The light from your cigarette
Illuminated the path
I knew it would burn out
But I wanted it to last

Walking with you made everything better
You made my feet feel like a bus
Each step was a stop; getting lighter
You made my body feel a rush

You told me that
The present is too dreamy
Unlike the past
Because it is linked with no memory

And I told you that
Although my shell is straight
My shadow is crumbling
And I am held down by its weight

And so we walked on
While you shared your wisdom
And I felt free
Unleashed from my prison

Your thoughts were surreal
I wanted to plant seeds in your skull
Because your mind was so bright
That the flowers would grow

Our steps became synchronized
Together as we walked
And our minds were open
Our secrets unlocked

Then the light from your cigarette
Burned out at last
But the luminosity of your mind
Illuminated the path

give me love because lately I've been trying to tie a ribbon in my mouth. I forget too soon all the lessons i learned from leaving the south.

i bend over backwards and open my chest in a position to bring it to rest like Prima the Ballerina. My fingers ***** the empty air as if to pluck a rosy twang from a long bow I just imagined. my circumference dissipates to reveal my core, wake up not any more in  a beaten trailer, but a nest full of hope.

i'm wearing a black body suit and i finally have strength to stand on my toes. My point is I wish I had stood up for myself.

I can't forget looking down at the sad scene and I knew : I could never write again.

I lived in a place where the windows were nailed shut. You had to drink from a broken cup. Still. There's a place within that I refused to give up.



An angel above watched the figure of a girl stumble out from a tunnel into a staggering light, her feet ***** through the next 3 years of her life. The angel was forbidden to break a strict law of interference. The angel stood like an innocent bystander at a bar, babysitting her drink as the tall young brunette the one with beachy hair, she had sailor striped earrings,  staggered into womanhood. The angel hovered closely over her shoulder during the young lady's independent study of the greatest lesson in life's classroom: Acceptance. Finally. On the brink of the greatest love of all.

"Give me love!" She shouted from a rooftop and crossed that off her to-do list. Then she danced like there was no one who could judge her except the angel who sat there in Lovely Sally leggings in a wistful stare, her blood had turned into alcohol. She wondered who this person was, too full of music to be filled with sorrow, dancing in a **** hole and on rooftops. She knew as an angel, she shouldn't drink, but no one judged her. She knew a few monks that smoked.

This chick had drank more than enough, hollered on a rooftop, kissed a girl, and now was too tired to stand, she swayed like willow tree. The 20 year old traveled without stopping to a park & sat
in the same seat she did when she was 17 and made love for the first time.  Now the angel was seeing double.

The angel had this silly thought to take her to a rural town in Germany. Angels were allowed to visit any where and with any one. That's what she was doing now.


She watched her pick herself up and find herself home after a long wistful silence.  The angel glanced at the spot under the oak tree after she dissapeared from her eyes.   She left behind a checkerboard composition notebook bookmarked with a  pink mechanical pencil. It was her to-do list.

- learn ballet
- buy my cat the most toys on the block
- afford sophisticated clothes
- get new violin strings and bow
- drink more water
- love myself
-donate nice clothes to an unfortunate girl
-deforestation

The angel read all 47 items through her bloodshot eyes and decided she'd help fullfill it.

I see under myself,
In the acrylic mirror.
Expressionless portrait
Of sorrow and wonderment
Artistic beauty of self expression.
Picasso-ish,
Contemplations of self
Breathing out obsessions
Unspoken words being heard, and
Thoughts being felt.
Between the lines I see
A façade of Truth
Contrast and color,
Painting the knowledge within.
Withering traditions,
Confessions tell
Of being strangers to ourselves.

there's something truly nice with writing long, poetic notes
it makes the baggage easier to carry and manage
keeps you from further damage
to what is already broken beneath
and underneath the beautiful surface
as a poet, i've experienced a lot
as a young girl, i grew up fast
my childhood didn't last
had to be an adult
before the appropriate age
had to feel heartbreak
and sadness all over the place
i could feel an ache in my bones
a sense of sadness when alone
cried my eyes out at home
and hid the pain away
taking showers
to disguise my tears
hoping sadness would fade
wrote about love for hours
dreamt of you and my fears
destroyed myself to cope
pain changed my view on life
and the relationships i'd had
thoughts are like knives
stabbing me deeper
each and every time