
and I could feel the eyes I couldn't see.
I was 19.
Peace overcame me as I looked out
at the opportunities that exist
to exchange dopamine to one and to all.
Faith is not above me, but around us.
I am 24.
Oct 17, 2017
Oct 17, 2017 at 10:36 PM UTC
Dear Daddy,
Do you know what these men say to me?
With their
eyes and their mouths
when I walk on the street.
With a grin and a nod
and a look up and down.
A wink and a kiss
and a cat call heard from downtown.
With my skirt short
and my top
low,
It’s a cold world daddy
and no
doesn’t mean no.
Daddy do you know
how these men look at me?
Like I’m a piece of meat
strutting down the street?
With my head buds in
and my favorite song on.
I’m asking for it Daddy,
I’m in the wrong.
Do you know how it feels
not to wear what I like?
To walk a little faster
when I’m alone at night?
Daddy the world is my predator
and I am it's doe,
Daddy what happens
when I can’t say no?
Sep 28, 2017
Sep 28, 2017 at 12:09 AM UTC
i want you
in every way there is to want a person
from lazy rainy days
sitting around in underwear
wrapped up in the covers
enveloped in each other
to lustful late nights
high happy and in love
too absorbed with each other
to focus on anything else
i want you
and i see so much in you
that counting all your perfections
would be like counting the stars
there's too many to keep track of
and they just seem endless
i am utterly in love
with every inch of your being
every corner of your mind
and everything in between
i might not know what i believe
or where i'm going
or what i'm doing
but i do hope
you'll hold my hand
and wander blindly with me
because as long as i'm with you
i don't need a destination
you are the journey
i am simply enamored with your entity
captivated by your character
fascinated
infatuated
amorous
in love
Sep 27, 2017
Sep 27, 2017 at 11:56 PM UTC
She kept the beauty of fairy tales
fluttering about her heart
and the reality of heartache
in the paint strokes of her eyes
she was always
a tear away from suicide
and a dream away from life
she walked the line between fiction and love
on a rope made out of razor wire
and whiskey shots mixed with turpentine
her feet could smoother burning coals
and bled and wrote stories
no one dared walk behind
she could speak in languages
only the stars and the leaves
could understand
and she sang to both
whenever they asked
she knew how to swim
but preferred the feeling of drowning
the cold searing pain
of lungs unable to take a breath
the fear and rush of staring
into the dark unknown
she would get lost at sea
to find her way to oceans end
where mermaids and starfish
waited to hear
the fluttering of her heart
as told by the beauty of fairy tales
Sep 21, 2017
Sep 21, 2017 at 10:38 PM UTC
My sanity has been rung out like a soppy washcloth.
The only thing worse than the quick glances and glares is
not knowing why. Headphones can only drown out so
much and I begin to wonder how such beautiful melodies
can now haunt me to the point where the chords of “O Holy
Night” stab me in the stomach with rusty knives. Somewhere
I was once so proud to call home is now my personal hell
without any rationale. The snow resembles the ashes of my
soul as I follow the path along what once was green. The
frozen puddle on the cracked ground reminds me that it’s
hard to loathe the eyes that look back into my own. No one
ever tells you that two plus two plus a few more equals one.
Words weigh me down and suddenly I am immobile. I swallow
each thought one by one until I run and collapse over the toilet.
It’s such a shame that no one gives a **** until you’ve hit the
breaking point.
Aug 4, 2017
Aug 4, 2017 at 11:34 PM UTC
Alone isn’t lonely when solitude is craved more than
rain on desolate fields. Desire is misread as hatred
and the loneliness becomes physical as the thing
wanted most crashes down and becomes an
ultimate reality. And the word stuck
comes to mind as you sit on your
bed and wonder what you ever
did to be human and crave
room to breathe and
now it’s all you have
when now all
you need is
one.
Aug 4, 2017
Aug 4, 2017 at 11:25 PM UTC
I felt invisible the last time we were together. You
chatted aimlessly with your friends about the game and
the people and the classes you all despised. I clenched
my teeth as I held back tears from the loneliness in a packed
gym and as loud as it was I swear all I heard were my own
thoughts. We left and I acted only slightly disappointed in
the fact that I was never introduced and you apologized. The
streams of water finally burst through as I closed my eyes in
the passenger seat of your beat-up truck and I blamed it on
the anxiety and it is true that I couldn’t help it. No one ever can
control when they feel lonely and when they feel loved. We
pulled into the restaurant parking lot and I apologized for
my uncontrollably erratic emotions and you kissed me. Your
embrace and kind words reminded me that it was all okay.
That it was just a hiccup. That I would always mean something to you.
And that was our last weekend together.
Aug 4, 2017
Aug 4, 2017 at 11:23 PM UTC
The elixir of freedom
disappears without a proper goodbye.
I am its puppet.
It pulls my strings
and I dance.
I converse without a care and
take in the sweet sights and sounds.
In this moment,
life is grandiose.
The world is beginning to spin
and focus becomes foreign.
I continue to dance,
but the strings become worn.
My mania enchants me
As I sit on the torn couch.
The chipped paint and flickering bulb
remind me of my reality.
My head slams and
I swear I could feel it bruise.
No one ever tells you
how badly it hurts to feel numb.
And as I fall to my knees
I dedicate this poem to the floor
who holds me when no one else will.
Aug 4, 2017
Aug 4, 2017 at 11:20 PM UTC