I don't write poems often, but there are a few I feel I should share.


Someone told me once

That my freckles show when I'm happy

And since I met you

They're all I notice

Right on the bridge of my nose.

Like little remnants of you. 

You drew the blinds

Little spots of sun

Dancing across your skin

The remnants of a star

Blossoming right under your eyelashes.

There's a field in the summer

With a sky freckled with stars

And a treeline singing

Notes of fireflies

And then I see them-

On the bridge of my nose

Just barely waking up-

A mini universe

That you shared with me.

You make me happy.

I'm Trying I Swear

I strapped an anchor to my ankles,

Blindly- eyes closed.

Lines get tangled,

Tongue mangled.

Why can't I handle these weights?

Makeup just bait for later debates.


Smile, sign my name to these petty games,

Pretending I'm more than this-

More than a kiss

More than a flaker

More than an ember.


I want to catch fire,

But there are other dire, higher signals of smoke.

So I choke, I cough, I break it off,

And I slip back down

No sound as I drown

In my own stupid pity

In a little city of loneliness,

Of brokenness.

I just want a sense of closeness.


There's only up from here, dear

Constantly beating through my ears.

So I pick up my pieces

Find releases and hope-

Not for an again

But for a new end.

None like this,

With empty men,

No button for send,

No hands to lend.


There's only forward, no looking back

But I wait for its attack

For this life to crash-

Hand me my sash

For Misunderstood

For Misconstrued

For Misheard.

Because hearts burn and yearn

But mine just hums,

As its always done.


So I wait for its attack.

It's moonlight it needs 

And in it sweeps, 

Cold winter breeze.




I recite.


Ignite a light

This life is a fight

For a smile,

No crocodile tears here-

Only hidden fears

Of this pain not so sharp

But dark and deep

Like paint it seeps-

Dyeing my skin and eyes

Vying for my demise

Blurring colors

Confusing my mother.


So I write to think.

Create to speak.

Poetically, and quietly.

But still just as violently.

A Bad Self-Portrait

I'm letting the line go again.

Turning my back again.

You know those drawings?

The ones where you stare

Only at the subject's face.

Imagine the page bare.

Don't pick up the pen,

Or you'll have to start again.

Let it touch the page,

Map his face,

Know every trait,

Slow to trace

Every back road home

Every curve

Every bone.

Suddenly you're alone. With him.

Lift the pen and you're alone again.

Screaming behind the wheel again.

Headlights off again.

Jeopardizing everything-

Everyone again.

Do you know those drawings?

Where the ends never connect.

Just abandoned

An incident

Where the finished product

Looks like the jacked-up knock off-

lost Romanov

The scrambled face of Chekhov-

An attempt at understanding,

At capturing,

At aiding

These breaking humans

With their lies and suicides

And heartbreaks and This is fates

Ugly little fakes

Since you could never afford

The real make and model-

Fondle me.


Handle me gently. Please.

I am scared of those jumbled faces

Of their bleak places and alluded stasis

I'm too weak to pick up the pen

Because I'm terrified that these ends

Will never connect-

My Own Picasso

Can't say I didn't see the flashing lights

Told me to slow down,

Warned me to catch my breath.

I was just too caught up,

In this dream of mine,

This twisted scheme of my death.

Your reassuring tightening around my waist

Holding me in,

Keeping me safe.

You hit the breaks when I couldn't see

Blinded, by all that was me.

Hold on, a little bit longer now.

You'll see the starts brighter soon.

Hold on, you've made it this far somehow.

But don't look for me.

Don't wait for me.

You painted over the cracks in my walls,

Beautifying all of my flaws.

Jackhammers outside our window

Beating down, creating ripples.

Starting to feel the effects of the alcohol

Dripping through

And I could

Hear the words you whispered

As I broke apart too.

No Line

Cold toes.

Cold nose.

Cold no's.

Heavy eyes sinking into my skull

Looking further more, for more

More excuses

More over-uses

Of the word hurt.

I hurt.

Skin stings.

Eyes burn.

Everything rings a bell-

The breeze from up a well

I've fallen down before.

I can't write like I used to.

My hurt doesn't feel like it used to.

Scratch this out.

Etch out that.

These marks on my skin, my fat

Are from my inabilities-

Like prayer stones

Praying for facilities

For civilities

For the revival of nobility

For a real sense of stability.

If the scars fade have the gods heard my pleas?

Father Socrates,

Allusive and fleeting thoughts.


Father Socrates.

Will I fade into someone else's creations?

Consistent installations of me

In every scene-

In the drunkard's rambled writings,

The disillusioned musician's melody,

The artists cracking pooled ink.

Why can't I think straight?

Kitchen sink blonde- at that.

I retreat to the same bad rhymes.

I can't write like I used to

When my hurt doesn't glow like it used to-

Don't misread my words

Give me turn

To voice a concern:

I can't be alone

In feeling disgraced


Handed a drink well-laced.

I can't be alone-

You're too pretty!

Such a pity...

How could a face like that go to waste?

I can't be alone-

A fast paced world 

Forgetting we were just girls

Like when it happened, it made us women.


We're all bitten by the same demon-

Some beaten

Some scared of the word semen

For fear that it might deepen the wound.

And if it does?

Our own government attempting treason

Against our bodies 

Teeming with trauma.

But every girl should want to be a momma.

Of the night

That causes our bodies to convulse?

Our bones ache.

Our skin weeps.

Delving back to the retreat of sheets

That too can snag our feet

Over hidden reefs-

Streaks of struggle

And nowhere for us to huddle.

I can't look my father in the eye

Because I don't want him to see a pain

Calling the name

Of a boy he'll never see.

The boy who started the undoing of me.

Some days I can breathe steady.

And others

I claw at my skin-



But you're so pretty.

I take photos of myself

To stash on a shelf

For a rainy afternoon

When all I see is you

On your phone

On that damn bed

Forced me to give you-

You can't even look up as I leave.

And I'll retreat back to similar sheets.

Naive, fading sweets

Folding into bitter wine.

Why try?

This is it, right?



I'm coming unclasped.



Need a hand? 

It's what I'm good for.

You're so pretty.

But you never thought I was.



Apparently needed a boost,

Led me to a dark room.

You. On the bed.

Why didn't you just give up?

I was your last pick-

And I was a prude bitch.

That's your no.

Not a challenge.

How can I feel beautiful

When I see my big blue eyes

My best feature

Swollen shut?


How can I feel beautiful

When I see the splotches-

When the makeup comes off

Where I've rubbed and scratched raw

To get you out of my head

Off of my face.




I can't be alone-

What a pity you think like this,

In broken verse,

A story clearly rehearsed. 


But how can I speak new thoughts


The memory of you

On the bed

Never raised your head

Purple beaded neck


Mom told me I'm not worthless

I'll never enjoy this

Is this what sex is

Just be a little reckless

Strangers on my guest list

I stayed in his guest room

I can't keep my hands off you

He's a fucking writer too

Drinks and smoke and bathrooms

Guest room- bathroom mirror

Are my eyes missing from fear, or-

He's turning the bathroom doorknob

Why didn't you tell the cops?

Didn't you tell your pops?

I'm so sorry, Mom

I didn't scream, Mom

I never said no, Mom

How would he know, Mom

I sent him an email at his job though

Kissed him on my tip-toes

Find the calm before the storm

Never let a man get bored

Dead floating board on my back

He never attacked me

But tricked me

Scripted me

Left his god-damned name on me

Jesting and plaguing my watermark

Never look up as I depart

Not worthy of a man's heart

If I'm not worthy of a man's look

Look at me with those pretty eyes

Tell myself I'm fine.

It's fine.

My friends will be fine. 

My sisters will be fine.

My daughters will be fine. 

Because there's a no line, right?

So that'll keep us safe, right?

I didn't fight anything-

I don't remember mentioning-

I wasn't comprehending-

But there's a no line.

So I'm the one to blame, right?

Because though I was drugged


I never said no, right?


Keeps running through my head.

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