I kept chasing
you, as if
you were
a distant dream.
But dreams
are not always
dreams.
Sometimes, we have
nightmares too.

a man's word
is all he has,
a poet's word
may just be
a pipe dream.

Well, she looks like a witch,
Her pointed nose does twitch.
As she frowns upon the grocery list,
Then scrunches in a timely twist.

Bidding her straw broom,
Which she doth groom.
Hovers away into the gloom,
Over a pond she doth loom.

To frogs, rats, snakes and slime,
Quoth she, "All in good time!!"
Soon they'll be no room,
For the impending doom.

Her cauldron happily hissing,
As she adds to the seething,
Her black cat begins meowing,
After the rats, he begins running.

Slowly cooling the putrid portion,
She applies the lovely lotion.
The moles, warts and silver hair,
Disappear into thin air.

Her velvet apparel now lace,
Not a blemish does one trace.
Fondling her silky Siamese,
She heads home with ease.

To the little candy castle,
Awaiting Hansel and Gretel.

(read forward, then backward, line by line)

I ran.
Not knowing what else to do
There was so much blood on my hands
It was mine
The kitchen knife
Caught in my chest
Guilt
Consumed by
Fear
I was heightened by
Adrenaline
But running on
Wasn’t enough
While trying to stay calm,
Losing control
It was me that would end up
Dead. Because
He was
In front of me
The whole time
It was too late
Trapped
I found myself
Locked in chains
My fate was
Death.

My hands still remember the quiet aching of these wounds — too deep and wide for stitches and shaky hands. And so, I never learned to unpack my grief. It still is in a suitcase with December dusks and dreary summers — shut in secret library walls. I never learned to unpack my grief because I'm terrified that when I do, it'll be way too messy to place it back where it belongs.


Some things, we never tell ourselves out loud.

I'm so tired
Can I just go to sleep?
No?
Okay
Just           a      k
          w                   e       up
to a new morn
and new problems
while the old remain undisturbed

Her lips were stained red,
   Her bright smile, utter dread.
      Befitting a She-vampire,
         "But tis only Beetroot, Sire!"