The dusk is my maker
  My cradle, my keeper  
The dawn, my destroyer
  My coffin, my reaper
The night is my maiden
  My goddess, my muse
The day is my widow
  My black and my blues
The dark is my armor
  My sword and my shield
The light, my crusade
  My faith battlefield
The moon is my wolf
  My loner, my guide
The sun is my lion
  My tyrant, my pride
Casting these shadows
  In which I will hide
From the blinding egos
  That I'm still trapped inside

We meet adversity,
  friend or foe

One to run from,
  the other to know

Their dress identical,
  intention the same

Accepted—Rejected,
  the truth is renamed

(Villanova Pennsylvania: January, 2017)

I never read it,
  the way it was written

I never wrote it,
  the way it should read

The lines connected,
  were for me to be broken

A lesson once ending,
  is where I began

I spoke out of time,
  out of place…out of line

I wrote what I saw,
  once the future was gone

I prided myself,
  in a vision self nurtured

Asking permission for nothing,
  —and forgiveness for less

(Villanova Pennsylvania: February,2017)

Allowed to grow unfettered,
  allowed to grow unnamed

Allowed to grow beyond myself,
  connected once again

Swept up by the wind that brought me,
  and free of nether mind

A light now shines within my soul,
—that once had come to blind

(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2017)

I can't read all the books,
or be all the people,
or live all the lives.
But I can feel every tone,
shade and hue.

Fill my lungs with mountains,
and grass and skies.
Watch my life branch out like
a moreton bay fig.
Here comes lonely
and blue,
and I'll feel every tone,
and shade and hue.

There's no way out of my head,
so I'll devour the rain,
beautiful and annihilating,
full and terminal.
Every tone,
shade and hue.

Scribble, Scribble, Scribble. The scratch-work of a madman.
Dribble, dribble, dribble from a half cooked brain.
Half up, Half down, half here, half elsewhere,
Half heartedly chasing a thought.
If there’s a point here,
I’ve lost it
again.

No.
That was it.
Of course, it was her.
The one who flirts with my tired mind
as she sends him unravelling and
screaming like a maniac off of his meds.
The little ***** that tricks with games I always lose.  

Lavender, rosemary. What’s this I’m on about again?
It’s vanished. Disappeared. No hope to regain.  
I tell myself stories  until I just
lose the plot. What? ****. Not again.
I’m so, so sorry.
I just can’t
even.

I'm surrounded by hippies
self proclaimed hippies
I should add
Because if they were real hippies
They would understand
How to love
people,
and nature,
and ******* everything

I'm not surrounded by real hippies
I'm surrounded by people craving excitement
Not because of the beautiful adventure available in the excitement of life
But because of the fear of being alone
However, its in my loneliest moments
Spent texting
or snapchatting
or on two hour long phone calls
that I feel more alive than ever
I smile more than I have all day
And not the same fake smile I have at work
That smile that I have to wear
cause honestly, my job depends on it
No, not that ******* smile

Its the smile that you hear through the phone
The one that holds the true happiness I feel when I talk to you
The one you love so much
that you've written about it in so many of your poems
It's the smile you'll see when you kiss me on the cheek in the morning
I'll wear it when I'm making you breakfast
You'll see it for hours spent rolling around in our sheets
God, you'll probably get sick of me always wearing that smile
Just know that the smile you see
Showing on my mouth but truly radiating from my eyes
Is the product of a girl so head over heels in love
With you