2 0 2


The flames flicker
Red hot coals
A rhythmic glow
My love burning
Time through the glass

Choosing the burn
Elevate the pain
I have nothing left

3 0 3

I know, sweetheart

I’ve been fooled before
just as you have
with stories
and smiles and situations
that make us feel as though,
there’s the feeling
there’s the one
only to find out,

it’s just another thanksgiving meal
not quite Christmas
not quite all hallows eve

So we rest in being fooled
and we laugh along
because the fool isn’t something done
on purpose
it’s just done.

we laugh along because we don’t
want them to know it hurts
we don’t want them to know the pain…
and it’s our hearts that suffer through it
moreover than theirs.

1 0 1


the hardest part
of you and i
is not in saying hello
but in saying

3 0 3

Irregular Symmetry

This post is not available to guests, please login or register to view this post.
2 0 2

Where Do the Ducks Go?

A young man once asked

a cab driver in a troubled voice,

“Where do the ducks go

in the wintertime?”


Call me ignorant.

Call me out on my simplicity,

but similar thoughts have crossed my mind.


You shake your head at me,

rolling your stormy blue eyes.

You tell me they fly south

just like the robins and the geese.


But, as you sit there

with a smug smile pursed on your lips,

I can’t help but wonder

about the last one to hatch--

the runt of the bunch that struggled

to free himself from his warm white enclosure.


I can’t help but think

of the yellow ball of fluff

that still waddles behind his mother,

watching wide-eyed from the ground

while his brothers take off into the horizon.


Where do the ducks go

when the pond freezes over?


Where do we go when

the icy wind is at our faces,

and we’re not sure if we can fly? 

0 0 0

I miss you

I miss you

like an ache in my bones

contracted muscles

encompassing an empty space

wandering eyes

to find a reminder on my finger


carved into my skull

that'll never reach my lips

my mouth going through the motions

but never amounting to much

and my fingers

inching towards

but never hitting 

the send button

2 0 2

[title undecided]

Frenetic fireflies glinted behind her eyes that summer. I didn't know what had changed her, but she swung her arms freely, wore loose hemp bracelets with colored beads, drew wild birds with marker in the crooks of her elbows: I never knew till then she was ambidextrous. Electricity crackled and sparked between us like lightning kissing telephone wires in a midsummer storm. I kept hoping her straw-colored hair was wild and dry enough to light a fire in, but all summer long we smiled and laughed and smiled; she thirsted too much to drive her closed eyelids into the rain, so I indulged it all, glad, at least, for her presence.

Once, at school, I snuck up behind her during lunchtime as she stared intently into her white computer screen at an empty table beside the wall. As I reached out to poke her in the ribs my eyes glanced across text and the blinking cursor: Pond water festers in my veins and my heart has stopped trying to turn it into blood. I have been trying to forget myself before anyone else remembers me. I backtracked, stepped quietly away, but sometimes when she looks me in the eyes and asks me where the thunder's gone I wonder whether she heard me breathing behind her, then.

She vowed, one spring night under the stars, after hours clinging so hard to a boy's stomach as his motorbike screamed down a deserted Minnesota highway that the imprint of her clenched fists took three days to fade from his skin, to exist. This I learned after her death, after that summer, when the boy came up to the funeral podium holding a battered piece of paper that held only aimless sketches of her eyes and crumpled against it. After he left her, the only way she knew how to hold onto him was by expanding in her promise to live, and so she did wildly, desperately, swallowing soil and sunshine into her open throat to grow wildflowers out of each of her orifices. After that summer was over, they told her she had to let go. So she let autumn dry the auburn leaves and pressed her wildflowers between the pages of her journal, and as one by one the foliage fell, she let go.

0 0 0

Don't Forget My Name

They say that sex is more than just 
another way to numb the lonely nights.
Until now, I believed 
it would never be more than that
for someone like me.
But, when I look at you, I see everything
I've spent the last five years searching for
in the beds of men who never
remembered my name in the morning.
Don't just fuck me like the rest of them, baby,
Show me that love isn't just a word used in 
fairytales and chick flicks.
Don't forget my name.

0 0 0

Rape Culture

When you’re ten
and your father’s
friends grin
and tell you how nicely
you’re developing, 
you learn to keep playing
and say thank you
because you’re still
too young to understand
just what they mean 
by that. 
When you’re thirteen
and your mother’s
lover buys you a new 
dress because
“it’ll look sexy on you”,
you learn to wear it  
no matter how much you
hate it
and say thank you 
because you don’t want
to cause another argument.
When you’re sixteen
and that guy on the football team
spikes your drink at a party
and muffles your screams with
his fist as he 
slams himself into you
you learn to keep your mouth
and say thank you
because you know nobody
is going to believe you
if you tell the
When you’re twenty
and your mind gets the best of you
telling you it was all your fault, 
you deserved it,
nobody will ever want you now, 
you learn to
and say thank you
because you know that
for the first time
the power is in your

0 0 0


Some say they've seen another world
where life and death collide
and all the earthly darkness
suddenly seems insignificant.
God, they say, waits on the other side,
offering salvation for a life well spent.
I've never been a big believer in angels and the heavens,
but some nights, I sit up wondering if maybe
there is more to this life than just
shooting whiskey and writing bad poetry.
Maybe God is up there saying
"Don't worry, darlin', it'll all be worth it someday."