a. She uncomfortably collects her most intimate belongings.

b. You bring the plague while coughing up the ghosts of my past.

c. Torn, split, cut in front of your very eyes, i'm asked what is torturing my skin. Each blister for every doubt.

d. A jazz musician asks me "Have you heard the new Justin Timberlake album?"

Every creative person I know has a phone from two- thousand-four, and is proud to show it.  Suddenly I am the outcast.

Mallory Whitman sits across from me as I eat my soup I move to the counter with a mirror, peek up, see myself writing, and tell myself "I am Mallory Whitman"

Sometimes I wonder what we will continue to talk about, and if you will ever know me and love me as much as he did, or still does. I'm beginning to second guess my will to drop everything for you. My hands flutter with confusion as I try to make sense of what has happened, loosing my self doubt with every glance looking my way.

Trends really impact the lives of people who care. Food, fashion, things they find enjoyable such as music, and art. These people are not living.

If the trend is "anything goes"- then allow me to be myself.

I sit in crowded places in hopes of meeting someone like you again.

This is the place where humans fill up brown cardboard boxes of "healthy food" and overlook union square. The problem is that our stomaches are NOT the the size of cardboard boxes.

"If I were to break into my body, what would I steal?"
As if it were so easy to break into my bones, I never never broken a bone, but you ask me what is worth stealing, most would say "my heart" but without my bones, my frame would fall apart.

The beauty in retail is having sixty-five personalities in one store at one time and every one of them knows who you are- never have I been so popular.

Being called a writer or poet allows me to feel like my words once ment something to someone, somewhere.  At one point in time I changed the corse of thoughts running through the mind of another living, breathing, thinking being.