My whole life I’ve been afraid of tornadoes.
I remember the black widows
in the window well outside my bedroom,
and how afraid I was
they would make their way in.
I’d say I was afraid of heights,
and I live in the mountains.
Planes are still a no go.
Ladders make me tremble.
Roller coasters make me anxious.
My blood pressure raises
whenever I go to the doctor.
If a bill is not paid, I can’t sleep.
Highway, overpasses,
icy bridges,
and narrow dirt roads
make me tense.
Losing you is the worst thing I can think of.
But somewhere in there
above dentist offices and being alone at the mall,
but below submarines and black holes
is that little pink line.
When my period is late
and I sit there waiting
for the longest three minutes of the year.
When I start imagining how I’ll tell your mom.
When I imagine the look on your face.
And when the timer goes off
that moment of hesitation
that quiet before the torrent of emotion,
the anticipation that wells up under my diaphragm
the shivers down my spine
and the lump in my throat
for a single glance
To rip it all away.
May 5, 2025
May 5, 2025 at 12:40 AM UTC
You are in the bathroom,
Fixing your hair the way you like it.
The steam from your shower
is setting into the bedroom now.
I can smell your shampoo.
The skylight casting an early summer glow
across the tiny water droplets speckling your skin
makes you look studded with rhinestone.
The subtle shifting of your weight
creates a curve in your side
and as you drop your hip and bend your knee,
I think for a moment,
that you look like art.
That moments like these are what inspire
The greatest artists in the world.
That I might be like them
if you were my subject,
But I am too busy loving you
To lift a paintbrush.
May 5, 2025
May 5, 2025 at 12:18 AM UTC
It’s in the rain,
It’s in the sunshine,
It’s in the dewdrops on the roof.
It’s in the tall grass
When the wind blows
That’s all I need as proof.
It’s in the clouds above,
The ground below,
The red of leaves,
The white of snow,
The violent ocean,
The mellow stream,
It’s in everything it seems.
Your eyes
Your face
In every place.
Jun 28, 2024
Jun 28, 2024 at 8:45 AM UTC
We are warriors painted as children.
We've fought since we were born.
Our ax and sword tied to our mind
upon which our lives were sworn.
We carry the weight of the world we do,
in the hood of our favorite cloak.
It doesn't weigh us down but chokes us still,
making speechless words cease being spoke.
Our wrists are tied by invisible webs
wrapped in logic and basic understanding.
But they're spun by spiders outside our heads
that our structured world's demanding.
What can we expect from them?
Their eyes coat our heads like brandy.
They say,
“Speak up,”
“Shut up,”
“You talk too much,”
Or whatever words are handy.
Is it just you and I?
Me and you?
Us?
Could be, perhaps, maybe.
One day I hope there will be more than two.
And the next child like us will be
our baby.
Jun 27, 2024
Jun 27, 2024 at 8:55 PM UTC
Hey there.
It's been awhile.
The ink dried out in the corner of your smile.
The pages got all wrinkled
like the edges of your eyes.
And it's been at least 4 years since I've seen blue skies.
But look at that there!
The pen is in bloom.
It's ink spilling out as the sun does at noon.
And I can't wait for you to sit there
in your rocking chair
and read Sunday's cartoon.
And you'll ask me what I've wrote
I'll give you a quick note
and we will spend the evening on the swing.
You'll drink your teas,
I'll watch the bees,
and we will spend our eternity in spring.
May 28, 2024
May 28, 2024 at 1:24 AM UTC
You'd think I was a fool
The way I mishandle myself
and come to every name you'll call me.
Blinded by the rules
hoping I am worthy enough
to be the same in which you saw me.
To call myself happy i'm afraid
is selling it far short.
I'm rooted on your porch like ivy.
To look at these rings we've made,
spiral out and distort,
Beam the importance of your place beside me.
You could crush me into dust
but I'd still crawl to your lips.
If only to fight you one last war.
You could collide with me just
but when they brush off my ribs
It’ll only leave me wanting more.
I'm sewn into your storms
by God's own shaky hand.
I’m your own divinely made art.
I’m in the spiral that forms
Over the golden red band
I live in the deep blue of your heart.
I will love you more
until the day I die
Until my rings have no balance or grace.
I will drown myself
in that Crimson eye,
Until there's nothing left to drown me but space.
Oct 5, 2020
Oct 5, 2020 at 10:43 PM UTC
If the world was the size of a penny,
a dollar would be my thoughts.
A silver coin forged in fire from scolding that's always scaulding hot.
Like a spider who cannot spin web,
I'm given a ball of twine.
Equipped with confusion and creativity, I weave a stronger web-like mind.
Under vulnerable exposure
I am like a cheetah without spots.
Mixing ink from my fear and pain to paint myself in polka-dots.
My missing words hang in the air
like wood and winded chimes.
Missing points and memories just because they slip my mind.
If the world was the size of a penny
I'd have a penny for my thoughts.
I'd spend it on complete sentences,
some extra twine,
and spots.
Sep 24, 2020
Sep 24, 2020 at 12:22 PM UTC
It's like a landslide.
Forcing my rib cage open just to fit itself inside.
Seeping in through my open mouth and
piling,
rock after rock,
until I can't feel my body anymore.
Far too heavy to move.
It's an icy, rigid tide.
Casting all matter of facts aside.
Drowning in worries but somehow still
smiling,
and giving small talk,
until there's no more sand left on the shore.
Far too helpless to hide.
Mar 4, 2020
Mar 4, 2020 at 7:17 PM UTC
I often wonder,
when I look at you,
if Galileo felt the same way
when he looked at the stars.
Feb 28, 2020
Feb 28, 2020 at 6:39 PM UTC
They called my pen tearful.
Like a melancholy dream.
but what they don't know is that
they weren't tears.
They were wounds.
I just drew them in ink.
Feb 27, 2020
Feb 27, 2020 at 3:40 PM UTC