I don’t know when it happened.
The moment he shed the sheepskin
laying overtop his hungry body.
One moment he was soft,
and felt like a warm bed
and sleeping in.
The next, his teeth were
Vicious, biting, things
Tearing away at me.
Stripping me down
To my very core.
And then.
When he was done with me
Asked me why I cried.
Dec 12, 2025
Dec 12, 2025 at 6:06 PM UTC
Oh, duplicitous lover of mine—
who are you, lying beside me?
The father, whose pride rings from your mouth
like the bells of liberty?
The husband, whose arms once lifted my soul?
Or the traitor who razed his own kingdom—
a castle turned to rubble at your feet?
So cunning, you are-
the parasite at the bottom of the glass,
a shadow shifting in the room,
with poison on your tongue.
Do you love me today?
Or them?
How long will your eyes cling like cobwebs
to strangers who were never yours to seek?
How long before you feel
how cold our bed has grown?
My touch?
How long until you notice
I am not asleep—
just lying beside a memory.
I’ve heard your denials,
your guilt already etched in stone.
Your hands hold me like a promise.
Yet, your eyes betray me like a curse.
And still—
I feel the echoes of our late-night dances
stream down my face as I cry today.
Different tears.
Same man.
I am the witness to your storm,
and still I reach for your warmth—
like a ghost returning
to the scene of its death.
I do not know the man who holds me.
But I remember the man I love.
So I lie still in this haunted bed,
wondering if I am mourning
you—
or myself.
Apr 12, 2025
Apr 12, 2025 at 9:18 PM UTC
Today was weird for me.
I was so nervous and trembling with guilt.
~I don't have enough money.~
But my grandmother was going to buy everything.
I saw her pick out things like the price meant nothing.
She saw a pretty blouse and said "do you like it?"
Of course I liked it.
It was a pretty blue and had a very adorable set of flowers at the cusps.
The flowers were vintage.
It spoke of a librarian's day off.
A golden morning while sipping coffee,
with a walk on the beach after lunch.
but it was thirty dollars.
And I knew that if I said I liked it, she would toss into the cart.
She couldn't.
~ I don't want you to spend money on me.~
I shriveled.
As if I had aged significantly in under thirty seconds.
my back caved and my arms tucked themselves around my waist.
I suddenly found a great source of interest in my feet.
"I think it's really pretty," I utter.
"Do you want it," she asks.
It hangs like a thirty pound weight in her hands.
Of course I wanted.
"Oh, I don't think they have my size."
Of course they had my size.
She put it in.
I felt my soul snap.
How could I ask to spend so much of her earned money on me.
She works two jobs, and decides to use her paycheck on a lavish blouse for her granddaughter.
That thirty dollars could have gone towards food or gas.
How dare I become worth more than comfort?
She bought it despite my attempts to change her mind.
I love the shirt, it fits me well.
I feel confident and pretty in it.
but the guilt feels like I traded the world for it.
Jul 22, 2020
Jul 22, 2020 at 2:39 PM UTC
you asked me to stay home while you worked.
I would take care of the house and the baby.
you would give me the money and I pay the bills.
I went to school and did the paperwork.
I cleaned every room.
You told me that you hated your job.
So now you stay at home while I work.
I still go to school.
I still take care of the baby.
I still clean the house.
I still do the paperwork.
I feel drowned by the promises you didn't keep.
Your video games wake me from my daydream.
Your voice soothes my anger,
but it never leaves.
Jun 11, 2020
Jun 11, 2020 at 1:36 PM UTC
I feel lost.
Like there is someone giving me the wrong directions.
I am constantly taking the wrong turn at the intersection,
My car is low on gas.
I am lost.
It’s like I am in the woods for the first time.
Every tree looks the same, every cave is new
Even though I passed it minutes before.
This feeling goes deep into my chest
And wraps its fingers around my organs
Squeezing them until my chest seizes up.
I sit at the dinner table while my body goes to war.
I guess it doesn’t matter though because there is only one casualty.
They say not to think about it.
Pretend that the feeling isn’t there.
Blink three times, and breathe.
Snap your fingers and breathe.
Whistle a tune and breathe.
Do nothing,
Ignore it
And breathe.
Jun 11, 2020
Jun 11, 2020 at 10:49 AM UTC
So many colors in the world
too many to see
and pick from.
people that have a favorite color
astound me.
How can you choose something that
stands out in a world of beauty?
Who am I to say that green is my favorite color
on a day when I am clearly feeling blue?
Tell me something I don't know about a color,
and I will absorb into my skin
and live in the pigment.
But show me a pretty flower and suddenly
I'm consumed by red.
Let me smell a beautiful scent
that reminds me of purple,
or a song that screams magenta
and I am nothing but the rainbow.
Mar 20, 2020
Mar 20, 2020 at 2:43 PM UTC
You made it just in time,
For me to reminisce.
Looking back through the glass
I vividly see your face.
Your smile
Your hair
The way we’d encase our love
In midnight conversations.
You were
And still are
My love.
Feb 15, 2020
Feb 15, 2020 at 4:59 AM UTC
To the boy who broke my heart before I was old enough to heal from it,
I don’t know if I’ve forgiven you
Though I no longer think of you…
Every now and then, I lose consciousness to your hands once more
And your breath races down my neck,
The pain then leaks into my fingertips, as if it’s home.
It isn’t hard to brush it away, though
Like a speck of dirt on my sweater.
Small, gross, and not worth my time.
To me, our relationship was dirt.
Small, gross, and not worth my time.
Therefore, this letter isn’t too terribly hard for me to write,
But I wrote you to confess that you left me scarred.
You see, your home was my jail cell
Your words my punishment
Our relationship was a trial for a crime I never committed.
I felt lost in you.
You were a never-ending maze,
And I a hungry rat that was never quite smart enough to find the exit.
But…you forgot that even a rat realizes when their search is fruitless.
My old friend, this letter is to tell you that my scars look good on me.
And the rumors that spread like disease once I finally left you
Have built up my immune system.
Filth, grime,
Dirt and rats,
Can’t make me sick like before.
I’ve purged you.
My malady.
Jan 30, 2020
Jan 30, 2020 at 11:01 PM UTC
My Little Pony makes me think of papaw.
Weekend visits with Saturday cartoons,
We’d sit in the living room together and watch tv
Or read the newspaper.
He’d whistle so softly that my ears would strain to hear it.
Then he’d fall asleep and small snores left him in
Tiny puffs of breath.
The newspaper lay forgotten in his lap.
Eventually, he’d wake up and try to act as though
He’d been awake the whole time.
“That one is Applejack, right?” he’d ask
And although it was obviously Fluttershy,
I would ask playfully if he watched it when I wasn’t there.
But, overtime
The snores darkened
And the breath more shallow.
I began to listen more to his breath than the show,
And watch the rise and fall of his chest instead of the screen.
I waited on edge for him to wake up.
And he would.
Except, he stopped waking up last year.
His snores evaporated
And his breath died.
And with that,
So did my love for my little pony.
Jan 27, 2020
Jan 27, 2020 at 2:47 AM UTC
At what point does love become love?
When the butterflies become eagles flying in your stomach,
And your heart skips too many beats?
Does it start when you come together
and your eyes connect like old friends.
your hands meeting like they’ve been apart for too long.
When there is too much distance between your knees
And not enough time in the day to look at them.
Does love come after you’ve carved your names in the sandstone behind your house?
wrote their name on the corner of your paper,
As if they are your new sun.
Or is love when you talk to them while they ****
And sit naked to talk
Or after you adopt two dogs,
Begin step-fathering a cat
Begin the process of adopting another cat
And mourning the loss of two pups along the way
All while having a child of your own
Is it when you agree to argue,
because the relationship is so perfect, it leaves no room for anger?
When passion is so bright that marks are left and cherished?
And each day is the first time that they smiled at you,
The first time you kissed, touched, yelled.
Love is hearing that people knew you two were getting together
Long before either of you did.
Knowing what the other wants without even thinking about it
Love is buying socks for Christmas
And not being disappointed.
Buying candles that you both like.
Never cleaning the house when you say you will.
Sleeping with two blankets but never feeling separated
Compromising on the small things
Struggling together for the big
It is seeing them pack on a few pounds
And wish they would put on more.
Because each pound in another that you can love
And hold.
Love doesn’t come from the big infatuations
the loud confessions on rooftops
Or swimming pools full of rose petals.
And diamonds on a weekday
It is the soft shelled,
Gross
mess
that makes every day more amazing than the last.
Dec 29, 2019
Dec 29, 2019 at 4:30 AM UTC