I am endless, immense,
no God nor Goddess am I.
No fixed being,
no stagnant, static entity,
no trapped energy,
no universe.
I am ever revolving,
undulating, expanding,
experiencing,
growing, evolving,
understanding.
I am eternal, infinite,
unfathomable,
unlimited.
I am woman, and I am endless.

eyes roll back
lips part slightly
soft moans come
short breaths loosed
steel thighs melt
nails dig in
possession?
small death?
or both?

Time and time again I self-sabotage
I drink the poison; I eat the dollar bills
I make bad decision after bad decision
to punish myself.

Now, I think it’s time I pour out the wine,
pour out my soul and let go of the pain
because how else will I ever hope to heal
my future when I keep beating myself up
over the past.

Barnacled shipwrecks are beautiful in their sundered glory.
Ivy-covered age-old walls are deemed charming and quaint.
The moon is mystifying even with craters that can be seen with the naked eye

Neither age nor imperfections make you any less whole.
Instead, they showcase your closeness with nature and authentic beauty.

He comes, she goes, no one every really sticks around much.
It rains, the sun bares its face, the clouds come back to steal it’s thunder.
Nothing is ever set in stone
Well, except for maybe human bones and Founding Fathers.

This is a poem I quickly threw together after I heard the line “Since when did my apartment become your watering hole of choice?” —Dan Humphery, Gossip Girl, S2:E22, 21:45-21:40. The last two lines are a play on Mount Rushmore and the setting, Founding Fathers, a bar that often appears in the hit TV Drama, Bones. In the show, Dr. Temperance Brennan, Agent Booth, and their friends often meet at FF for drinks after work. The poem is basically saying, “Nothing is certain, except alcohol and my favorite watering hole.”

Night flower blossoming
Beneath the summer sky
Petal parasols unfurling
Throughout June and July

She was born under the moon
Nocturnal butterfly
Pollinated by pale moths
To live one day then die

Moonflower blooms in warmth
Her short season’s end nigh
Shriveling once the frost sets in
And conceding to the ice

Moonblossom rich in scent
A true pleasure to stand by
Her short-lived sweet fragrance
Would all surely vivify

As you wrote my name in
cursive with your tongue
I saw explosions behind my eyelids,
I heard a melody that was
so blissfully new, yet familiar,
I tasted lightning and saw colors
that for now have no name here,
and only exist in that realm.