June was a disastrous month, with no direction but home,
as if it, home, was magnetized, and every escape/avoidance
attempt was refuted, and the irrevocable demanded my time,
my presence, in the city, where all my troubles lay pus~festering
lesions,  yanking me from my refuge, my peace of mind tattered
with bacillus interruptus

She called June the month of clusterf—ck, accurate and uncharacteristically, unlike her, a violent, ***** epithet

but correct.

July, the month that the gods of Cesar jealously rule,
bring Les Surprises, and the pattern recommences and
the mind surgically thinks calm yet knows no peace,
and sleep is contaminated, the dreams violent and
repetitiously, ******… a sure sign of the tumult within…
the eerie and  the unstable interrupting my writing,
breathing and ever constant denial of the peace afforded by
successfully lying to myself…

a minor action bring flaming, flashing warning lights on
my human dashboard, seemingly unconnected, but perhaps
a single sensor has gone detective… for the uncorrelated
stability of this vehicle, my anti-skid system have been triggered and the dread check engine light is ominously continuously yellow…implying worse is yet to come, before the finality of…red

symbolism us everywhere; inescapable, unavoidable and
irrecoverable and perhaps, alas, the worst - irreconcilable!
all this is the slowest excoriation of excruciating…and it’s
everpresent, omnipresent, like an angered finger pointing
a constant thunderbolt of guilt, which points transfixedly
at me…with the sneers of thunder preceeding its electricity

last year, around this time, the heart was near to dare explode,
with no overt warning that was paid proper heed, now I pay
and pay but there is no specialist available to cure, let alone,
properly diagnose what’s ailing me…even though I know
exactly, I cannot openly confess the origins of My Malaise

I recover old poems, mine, that delve into the mysteries of
solace, and they should  offer comforting direction, but the
sticking place is strong within my chest and all topical
creams cannot penetrate sufficiently to offer relief, let
alone, let alone, let a l o n e, provide an effective curettage of
removal…

symbols come before my eyes in formulas I do not understand,
which renders them worse than useless, for if a formula cannot
begin or end with = sign, what good is it, what good am I,
and now post-reparation, my heart speaks to me volubly
with such troubled sadness, I am nearly and dangerous
close to being a being who is nearly *frightened unto death

Everyone has a favorite ex.



Everyone is the one who got away. I'm broken as all ****. I don't know how to let go. I keep starting new problems. I'm at my very core exactly the ***** my father was and accused me of being. I wish I wasn't this way

I wish
I wasn't
This way


But I've written more poems about you than anyone I've ever known. I crave you more than a cigarette. I can't help myself. Even when we're all together I give you the look. I use the name I called you in bed. I can't sit here and pretend you don't miss me. I can't sit and pretend you don't want to kiss me. To touch me one more time. No matter how long it's been and how far we've come and how much we love each other's significant other. Regardless of circumstance. If we could do it one more time. If we could play pretend and go back just for a night. I would pick you. You would pick me. No telling. No taksies backsies. We would.

I'm proud as **** of you. I'm glad I get to be here for this.
All I wanted was to be here for this

But I would be under you in a heartbeat if you asked
If you offered
If we spent a second alone.


I love you still
I miss you

i want to love myself
but i don't know how
drifting in and out
     between the reality and my delusions
trying to search for that vigor
that will to be alive—
to be excited of the sunrise
and feel calm
     soaking under the afternoon sun
and love the changing hues
     of the skies at dusk
and wish the moon a good night
     never fearing the dreams to come
then adore the peeking light at dawn
     reflecting the days waiting to be lived

but then it's gone
all that's left was a monotonous black
accompanied by a crippling silence
followed by the surge of doubts
     storming down my confidence
     its lightning striking
as i look into the mirror
     staring at my silhouette
     with its pieces shattering one by one
just as how, piece by piece
     i slipped into the pit
freefalling
and finally losing
     the will i tried so hard to keep
leaving me with nothing
but a void

you walk this earth
with nothing but pain
and yet you blossom
so beautifully—
a lotus in winter,
defying all odds
and all of nature.

you are more than
who you think you are.
a king without a throne,
a lion without a pride—
you can be either
without anything else
to your name.

i am not who birthed me,
and i will not apologize
for this space i consume.

i am not their mistake
and i will not mistake
kinship for love
any longer.

i will own myself
once and for all.

near three years, nearer to eclipses,
since last scribed here, been there
been loved, mistreated, done my share
of giving beatings, for the deserving,
never been any body’s biatch, no starting
now=ever.

men look at me, their eyes self-seducing,
a crook(ed) finger never summoned me
or any self respecting woman of valor,
with a full fist of words, a tongue sharper
than a deli slicer, if looks can ****, then
left my fair share of men on the Riviera,
the Hamptons, the Gold Coast, uptown
and way downtown where the cool kids
pretend play @ being prey hunting grownups.

ya, hear your thinking and it’s stinking,
my generated magno-electric vibes that’s
to blame, get this kids! never your fault
being whom you the actual F are, it’s their filters
that ***** their vision, their desires unbidden,
casual dispensed, thinking glory is theirs to share.

my road is not broken, there are signs even I spot,
when the man I crave is nearby, whose calm is not
couched cool, who doesn’t wear his possessions on
his sleeve, one who says adventure, yes, let’s go,
never saying when, for the only when is what both crave,
the loving of immediacy of “right now,” and add
to that pithy, my name, Brandy, acknowledging it’s
me, just me, he addresses and not some vision that
was crafted by others into an ideal,  and ‘because’ is
not sufficient but the perfect rationale, to trust what
your absent father called your “finely tuned instincts for
human finery, humans who eclipse ordinary stars”

My mind's like a seafaring vessel,
Ready to sink with an overload
Of volatile rhymes that scuffle and wrestle
And at any moment may explode

Heaven knows I've tried to stem the tide,
But every thought turns to poetry;
I fear, while interred on some peaceful hillside,
I'll be rhyming through eternity!