He looks so weak

lying in a hospital bed

begging god

for a second chance at life


He had a farm

and loved to work

he loved his wife

and she gave birth

to two beautiful children

that they raised together

and he’d have that back

to relive forever


His eyes look so tired

and his voice breaks

with my heart



Insurmountable walls surrounding an object of implicit desire
A shield of icebergs surrounding an insatiable raging fire
The road forks here – it’s split between hire and heart
I’m wrestling inside, and it’s tearing me apart
Twitch the hand, blink the eye, turn the head
One without the other, I’d sooner be dead
Just stop ripping me to pieces
I’m being torn at my creases
Until there’s nothing
There’s nothing


There is no one to follow

No example to live by

No footsteps to fill.

Just as well there is no one to lead

No one to guide

I am no one’s example of anything.

Perhaps that makes me an example of nothing

Or does that simply make me alone

Crying internally for external affection?


But we all know frogs go-

BOOMBA! Will anyone be my hey?

The clatter of dice hitting the table

warm sticky air, the sound of coins

jingling for purchase in the yard

the first fleeting sensation

warm ripples of liquid teal

across my sole; rumbling

lightning flashes, perfectly white

laying softly in the palms

Here amongst the tourists

like a single drop in an ocean

that single white drop

of a seashell, the echos and roar

ringing in your ears; will it stay?

For how long?

In years to come when someone picks

up that shell will they hear?

Laughter and jokes; no

just the low roar; but yes

I will

Remember this summer


-P.s  http://youtu.be/EXRtF0bepNs (GOOD SONG)

Mad About You, Mark Rothko

Mad About You, Mark Rothko (red red red red red red red)



i am the girl in the red coat—and you are mark rothko, saying

“hello well read girl in a red coat and

red rain boots” and licking your lips like grimm’s grimmest wolf


you painted portraits of my cherryred childhood melt onto the asphalt and

the other sticky things that got on other hands behind

the Office Depot during the class i skipped on Tuesday (just to see you!!!!!!)


SOON AFTER: the trees turned into glass Coke bottles

and i became beside myself, with a wet mouth, wet eyes,

and waited for tomorrow when they found you on the floor:


red red red red red red red on the floor

red red red red red red red on your canvas


who cried for you mark rothko

Metaphorically Speaking

 I am a poem

I am several similes

With all my similarities

To the natural

And the fabricated artificial

I am the dramatic hyperboles

Life’s entertaining comedies

And simply bringing theatricality

To the dullness of reality

I speak with a genius of jargon

Or in slang without begging pardon

So long as you can understand me

I’m speaking to you directly

I am the most vivid imagery

When you look at me can’t you see

The shooting stars in my eyes

That shoot for dreams beyond our skies

I am the complexity of poetry

The angst of burning curiosity

For I’m about to throw a wrench in this flow

In the next five lines or so

I am this extended metaphor

But I ask something more

After the metaphor’s validity

If I’ve just mentioned it previously

Does the poem lose all meaning?

I desperately need some answering

I’m not worthless or meant to be forgotten

If indeed I am this poem


As I stroll along this urban pier,
Gazing into the depths of Lake Michigan,
I cannot help but think of you,
Remember your awe striking eyes,
Your jubilant laugh,
The blissful experiences we shared with each other.
The memories sweep into my mind,
One upon another,
Just like the aquamarine waves
That crash onto the concrete beneath my feet.
Although these glimpses of the past
Paint a smile across my face,
They still bring a bittersweet pain to my heart,
For as I stare into the abyss of the night,
I become well aware
That I can never again
Run through the vast field of those joyful times
With you.
Yet I cling onto hope,
Desperate hope,
That one day,
I will be in your presence once more.

You Watched

You watched me burn. You watched me die in that fiery pit of anguish. You watched me tear apart my ribcage and reveal the still-beating muscle mass within. You watched me try countless times to pull myself from that pit of horrors that held me down. You watched my writhing mass beg for an end to the focus-less, empty life I had obtained.

You watched and did nothing.

From A Modern Day Juliet

Am I truly as low, as dirty, as stupid

As you make me feel when I say that

I love him?


Is it so vile, so disgusting, so damnable

An expression to you

That you should look down your nose at me?


How can something as precious, as sacred, as intimate

As what I share with him be snatched away so easily

By words slung from your contemptuous lips?


Is it wrong to feel so free, so loved, so safe

In his company so warm and open

That I should keep him a secret treasure?


Or perhaps if I should be with him

Would you rather have me not be at all

Would you rather me dead?


Of course, I kissed him without knowing his name

And I’ve made his acquaintance for only two days…


Never mind everything I was just saying

Please proceed with your life 🙂

They Say

They say times are hard, but they’re not as hard as the concrete floors I’ve slept on, or the walls of the subways I’ve begged in, or my heart after you abandoned me.

They say things become better – and they might.
But it won’t be the same as it was.