And I Stand Here

Her heart had the ebb of a fleeting sea.
Standing ashore, I wept at the constant push and pull;
How will I sleep,
without the hums of her crashing waves?
So I listen to conch shells,
echoing apparitions
that don’t respond back.

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I made a big life decision today. So I tore open a new notebook, promising to write again. Then I look to my shelf

A library of false, quarter written , promises. I’ve felt it, the emptiness, without having written words. Like a heavy heart, I felt an ache to pour out my emotions on a page, but the excuses came

I’m too busy, I’m working too much, I’m mentally fatigued. All of these excuses. 

Shame. It’s been a year since my last post. Will I wait another year? 

Or will I Fucking do it already. 

The Bus Against the Creek

The school bus slept at the bank of the creek. Blotches of brown crusted its face and a toupee of twigs and feathers made a silly hideous man that welcomed Ashley and I.

The smell is what I remembered most: old rotting plastic leather and stale water. We didn’t mind the mosquito bites; we tolerated it, more so than the bruises if we weren’t in our rusted home. But the smoke of our cigarettes helped keep the insects at bay. We made sure to take the packs that were nearly empty. Makes any search for it useless. So we smoked until we were finished.

Ashley’s blue hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and my red draped over the left side of my face. “There’s fire and Ice,” they would say, “they’re trying too hard,” they whispered. There were other words that floated around, words that hurt, words that drove our constant emotions. I was fire for my hatred, and she was ice to bay her sadness. That was our meaning, but of course, no one bothered to ask. Maybe one day.

The lonesome bus against the creek knew how we felt. Just to be stuck here, in this small fucking town, falling apart into the earth, I get you dear Bus.

Everything was far away, and when I would grab the torn and peeling steering wheel, I swore I felt the tremors of an engine. I pull the shifting lever and pushed the accelerator; we floated down the creek, into the ocean, toward New Zealand, and walked the Mordor trail. We lived in my hobbit hole and her smiling, and the smell of warm food. Maybe one day.

But dreams die and are reborn constantly. I dreamed of Ashley the night before. That she laughed with a beautiful smile. And I would kiss her. Over and over, this dream came and went. She knew how we felt, but the blue overcame her. I wish I could’ve told her. I wish that she knew how much I loved her.

It rained. A strong storm that came, Katrina, a vengeful woman’s name, and Ashley called me, crying about her parents. She wanted to dream of the driving again, with me beside her. She wanted me there.

It hurt me so much that I couldn’t be there. Ashley had moved the bus, just as we once dreamed, and the creek took her away. I wept alone on the other side of yellow tape with my boots stuck in the creek’s bed. I hope to meet her in New Zealand one day. Maybe one day.

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Dying Dreamers

Do you remember when we were kids:
When we jumped into small streams, welcoming the pull of an ocean’s current;
When we stood atop hills, planting our flag on Everest;
When we sat on skateboards, drifting across the line of the Grand Prix?

We were giants, and the Earth was ours.

I remembered:
I told stories.
I keep telling stories,
I still tell stories so I may feel
the water
the air
the wind
every day.

And the moment I hold my breath,
they come and dissipate
leaving their dying breaths, fading memories.

and my heart breaks.

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The End of a Chapter

Hello again my old blog! I have missed you so dearly. Just to make up for the absence, I had finished my previous blog in its entirety. Don’t know about it? I’ll fill you in!

The blog I wrote: was a blog where I had written every day for the whole year of 2014. I made it as my new year resolution, and to my satisfaction, I had ACTUALLY FUCKING COMPLETED IT. Awww yeahhhh.

Although that’s over I might just come back here. I won’t promise I’ll write every day, but I’ll do my best 🙂

Hello again, old friends!

6/1/14 – March of Sheep

From my other blog, Check it out for Daily updates 😀 (I post my favorites here!)

My fellow Sheep,
Stop, stop your trot and look.
Look at the chimneys billowing,
from the ashen covered metal boxes.

Look my brothers,
How the front of the line enters,
But never, do we see a line exit.
Where hath the witnesses gone?

Look, look, and stop;
Don’t you taste that warm metal mist?
Why do they guard our paths,
and force us on?

See? See?! A tumbleweed of wool.
Does that not frighten you?
If not death,
then the cold would be our end.

Don’t tell me to shut up.
Of course they feed us.
Of course they’ve kept us.
But now we’re plump for the feeding!

Turn, turn, my brothers,
Altogether, band up and turn.
Few cannot control the many.
All we need is but to turn.

I know they promise,
For our gold nuggets.
But look at the road we march,
’tis made of gold bricks!

Why not chip away,
And earn our keep.
But you all rather the chunk,
Spat by words behind deceitful teeth.

I waste with talk!

Come my brother,
just us now.
I just need you turn,
I’ll follow now.

I can see ahead, what you cannot.
Trust in my words, no good comes about.

Do you not feel it?
The blade on your neck?
I do brother,
just turn now.

Based on a Nightmare I once had.

2/1/14 – R.I.P.

A boy died yesterday.

I didn’t know him, but he and I shared the same breathing space at one point. We had the same friends, had the same classes, but not once have our paths crossed. People state their condolences on their imaginary walls, their contributions by etching on three letters following his name. And they’ll close their computers, believing they’ve done their part.

I didn’t say anything on my social feed. I truly didn’t know him. But what I did discover is that my thoughts were of a face I had never personally met. A man whom I’ve never heard or shared a passing glance. I just had an image, from a news article, staining my mind.

A man I never knew had much in common with me, but why can I not stop thinking about him? Is it the fragility of life? The simple thought of clarity that I could have been in his place?

No. I just simply thought of him because I think I wanted to know him. I wanted to respect him. I wanted to see if he was me.

A boy died yesterday,

and I’ll remember the boy I never met.

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Cold Dead Lips; and Untitled

My sister was tasked in school to write a short story in 55 words or less. So, naturally, I took on the task for fun. This is what I came up with on the spot.

My dad loves dead lips. He paints them dead lips in his office but Momma’s already got painted lips. His assistant Sarah, loves dead lips too. She paints in red and green. With her Cold kiss hello on my head, smiling a Dead smile, I remember through a keyhole, my dad loving Cold Dead Lips.


We fucked on stairs. Who would’ve thought that Ascension could create Life?  But an angry cry, a frustrated love, and a misstep; who would’ve thought Descent could take away?

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Withered words

Oh dear. It’s one of those lulls.

Hello my loves.

My lovely words.

And those who devour ’em with eyes.

I apologize for my absence. I’m horribly regretful for being neglectful.

But life proves, once again,

that she’s the evil sunshine that spears through the creative cloud.

I’m sorry, loves.

If you’re curious. I’ve been quite busy,

New Job. New Goals. New Passions. But, writing still aches and hungers inside;

I’ll try to satiate her.

Keep those hungry eyes open.

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A Photobooth Reprise

“Let’s look at each other. Spend time. Pretend we mean something.”


“There are others waiting for a photo.”


“But right now, it’s just us…


Maybe if we stay, they’ll forget about their turn.”


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