New 2018-2020

Hello, My New Friends: 2018-2020


If you’re wondering why I haven’t written and posted new poems, it’s because I’m saving them for a collection that will be free to read as an e-book and to be decided for print on demand on Amazon.  Thank you for being patient while I compile and focus on new material.  It will be released this year.


It Ain’t Right

It ain’t right.

He can’t see clouds in the sky.

He walks with his head down.

Never looking up.

It ain’t right.

He comes into our home.

He knocks over precious things.

Never caring what he broke.

It ain’t right.

He ignores the red in the rainbow.

He says it doesn’t belong there.

Never seeing the other side.

It ain’t right.

He eats cereal for lunch.

He leaves a mess behind.

Never dirtying his manly hands.

It ain’t right.

He did me like this yesterday.

He does me like this today.

Never learning his lesson.

It sure ain’t alright.

Jane Doe

No one knew what she had done

in her black clothes

with dark circles under her eyes

It wasn’t the song she remembered long ago

nor the one thing she couldn’t possibly know

Tossed out of the car

headfirst down the embankment

her seat belt cut in two,

safety was never part of her life

when danger was a thick witch’s brew

The stranger came across the scene

his shoe prints in the dirt

His fingers meant nothing at all

he wasn’t the killer in the clean shirt

No one knew her name or true age

no premature white hair among the red

Hidden for a while by the trees

no one knew what she had said


With everything I said and did,

you misunderstood me, yes, you did.

Yes, you did, you cross-eyed kid.

Blaming me for things you had control,

it wasn’t me that laughed at you,

it wasn’t me that broke your precious bowl.

I’ve thought back to how we evolved,

split apart, came back for more,

it’s funny how you hoarded your precious dinosaurs.

Once it was clear we were a myth,

countless nights over ridiculous thoughts,

we came to our senses but then all was lost.

With rights not caring about the wrongs,

when the door closed, my dear kid,

it was no longer about your favorite songs.

One of us knew it wouldn’t last forever,

I had to let you go and one of us remained

despite the lost bird feather.

I understood the rain and thunder too,

even though you’re not a boy.

Things are different now but still

I look for you when I hear the name McCroy.

Holding Greatness

We hold great power in our hands,

unseen by the world, hidden behind curtains,

inside the bulbous flowers, gigantic and tall.

We have here a struggle for continuance,

perseverance, and a little bit of rage mixed in

when we are pushed aside and unheard.

We will not turn back around nor give up.

We have seen the hungry side of the masses,

blind to the injustices raining upon them,

wet and cold, never damp with a mild case of hope.

We hold onto this image, half illusion and reality,

not knowing when greatness will appear,

will fall onto our heads like coins spilling over the fountain.

We will not slide away or tear off our wings.

We have here a commitment to everyone,

anyone, and those too little to see or hear,

we still hold great power in our hands.

Wrong Step

As if you slide down the hole,

brown around you,

then black and blacker still,

the dirt no longer on your face,

the rocks no longer bumping your forearms,

the roots no longer hitting your hands,

it dawns on you, you aren’t in control.

Land on your feet or face,

it won’t matter if the ground is firm or soft,

no weight is too heavy,

no guilt is too much down there,

besides no one will hear your cries.

As if this predicament can only gain power,

your praying won’t be enough,

the next step will be clear,

you must keep falling deeper down into the pit,

this thing you created to see where it ends.

You might not get enough oxygen,

your lungs fearful and uncertain,

as you took the wrong step from the beginning,

with not enough change throughout,

and stubborn still like the heaviness you can’t escape,

you remain stuck and alone.


Knife moving through water,

swinging without abandon,

slicing without progress,

stability lost.

Waves gaining speed,

yearning to get away,

yawning to rest soon,

yellow arrives.

Blood claiming vital space,

growing much thicker,

gaining much wider,

guessing around.

Death confusing the sky,

madness with uncertainty,

morning with lightning,

purple now.

Knife moving through sand,

uncharacteristic bubbles settles,

urban bones drying,

universe sings.

Truthful Lies

I heard it as I sat behind the long table.

The judge uttered, ‘what say you?’

The answer came: not guilty.


The most disturbing two words my ears heard.

I asked with my broken heart and battered soul.

The dagger still plunged into both.

How could he not be guilty?


A killer I had no respect for and underestimated all the same.

Four lawyers carrying one man to unjustifiable freedom.

The innocent forever buried six feet under.

Mighty Moose

You, the mighty moose, over there,

with your horns big and your body large.

What will you do today?

I wish you understood me,

the questions I’m asking and the phrases I’m uttering,

but all you do is stare,

sometimes at me and other times opposite.

Stay close to the grass,

I don’t want you running away from me,

the majestic creature you are,

the animal possessing great strength and power.

I would give you a crown if I had one,

but I’m a simple man out in nature,

with nothing in his hands.

Dare I take a picture of you?


It’s not that it doesn’t matter,

I do,

sometimes to exhaustion,

this merry-go-round,

a never-ending style,

certain pains carried,

a baby stands.

It’s hard to find commitment,

I know,

when surprised by the elements

brand spanking new,

reminder of wisdom forgotten,

rejected and denied,

the baby walks.

It’s not the unseen,

I heard,

the one that whispers,

meaning it one way,

the opposite the next,

stirring in all directions,

not only up and down but diagonal,

the baby creates.

Taco Tuesday

To smell a person’s odor on a Monday

when there’s no law that says you have to take a shower,

not even after a few days.

If the same person stinks on Wednesday,

the one you stood behind while waiting in line,

it isn’t good to complain.

Even if it was a Friday,

she still wouldn’t care to use deodorant under her pits,

cleanly shaven or not.

Immune to the dirty looks,

her nastiness floats among the people waiting,

spreads as she moves forward and lingers as she stops.

She remains aloof,

this interference with people’s hunger is not right,

tacos should be eaten on any day of the week.


The fear,

we saw and heard it,

something no one wanted to embrace.

Even if we could forget, no one did.

It remained,

our memories not destroyed in the fire,

our voices heard by no one.

Under the moon,

it lasted a while, maybe forever,

probably never leaving.

This fear,

it cut into us,

stayed in our guts, never moving.

Horseless Headman

The poor man killed in battle and buried without his head.

He was the Headless Horseman.

This isn’t that tale, but it’s bastard cousin.

I present to you the tale of the Horseless Headman

Yes, the horse that had no tail or head or even body,

it only existed in the mind of the man,

the man with the head and a mustache.

The one where the headman prayed for his horse

in every corner of his town to reunite with his beloved creature.

Even with blisters on his feet, he kept searching.

He would have taken only the head, but he wanted it whole.

The headman had a wife and child.  She left her

in the care of the neighbor to search and search,

fearing her husband might never return.

It had been three long nights when came back no answer.

The door to her house was open.

She peered inside and saw a floating horse head,

with large onyx eyes.

She fell into her husband’s arm,  

her husband had not abandoned her,

he loved her after all as the horse head stared at her.

Hardened Heart

Heavy when it opens,

when it splits apart and nothing pours out,

the blood, coagulated and dark,

it has been hardened over time.

Suffering and painful,

the feelings of intensity and rigidity,

it has been long past boiled,

and not what it used to be.

Something different, some unseen shape,

some other feeling without a name,

it can’t be mind anymore,

it must not be mine anymore,

I don’t want it

Holding it it in the open space,

cold and black and rough,

not soft and inviting as it once was,

those comfortable times,

those that everyone desires,

when things happen as intended.

Heavy when it is stitched closed,

beating and moving again,

at first, slowly, and then faster,

picking up bursting speed,

pumping and pumping,

it will grow again.

Don’t I?

Don’t I (matter)?

I should as I drift along in life,

with a pear and apple,

one in each because they are too small

to carry both in just one.

You used to call it something else,

something that I look upon

with more mature eyes and ears.

I was stupid.  You were stupid.

We were stupid.

Don’t I (deserve another chance)?

Not with your stupidity, but with my stupidity,

to let people know it was the biggest mistake.

I should’ve known better,

it was reckless and uncharacteristic of me.

It’s a part I can’t ever erase,

as much as I desire to make things right,

it won’t go back the way it was,

like toothpaste from a tube.

Don’t you (matter)?

Not a chance in heaven or hell,

not one ounce of liquid,

not one puff of air,

because I know what you’re thinking,

in all directions and times and spaces,

there was nothing wrong with it.

Don’t you (deserve another chance)?

I may give you a tiny slice of my attention,

but you were my worst mistake,

one I can’t ever undue, and for this I

have deep regret. 

Nothing was fun about it.

You are still a dumb ass in the highest

of places and if we ever meet again

in another life, I’ll be sure to stay

the away from you.


It takes one push,

just one, to fall down.

It wasn’t a tentative step,

a leap into the unknown.

I didn’t care about particulars.

Not asking questions,

not thinking of the consequences,

here I am in this space.

It took several attempts,

finding peace within myself, 

forgiving the wrongdoings.

I know you don’t care.

Glare at me with your quivering nose,

like a frightened person

that knows he crossed that line.

It takes one thought,

one event to push it the other way.

Your mouth was your undoing,

and you’re not a frog.

Lurking Anywhere

Envy wrapped tightly, no ribbons or bows on top,

just the twine that holds it together.

You are the pieces falling apart and bits left dangling.

You will not get away from me, this encompassing human flaw,

the unwanted gift you want to throw in the garbage,

but can’t because you enjoy this suffering,

this pain, and this turmoil called jealousy.

I can squeeze your head tighter, make you hate that neighbor

especially the man living close to you

in that old house you wish you could afford minus the dog

that won’t stop barking.

You fear he has made you bitter and think you’re too young

to have this anger, resentment, and disgust for the

common man.

I will seize on your insecurities and your loathing for others

you see as better than you, knowing they are for

one reason only, and that is they don’t think twice or even once

about your misery.

Careful that your heart doesn’t get blacker.

When the pieces fall off and the dangling bits are cut, 

there will be warmth on your feet.

For a while it will seem nice, but quickly you will realize

the flames have gotten too big.

Creaking Before the Chomping

The creaking in the deep crake.
Where does it begin?
Deep from within, I think.
It stops when I do.
How soon to be you for a day?
Tell me with gum in your mouth.
Chomping and chomping,
until you stomp out the flavor.


Arrive in your best uniform,
ironed to be smooth,
much like your skirt pleats.
They accentuate your curves,
the way your hips sway.
I am bursting inside.


Blue, red, orange, purple and faded yellow ones
with teeth marks of kids no longer kids.
Some have money, some have none.
Some are alive, some are dead.
Some can run, some only walk.

We grow old and time stops for no one.

Errors Made

Survey the land that your feet reside.
Don’t stretch your hand out too far,
for they will hear you,
and they know who you are.
No amount of politeness matters.
The water’s choppy and the coconuts have fallen.
Get back into your wooden boat,
but you can’t.

It has floated away.


Jump inside, buckle up,
waiting to climb up and up,
above treetops and restaurants.
The anticipation as it chugs along.
On the top, getting ready for the descent.
Whee!  Hands in the air!
Screaming all around me!
Gaining speed to the top and plummeting,
my stomach twisting.
Whee!  Hands in the air! 
It’s going around again.
Eyes wide open now.

We Belong Here

Crisscrossing back and forth, across the hardened landscape,

swollen feet, numbed ankles, and cut up fingers,

from now on we will not travel so far at night.

By the light of the sun, when the crunching under our shoes begins,

we feel the power, striking down invisible unwanted energies.

Returning to our land, my people once and for all,

no more pain in far away spaces,

closeness among us with no holes in our hearts.

Momentum slowing, still in this place,

our home, our legs have carried us far enough.

Little ones need sleep and big ones need food,

too powerful to kneel, too stubborn to fall,

from now on we will not close our mouths,

and everyone will know we are not a myth but a reality.


Dipping my hand into the water,

too opaque to see what is at the bottom,

still willing to go deeper and deeper to get to the core.

It’s the center of it that keeps me going,

that propels me forward,

even through the terror of the unknown and the screams

ringing in my ears from those long dead.

It is the weathered organ inside me,

the one beating in my chest,

half the tempo that reacts when I shout at my enemies,

laugh with my friends, and cry to thirsty strangers.

My fingers grip onto metal cups of slimy liquid,

a nod to a life not long ago that understands getting

cut with a blade hurts like hell.

Beyond the youthful appearance I have,

magnified with injections, creams, and magic potions,

lines of chalky residue to feel alive one more hour

I snort up my nose.

The stories I ignore and their forgotten meanings,

it won’t be the lesson learned that sticks

to the bottom of my foot as it digs in to the sand.

Not even the creature with sharp teeth,

biting intruders deter me from moving around,

it won’t, it never will because my wounds have

already healed.


Oh, how you buzz near my ear,

pesky little thing in my life when I’m trying to relax.

A complete nuisance, not small enough to ignore,

and what an ugly little thing you are.

Beyond any kind of purposeful meaning,

you are too annoying to keep alive,

but first I must find you again.

Oh, how fast you fly away from me,

after injecting your proboscis into my neck,

the bloodsucker that you are,

the disease spreader that creates suffering

to my brothers and sisters.

You will not continue on your warpath,

I will make sure of it once I stop itching

your poison embedded into my arm.

Oh, how my feet will dance around your death,

faster and faster as my excitement grows,

for I know you have your own

brothers and sisters, as you weren’t the

last of your kind.

But, until they show their ugly little bodies

and buzz around my head, I will rejoice

in knowing there is one less troublesome

pest around.


The dotted line appeared in the morning light.
It stayed for a while, growing thicker.
A little burden to me.
The dotted line appeared when night arrived.
It morphed into a red splat.
An intrusion into my room with intentions.
Keeping still and watching me.
Feeling too reserved to be a comfort.
It moved when sleep consumed me.
Leaving evidence on my walls.

Wide enough to notice when I woke up.

Nothing Fancy Like Raspberries

Relevant maybe, but I’m related to a man named Sebastian,

an ancestor of mine who once owned land,

grew crops and hid a cowboy who had killed another man

for drinking his cup of whiskey.

Not that I don’t think he matters today or the men

he helped along the way, but compared to you

he doesn’t hold a lit candle, not even a half-burnt candle

the ugliest color in the back drawer.

This night belongs to your contributions, the fortunes

you bestowed upon my family, and you could call them long lost treasures

we could only dream about when asleep if you want. 

Know we are grateful for the cats that followed you into our kitchen,

natural deterrents for mice and their diseases, the companionship

they provide to my children on their thin mattresses was a blessing.

Little Sally can’t play the piano well, but she’s better than Dorothy

at three years of age, and Mikey is too busy pretending he’s an adult

although together they create quite a musical treat if you let

him drink a little bit from your cup.

Don’t let my Serafina see it, my beloved wife, who made beef stew. 

It’s the recipe passed down for generations on her mother’s side and the equally

delicious bread made from scratch to soak up the broth left behind.

Make sure to leave room for apple pie, that is what I tell my

children, but my oldest boy rarely listens to his old man’s wisdom now,

thinking I will lead him astray as mine did with me.

Here is your cup for the night, use it to when it gets colder. 

I hear the coldest night this year might happen

and move your feet around, by the stove. 

It’s the best place even when the fire has glowing embers.

It’s a shame I haven’t any book to read from,

recite a few lines or more, but we’re a big family with limited means,

and I can’t afford more than what I have. 

Honesty is what I can offer and nothing more besides another thank you.

We don’t have raspberries in a bowl, or anything fancy like that,

only bruised apples no one else wanted,

now gone from our bellies and pooped out to be used as fertilizer. 

Sebastian knew his limits as a man,

he knew where to go when he wasn’t wanted and stay when

he was liked although no one admired his physical downfall of his misshapen head,

but he spit his tobacco further than anyone before him

and that impressed enough people or so the story goes.

I’ll leave it up to you say something now, but make sure

not to upset my dear Serafina.  I will have no choice to open the door

and kick you out, and what a shame that would be.

I would like you to stay a while and become part of my family.


The prickling and the tingling,

of my overworked legs,

like a little lost dog on the corner

with a red collar and a dog tag

with the name scratched off

that has run for days.

If you see me darting behind

the bushes to get away

from you and find relief

by myself, don’t snicker and laugh,

don’t turn around as if you

never saw me because I saw you.

Don’t tell your parents

over dinner about the oddity

you saw, that thing with one eye

closed more than the other,

with lips the color of a rotten cherry,

hair the color of dry dirt,

and skinny fingers glued together.

The noises and the sounds

buzzing around me,

following me, letting me know

it is okay being lost

for a while and forgotten

by the ones who are busy.

If you see me again,

hiding behind the bushes,

tail between my legs like

the little dog wanting some food or

companionship, keep looking at me,

keep trying until I talk.

What is not Seen

Open it,

open it wide,

wider and wider,

not wide enough,

even more as the wrinkly body inside flourishes.

The layers,

the ones neglected

pulsating out and in,

in and out,

further out and less in,

the expansion gaining momentum with every contraction.

Close it,

close it now,

a little tighter,

even more,

a final way to make it grow as tight as possible.

The outcome,

deadened details,

different colors and shapes,

of red and ovals,

becoming what is not seen, 

where the sinews fall away every passing year.

Coming Home

In the dark, night after night, I sat, uncomfortably, on the chair,

the bars digging into my back.  The minutes could not be counted.

There were too many, perhaps thousands or millions, it was only

the absence of influence that was certain.

Deeper into the night, I closed my eyes, and invited the brightness

of the stars with the imaginary moon guiding me on the water.

The echoes of nervous tapping on the rocks, the current never strong

enough take me where I needed to go, to escape for my body to recover.

Submerged into the darkness, I stood with cracked feet, fully committed,

the chains held by rusted nails.  Under the wooden slats, where the head

of my enemy began and rubbed against my ankle.  The keys clinking

with other keys, belonging to someone else’s hands, not far away. 

In the dark, back and forth, I rocked side to side, nothing bearing down

or making the situation different.  The images were kept proportional.

Their thoughts of my being, some anxiety and fear, it was only

the lack of understanding that I would come home.

Maybe, No, Yes


the beauty of it is within,

the substance I’ve never seen before,

touched it, tasted it, or felt it brush

against me.


it has not come to me,

the detachment,

a flower ripped

from its roots you can’t see

beneath the soil.


the inner strength

deep within the twisting,

the force that plucked it

away from its sisters.


the stunted growth,

life for a few days,

a few hours,

in the fresh, clear liquid that pours



it can’t continue,

the dirty surface masquerading

as clean,

teasing and tearing at the opening,

a thick dotted line.


the charm was never there,

above the horizon I see,

far away,

never getting close enough,

no longer wishing to touch or taste it,

or feel it against my leg.

Frankenstein Scar

This is my body in the hospital bed.

It will not be awake,

nor will it be sleeping,

somewhere between a dream and nightmare.

This is my face with tired eyes.

They will not see clearly,

objects will be blurry,

forcing me to look elsewhere.

This is my neck wanting to be scratched.

It will not be the same,

the itch will find temporary relief,

remind me of what’s inside.

This is emotion consuming me.

It will not go away,

begging for attention every moment,

a place of more uncertainty.

This is my body in an unexpected situation.

It will find a home,

there will be an answer,

somewhere between predictability and surprise.

I Knew

From the moment I was born, I knew,

I recognized my mother’s face and

my father’s toxicity pumped

through my veins, thicker than blood.

I tried to extract it and still something

triggered change from deep within,

and over time I grew accustomed

to pain in the dark.

From the moment I got closer, I knew,

I felt others would not believe,

the horrors of childhood happenings.

Children like me and parents like him

aren’t questioned by strangers; they can’t

see his exact pinpointing

to my heart: the cracks, fears, and doubts.

From the moment I thought was the end,

I knew, I heard the red bubble pop;

it bruised my arm more yellow,

and cut my leg deeper.

I forced the scars open after they healed,

believing I could change it

if I pushed on hard enough; nothing came

out except fear of your aged face.

I sewed it closed with thick

string, dripped with guilt, putting you

back where you belong.


The one alone,

sitting in the corner,

imagining something better

for himself,

ask how old am I?

Give me an answer,

scream it if you have to

in a different tongue,

mouth wide open.

From where you linger,

to your shadow on the wall,

getting closer

to ignorance and resistance,

with no hesitation,

how far apart are we?

The open desire

for absence and numbness,

familiar similarities,

connecting us together,

even reaching wider and deeper,

this is never enough

for you.

Memories in the Current

We drifted far away, the two of us,

down, down, down, down, down

where the current carried us into unfamiliar territory.

The warm body I once called my friend,

who gave her back to me as we laughed,

is a distant memory.

You planted yourself into those who came after us,

their failed stares only polluting,

and the incident that swept me under meant our end.

It was guilt not forgiveness that stung,

as we parted and whether we released our misgivings,

as the water raged,

I can only hope your disappointment

and my confusion has subsided.

We drifted further apart, no longer two of us,

but I am here and you there,

and too deep to cross back and reclaim a sliver

of what we had.

The moment you never saw,

the one that left me in a puddle of tears,

that made me own my culpability and my worst mistake,

for it led to having difficulty in opening my heart.

Your roots grew deep into the same people,

as I cut mine,

our lives fully independent and something not to search for

because it was not to be.

We drifted away, countless miles, further and further,

until we stood on separate islands,

our feet planted firmly in the sand and the rest of us no longer visible,

not even when using binoculars.

This new beginning of minnows and colorful rocks,

an exploration of other human possibilities,

pushed me past the devastation and loss.

You once understood me,

embraced and loved me,

but you will never speak or see me again,

not in this lifetime because you are there and I am here.

While I am glad you entered briefly,

and there must have been a reason for it all, I hope

because where I stand, where I am,

it seems a little calmer,

even though you are no longer my friend.

Your Turn

You ask what my tongue would feel like,

but I don’t have a suitable answer.

No, not now.  Maybe, never.

These games you play, alone at night,

I hear about them the next morning.

Let me know when they stop.

You ask where my hands would rest,

but I can’t tell you.

The lights are on and the wall is up.

If I swing a hammer to it,

you might see I do care for you beyond

what a person should.

You ask why I resist looking through,

fiercely without thought.

Face to face with whispers.

If I stay too long in this indulgence.

I might lose my way again,

and we need control.

You ask why I don’t turn away,

after the accumulation of dried tears.

It never erased our future.

This brief pause of loneliness,

and growing patient with unkempt promises,

I still wait.

You ask about what I’ll do next.

I dare not give any hints, even if you beg.

No, not now.  Maybe, never.

All countries of the world,
have their own agendas,
their own appearances,
the customs of the past,
meeting the feelings of the present.

Wars are being fought,
on all sides,
between and among us,
where we stand,
we all eventually fall.

All of us spit at the other,
encouraging the snickering,
knowing it is wrong but still marching,
left, right… left, right… left, right,
not remembering blood is red when exposed.

With closed eyes,
inability to see clearly,
the charming beauty before us,
far too wrapped up in our own cocoon,
we have swallowed the rotten meat.

They feed us poorly,
our skin turns raw colors,
the leaders know their power,
where they stand,
but a few remaining will not ingest the poison.

All Around Us

For every man that wakes up,

no matter what time of day,

no matter what he does for a living.

Here, I am.

Here, I will stay.

Here, I will not die, today.

For every child that goes to sleep,

no matter how many books are read,

no matter how tight the teddy bear is held.

Here, I am.

Here, I will protect.

Here, I will do my duty, tonight.

For every woman that questions,

no matter what hour it might be,

no matter how much it stings.

Here, I am.

Here, I will influence.

Here, I will challenge, all the time.

For every body that breathes,

no matter what they look like,

no matter what they feel they must do.

Here, I am.

Here, I will be.

Here, I will continue, forever.

Before Me, Revenge

We were under the clouds.

I stood before you, you looked at me.

With your middle eye, you winked.

I could not look away.

Angry with envy, green as the giant.

I grew taller and stronger.

Seeing through the mockery,

we were eye to eye.

Night rain became dry earth.

The next day, ripened fruit appeared.

I took a bite.

You did not like it in my hand.

Ripping it away,

taking what was promised to me,

I grew until my pants fell to my ankles.

My anger rising. 

You took off.

We ran through muddy water,

destroying forest trees and growing crops.

No one gets away without consequence.

Rough Edges
I’m not what I used to be,
the insides are now out,
and the up is now down.
If I seek a better life for myself,
am I the bastard still?
This is what is feels like
after all these years
when you thought of me as worthless.
Useless and easy to throw away,
Viewed as a coward,
when my head was buried in the sand.
Like vomit in a toilet,
I’ve been easy to flush down,
a nuisance of the worst kind.
It sticks to me,
the inability to sleep at night,
the knocking on my  brain
keeps me awake.
Pounding before I fall asleep
and pounding  hours before I should wake up.
Fighting continuous battles I do not want.
Open my eyes, you told me,
and function properly at a capacity of your doing,
your own choice.
Right or wrong,
I don’t deserve this punishment.
It’s easy to point at weakness,
bring another to the knees,
and gather one more time
to laugh.
When you aren’t capable of looking
at your own faults,
at who you have turned into,
someone different.
I’m not what I used to be,
but neither are you.

Steady Intent

A steady stream of yellow,

gushes down,

flowing freely.

Not where I want it travel,

as it goes around blockages,

again and again.

The width gets smaller,

and nothing stops its path,

worn out,

less intense.

With splinters and holes,

a smaller stream can turn

in the right temperature.

A liquid to solid,

that is stuck in place,

getting harder.

When unmovable,

a piece breaks away,

slides down,

and stops short.

No one ever reacts,

to have courage,

to push it further.

A broken stream changes color,

from bright to dirty,

still preserved,

but it reaches down,

to the end.

Life and Death

It’s easy to say death is a natural occurrence,

much like a bird flying in the sky,

or the sun rising in the morning,

and setting when it darkens.

But, life is a natural thing too.

It sits on a table, sometimes reserved for those

who have nothing to gain and nothing to lose.

Awareness of the end doesn’t matter for those already lived.

The ones who were created and who used are imprinted

on the minds of loved ones.

Their flesh have disappeared from their bones,

they found solitude and maybe gnawed on or deliberately turned into ashes,

and kept in urns on fireplace mantles.

It’s easy to say death shouldn’t be feared,

but many times the answer on the other side responds loudly,

some short, some lengthy, but all watered down versions of truth.

They step away, leaving footprints, and recognizable patterns.

For I understand death isn’t to be desired,

and life isn’t something to fool around with,

even when it’s purely by chance for those with beating hearts.

Some desire to go back in time, maybe sickened a moment later,

for the realization hits them.

Much can go wrong with lines not firmly drawn,

and raw emotions smelling like hard boiled eggs.

Death is an anticipation that doesn’t change the inevitable,

a nuisance and longing at same time,

bodies will break and minds will surrender when the strings unravel.

It accentuates where oxygen travels.

It’s easy to say life should be a welcome experience,

a kind of birth and maybe rebirth,

but no is immune to rare deviations.

When the bird no longer can fly,

and the sun fully disappears on the horizon,

and the moon never offers guidance,

it’s not so easy enjoy this coexistence when you’re still alive.


Cutting into an onion, I will make you cry.

Peeling away the parts you can’t eat,

will remind you of the memories,

those things not easily erased,

ever present.

Getting to the middle, I will make you know.

No matter how much you break apart the whole,

the essence remains intact,

creating disconnect,

never leaving.

Reaching the center, I will make you crumble.

Wrapping your hand around the core,

trying to cover the pain,

insistent tears.

Discarding the rest, I will make you realize.

Walking into the shadow of the day,

behind the closed door,

into unfamiliarity,

repeating again.

Nine Nights

On the third night,

I dug my toes into the possibilities,

of wanting to be closer,

one inch at a time to freedom.

On the fourth night,

I scaled the walls with half-open eyes,

feeling every bit of pain.

On the fifth night,

my heat increased,

the sweat on my back sour.

On the sixth night,

near the top with fearlessness,

it was progression that signaled,

remember why I paused.

On the seventh night,

not wanting to delay,

not another moment,

knowing it was the only option,

the final step.


Beginning to unravel the mystery of humanity,

as the days bleed into the nights

and without gaining insight

or absorbing unused energy,

everyone concluding what’s left doesn’t matter.

For there’s nothing to feel,

to see, to do, to be, or to hope for

because sitting too long at a broken table

with it’s legs cracked,

and screaming for glue to hold it together

is what makes the chair swivel.

Not wanting the discomfort in unfamiliar faces,

attracting despair and fear,

allows ignorance to be left untouched,

creating deeper pockets and sharper corners,

wider cuts and longer scrapes,

while the bruises yearn for band-aids.


With everything I said and did,

you misunderstood me

to the point of blaming me

for all of your hardships

and things which you had control.

Over the years I’ve gone back

in my mind of how we evolved

and split apart for good

once it was clear you were a liar

to keep the myth going.

Over countless nights of feeling numb

with the ridiculous thought this punishment

might count to right the wrongs,

when all has been said and done

we were both wrong

but only one of us knew it.

With everything I didn’t say and do,

I understood the impact you had

to the point of aversion

and things not going your way were recognized,

and was called consequence.

Suffering of the Mind

For the times I did not connect,

I chewed my nails,

creating blood at the corners of my fingers.

It hurt me, but I kept going,

kept chewing something away,

for what I knew was anxiety created within me

from a lack of understanding

of me in the world.

It wasn’t empty space I feared,

it was what I had to fill

in it’s place,

that was full of detachment to meaning.

The emphasis was on self doubt

and loathing,

gnawing at me with a capital G,

and the more I wanted it get rid of it,

the more the impact of it grew.

I was never the person

others imagined me to be,

cutting my self worth down with each

misunderstanding seen as a deception.

Observed as an abnormality,

there was never a good enough explanation

for those looking at me

through the glass windows.

When my time comes,

my legacy will be half in actuality,

and the rest split into tiny slices

on a pie chart,

not knowing what they represent,

for it wasn’t decided upon when I was awake.

Years will grow into decades,

and centuries later I will be forgotten,

with those alive understanding

the reality of living in ambiguity

among strangers.

Finding the Angry

When my thoughts poke out like wires,

this is the part I hate the most.

When my vision should be complete,

but the emotions need attention.

When trouble finds you and consumes me,

knowing we don’t want this.

When exhausted and irritable after a long day,

the circumstance make us angry.

When the eyes of the monster visits me at night,

your unfolded lies are not gone.

When my insides move like lava,

it increases the distance.

When fingers bend in unnatural places,

this is the time for honesty.

When words matter more than actions,

this is when you will leave.

Left Me Raw

I have thought of many ways to kill you,

beat you down,

tear you up,

cut you diagonally,

and spit you across the room.

However, you were the one I touched not long ago,

and the face I kissed before we parted ways,

ours souls entwined forever in our dreams.

Now, I mumble in my confusion,

of your rejection,

of your silence,

of your pain,

of wishing our paths never crossed.

You betrayed me with your close-mindedness,

telling me how you felt about my choices,

that I was wrong,

that I was lost,

that I was confused,

and not ready for your labeling and viewpoints.

I have thought of how much you envied me when we were young,

my light to guide you,

taking away your fears,

warding off your enemies,

and destroying those that took a swipe at your pride.

How, the tables turned where you are superior to me,

with your endless riches,

with your wide reaching fame,

with your youthful face,

as you won’t look at me from across the room.

You have left me with nothing,

no armor,

no helmet,

no sword,

and the only defense has left me raw.

You Were Not There

I saw you to be around ten feet tall.

Maybe, eleven on a good day and twelve on a great day.

Let’s be honest with each other.

I wasn’t there for your supposed height.

It’s your mystery that mattered.

Your projected image in public.

I suppose your shyness took over.

You turned your back to gain privacy.

This must be the real you.

No shame, guilt, fear, or care in every step.

My worth depended on you.

I did not want to be alone.

We had a connection.

I searched for you a month after.

You were not there, when I was here.

In the Darkness

Open the door and shove it inside.

That’s where it should go.

That’s where it will stay.

Remaining in the dark.

It grows.

It contorts.

It survives.

It’s the ugly part I keep.

Buried under my living conditions.

Like a poisonous mushroom.

I want it to be hidden.

No one needs to see it.

The cut.

The rawness.

The scar.

It’s better that way.

It’s not as scary.

It doesn’t belong in the light.

Blood Never Lies

We knew.

You didn’t have to threaten us.

The poison ran deep in our family blood.

It left indents whenever your fingers moved up and down our arms.

Hatred led your cracked hand to that full syringe.

You can’t pretend destruction never existed within you.

There was no amount of stitches to close what you opened.

There was no amount of reversing the magnitude of your infection.

You even managed to dilute the antidote until it was cloudy.

We understood what absence of caring meant.

We knew the hidden monster behind the human face.

You were not lost or alone.

We were.

We understood.

You changed piece by piece beyond repair.

Your shadow grew disproportionate to your body.

It became stronger every passing year.

What you lost didn’t matter compared to the arrogance you gained.

There was no amount of hope to hold onto with our broken hearts.

Your blood told the truth when you couldn’t.

What the Hell?

There are many things that make you ask what the hell?

But, if you want to be accurate, it should be written WHAT THE HELL?

Some days you need to add behind it YOU STUPID IDIOT!

And if you’re really feeling punchy, YOU STUPID, FUCKING IDIOT!

But, this isn’t one of those times for you, is it?

Instead, it’s one where you’re grateful that you go about your business.

You aren’t the stupid idiot or any kind of version of a stupid idiot today.

When a kid is screaming about getting her diaper changed in a parking lot,

you pay no attention and keep walking to your car.

You’re thankful your stomach is strong.

You’re lucky you don’t think think about it more than necessary.

You get on with your life.

Maybe, you feel a twinge of sympathy for her parents or your own parents.

When a souped-up car zooms past you, you still roll up your window.

Why? Because you’ll hear it even when you can’t see it.

Why? Because you value your damn ears.

Why? Because you’re attentive.

You realize people on the road can be crazy as you let them.

You chalk it up to a bad or good day and keep driving.

You understand things build up each week that deserves some reaction.

Will you bite, kick, yell, throw, or spit?

None of the above. All of the above. Something else.

Your capabilities are tested over and over again.

You know it never ends.

If you open your mouth, how far down does your determination go?


I looked it in the eye
Right in the middle
It was deep and black.

When the flesh softens
And the bones are intact
It waits and wants.

What a pretty face
Not an oblong shaped thing
That takes different names.

It isn’t for everyone
But inevitability come with a mouth
That sucks you in and drools.

It is I who stares
At your reputation
And recognizes how your weakness
Must bother you.

I long for what releases
The bitterness of my breath
Not the curve of my spine.

The deeper and blacker the eye
Widened the sacrifice
And surrendered to the unknown.

I Have Pain

“Hang your head low, don’t look up,” those words were said to me.

I had not the slightest idea what direction they came from,

Or who said them.

It’s not my time to disagree with the disagreeable,

When my head hurts from all the living.

As I made my way, I smelled the fires burning inside homes.

Wishing someone would invite me inside because I could use some warmth,

I conclude the people in this town are selfish,

Quick to close their curtains to their presumptions.

I could buy their curtains, silverware, and plates.

I can afford their houses, cars, and dreams of wealth.

“No, keep walking,” I hear as the pain increases in my forehead.

There’s no sympathy for complainers these days,

But my muscles still ache and my breath is cold.

I matter less when it’s dark.

It’s a certainty no one cares this time of night except one faceless voice.

My head feels like it might explode into tiny pieces,

Too little too late.

One can’t put together what is unseen.

My organs feel immoral.

Stepping closer to the edges, the houses get further apart, and I remain upright.

More advice, more words, “Pay no attention to the dogs.”

The voice continues, “Don’t make eye contact and ignore the snarling.”

By now, my eyes are watering and my vision blurry.

My back curves more and my shoulders tighten.

I wonder how frozen my heart has become.

There are no houses or dogs.

When I look up,

The faceless voice becomes voiceless again, and the chill has stopped for a moment.


I knew you consumed me.

You were on my mind.

When my eyes closed,

you prevented me from getting rest.

I knew you wanted to be close,

but familiarity is better than risk.

Our glances no longer mean much today.

The lines on my face have disappeared.

When your last breath was taken,

my imagination of you stayed.

Through insistence and invasion,

you are the same person,

but I still desire what little you can offer.

There was nothing to do,

but admit your desertion hurt me.

I searched for you,

a lost cause not wanting to be found.

I would do anything to hold your hands,

to believe you cared.

Just Enough of an Itch

I know the itch I can’t reach.

I know the one.

It’s on my back just far enough away.

My fingers can’t get to it no matter how much I want to relieve it.

I run to any person nearby to scratch it.

She misunderstands me.

I run to the next person, and he can’t follow orders either.

I think people should listen more.

No one else sees me because their backs are turned.

I feel it’s done purposely.

There are garbage cans on every corner.

They stink including the forks with food caked on them.

A used napkin is good enough in desperation.

I shouldn’t litter even though food will stick to my hand.

Nothing to see here as my arm reaches behind me.

You cross my mind as I get some relief.

The itch has stopped.

I know the one, returning when I least expect it.

Finish What You Started

I felt something as I turned the corner.

Those around me never knew how much pain I felt.

When something goes wrong, it doesn’t have to end in defeat.

My team was counting on me. I was counting on myself.

Quitting never was an option.

I could taste the victory, yet still not able to see the finish line.

My limits were not what I thought.

No one should experience the world’s most prestigious competition without regret.

The best makes you meet the better half of yourself.

There was nothing to feel or think.

My body was close to the white line.

Faster and faster as the fight around me seemed to disappear.

Gone is the Tail

Your long, flowing hair.

I know you’re thinking about it.

It’s not what should have been.

Hundreds of years you’ve had it that way.

I know you think it wrong.

Hair grows back.

I pray that it does.

It must fit the mold.

You realize that.

Don’t have any fear.

It’s been put to use.

The return is good.

Even if the tail is gone.

Not a Dirt Road

I came upon a fork on a dirt road,

with five options before me,

some must have been made by other shoes,

worn down year after year.

Confusion set in as my goal was to create my own path,

but I felt so tired,

and I wanted to get to the end quickly as possible,

even if the whole truth wasn’t there.

I spent a whole day entering each option,

giving equal time to the five dirt roads,

searching for the stumbles and failures of those before me.

More confusion set in as I found there wasn’t any answers,

none of my questions seemed important.

I propped against a dying tree,

not twenty feet from where I started my quest,

and realized my decision was mine alone.

No matter how much I stumbled,

how much I failed,

intensity of my thoughts,

the dirt moved the same distance whether I was angry or not.

I went back to the fork,

knowing it wasn’t a dirt road I was looking for,

knowing not exactly what,

but something else.

Of Knuckles and Perfume

Dear lady of the night,

I applaud you for all the things you haven’t given me,

And those things you will yet give me.

Thanking you enough for your hospitality cannot be done,

For you keep giving me something I shouldn’t have.

The hallways of your home have become my pathways to freedom.

Don’t worry, I’m never there long, just enough to reap the benefits.

You have nothing to fear. I never mean you physical harm.

When you stumble upon my happenings, take a breath or two.

It’s not the crime of the century.

Remind yourself of the perfume you dab on your neck,

The color of scarf you wrap around your head,

The handmade shawl you bought at the market.

These things I have no use for, and what I took shouldn’t matter.

Let them bring you comfort in this time of loss.

Be open about our relationship not hopeless.

The time to know my name will come soon enough.

Dear lady of the brick house,

this is only one reality out of many.

Don’t cheapened the process with your tongue.

You hold onto possessions during the afternoon, knowing they aren’t enough,

and you cannot take your eyes from them when you should be sleeping.

Your denial entices me.

I see your body is broken. It isn’t that you can’t have it back.

You must persuade me in some way to return those things you claim to love.

Find a way to let go because your knuckles are not the color I want to see.

Push, Shove, Pull, Yank

This is what has been happening to us, a reflection of a much bigger scale.

The one where divisions have been occurring at a rapid pace.

Some are trying to find a way back to normalcy.

Others have different ways to find it.

People push and shove without much thinking.

Wanting a reaction to serve some kind of selfish purpose on all sides.

I am the best and you can’t convince me otherwise.

This is the climate of today, hot and hotter.

It snowballed from one influential event.

There were committed errors, desired errors, and vindicated errors for some.

It was the disappointment of personal passions, visions, and beliefs for others.

What happened belonged to the masses: those in the puddle and outside of it too.

We have become a jockeying gridlock of sorts.

This is what the opposite of implosion looks like, but there has to be something else.

Two options can’t only be it, and if it is, then much better ones.

This small net must and should be larger and smarter.

Unwanted Visitor

I went to sleep with two eyes, ears, legs, arms, feet, and hands.

The next morning I woke up with something else attached to my body.

It was touching my leg, tickling it, and was moving freely.

I lifted up my covers. The horror of what I saw. The color of it made me sick.

Worse, it had ripped my favorite pajamas.

I hopped out of bed and grabbed a scissors from my drawer.

This thing was coming off one way or another,

even if it meant blood might be spilled.

As I reached for this unwanted thing, it uncoiled itself around my leg,

and moved in the opposite direction of where my hand went.

I dropped the scissors, twisting left and right until I caught the end of it.

It moved in every direction, each time with more force, as it tried to get free.

This damn thing thought it was cunning by bringing me to the floor.

I rolled toward the scissors, opened them with force, and closed the blades.

It sounded like bone breaking.

The rest of it swung wildly behind me, then coiled itself around my leg.

I cut into it again. The two separate pieces struggled to stay alive.

The one piece still attached was angry at what was lost.

With my body lighter, I contorted even more, and that is when I saw.

It wasn’t something intrinsic, something within me I had created.

How Deep Will it Go?

The Earth seemed to open itself to me, quite willingly,

and as the elements reached out for my ankles and legs, I began to wonder.

Was the pain I felt worth it? Were the scrapes worth it too?

Was the chill in my hands and feet, in my head, or in my heart?

It was enough to remind me of my fragility,

a human being of parts I should give more attention,

and the liberties I should have taken.

It’s not easy to shake from my consciousness the troubles that wait around every

rock stepped on or passed by.

Is this the end of the road, as the saying goes? Or, does it keep going?

Does it stop to wonder and worry as I do?

I trust the land beneath despite it showing otherwise,

because anything less is futile.

Eventually, it will spit me back up when it’s good and ready.

It might not be in the order received, but still I went deeper than before.

I Will be Waiting

I came to be known as something they barely see.

I walked countless streets, searching for certainty in dark places.

When you descend from it, the desire never stops.

It can carry you to the very end. It can stop the suffering.

I make time useless and irritations numb.

Whether half awake or asleep, I continue.

They never realize how close I get, always turning away from the peace I can give.

I make them fall to their knees and thank me.

It only takes one time to be mine.

Love is Not There

They say love is never where you want it.

Not in bars where people appear their best.

Women hope their gloss has the same shine as thirty minutes before.

They say love is never found sitting down.

Not on stools where women cross their legs, then uncross them.

Not even when they flip their hair as a last resort.

They say love is never found in any bathroom.

Not in the stalls where quickies are done, even in those without a door.

Men leave without feeling much of anything.

They say love is never found on the highway.

Not on any kind of road with or without adequate lighting.

Only tire tracks covering faded ones belong.

They say love is never found in grocery stores.

Not in any comfort food aisle.

Not in the canned black olive aisle either.

They say love is never found where it should be.

In the Sand

Tiny villages in the sand go about their business,

Too insignificant for the human eye to give much attention,

but not the tiny giants who live close by.

They want to go beyond and see the other side,

but they are not viewed as a good thing,

and the tiny people think of them as menaces.

It doesn’t matter if they offer friendship,

or state their infinite supply of compassion,

or claim they are built for security.

The tiny people rely on themselves,

not liking handouts or gifts,

and don’t trust anybody but themselves for stability.

But, some of the tiny villages have been destroyed by another enemy,

giving good reason for the tiny person to approach the tallest giant,

and ask for things that are whispered.

This could be the start where life becomes fuller and sweeter,

maybe a little bit tastier for everyone,

but no one can have great things, if no one makes the first move.

In the Right

I watched you turn into something better.

There you were, so beautiful and so bright.

I knew the energy within you would never die away.

Luck was on your side, pure luck, whole luck,

the kind you only find when not looking.

Simply letting it play out as life plays out on an empty stage.

It isn’t easy being who you are, fighting for what you believe,

knowing it might not go anywhere.

I wish that you continue to hope for great things,

even if they don’t happen.

The opportunities are abundant, making you warm,

creating rosy cheeks willing to blush a little because you know you’re right.

Not wrong, but completely in the right, in the now, in the seed

that grows and grows.

That is you.

I continue to watch you spread outward,

keeping mind of the things that bring you comfort.

Reaching That Tired Point

As I’m tired and wanting to go to bed,

I think of everything I’ve gone through this week.


A box to check yes.

There is no box so I will type it.


My eyes are even heavier now. This is rather pointless.


A box to check no.

There is not box either so I will type it.


Broke my tooth because I have a strong bite.


Need to get a crown.


Cost money.


If I’m feeling a little unsettled, I know the reasons why. The effects keep piling up.

Waking up at odd hours.


Inconsistent eating patterns.


Incomplete life.


Drifting away.


What else is going on? What am I forgetting? Does it really matter right now?


Not when you haven’t gotten enough sleep.

Take Your Best Shot

I waited for it to come outside.

It did, but only wanted to play, and play not according to the rules,

but to the exceptions.

Little did it know, that wasn’t part of my plan. I had not come here to mess around.

I meant business. I was on the job. Kill at no expense.

It kept advancing, ever threatening, closer and closer.

I aimed my gun at its chest.

Pop. Pop. Pop. And its head. Pop. Pop. Pop.

The rest came running from all directions.

My trigger finger was ready.

I closed up my danger zones and retreated into darkness.

They were in now my territory.

A few charged as fast as their stiff legs would allow. What a tragic mistake.

They ate more bullets than flesh that night.

Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop.

I let the rest come, waiting with my night vision.

It was their turn to knock down the doors and be ready for any outcome.

Needing Someone Who Knows What We’re Doing

If you fail, I win.

I wonder why it needs to be this way.

Why must we suffer so?

Can’t there be two winners?

The decision has been made.

I’m left holding misery in one palm and hurt in the other.

Now, I can’t possibly find a way out.

The digging has been done. The bottom smells of decay.

The promise of newness is gone.

But, if we reverse this to you, what would it bring me?

Failure. Loathing. Jealousy. Death.

All those things.

Or, something else I can’t control.


Something I will see, but don’t want to feel.

A toxicity that burns.

If we bring our relationship to greater heights, where will that bring us?

I imagine somewhere deep, somewhere dark.

To Dissatisfy

With every touch of your hand,

I wanted something else, but this I did not get.

It was good, at first, but after a few minutes it was bad, very bad.

This wasn’t what I wanted.

I came here for relaxation, for peace, for soothing.

You gave me pressured anxiety, sore muscles, and conflicted thoughts.

With my teeth grinding, I almost told you to quit what you were paid to do.

Your nervous laugh became annoying.

The touch was all wrong. Your dirty feet. Your heavy body.

You left me with something I had to forgive.

It made me angry, really angry.

I have to be more cautious now.

I don’t ask for much, just someone who listens.

Work on one side, then the next.

Not one side only.

It should be simple.

It wasn’t.

Unnecessary Weight

The pain easily sat there like a brick,

and this brick was huge and heavy,

much too heavy for one man to carry.

Yet, here he was carrying this huge, heavy brick around his neck

like he was born to carry it.

He knew he wasn’t meant to hold it in any way.

It was placed on him unwillingly, quite unwillingly,

and yes, he kicked and yelled when it was placed on him.

He was told this was what life brought you,

but he only saw it as unnecessary,

punishment reserved for those they hated.

When you do bad things, bad results happen he was told,

except he wasn’t willing to take responsibility because it was a trick,

and accused people are sometimes innocent.

He tried everything to undo this nightmare situation.

The evidence pointed elsewhere, but no one cared.

It was better to sweep it under the rug than to be fair, honest, and right.

Every defense he tried, the strikes were too powerful.

Over time it weakened him, and he took a long rest to gather himself.

It was here he found a different kind of strength.

They were trying to kill him,

but he sure wasn’t going to make it easy for them.

As long as oxygen reached his lungs, he would fight ’til the every end.


If you keep coming back to me, again and again,
no one needs to say how repetitive this is for both of us.
I know you have an agenda to maintain, but I have mine.
It isn’t perfect, but it works for me.
I’m not a person that likes to be shoved along the way.
If it doesn’t feel good for me,
I suspect it doesn’t for you either.
But, here we are in this kind of stalemate,
wondering what the other person is thinking and feeling.
Sometimes kindness gets mistaken for weakness,
and this is something no one wants,
but can be used as a life lesson to remain steady.
You saw it as an opportunity to depart your knowledge and wisdom.
Your drive, your energy, and your persuasion goes beyond a mile.
I get it.
It works for you, but even though it didn’t go as planned, it did mean something.
It further nudged me in the direction I have to take.
While I don’t bend so easily, and take my time to get to that place,
the point I want to land is ultimately up to me,
and me alone.


I wonder why you called me.

It was only for a few seconds, but long enough to know

I didn’t like you or care for you.

Your foul words and your ugliness,

these are the things that make me angry,

that send me into battle.

I know a fighter’s words.

You think you’re entitled when you’re not.

It isn’t funny or clever. You aren’t the miracle people want.

You’re the rotting fruit hanging from a tree.

You’re the thing people kick out-of-the-way to get to the good stuff.

I will never take your lousy demands and make them my own.

I won’t justify your needs, your views, or your sickness.

I won’t twist it for your benefit.

It was the bitterness underneath your words,

it was your unwillingness to recognize you’re touchable that created this space.

Quite shocking to you, but all too familiar for me.

I’ve done this before.

It’s what I call predictable, but you call it something else.


When I finally got the courage to look, she was pressed against the bench.

Her flesh had become the color of wood, and was now disappearing.

I knew my brain had been altered by drugs from the past,

but I never considered myself unable to

control my mind.

I wanted to ask someone around me if they noticed anything,

but no one would make eye contact with me.

It’s not easy being a person with many needs in an unforgiving world.

Her lack of being drew me to her where she sat.

She had unnerved me, but still I searched in between the slats for her.

She could’ve been stuck or might have fallen through.

I sniffed the air. She was definitely gone.

Her absence hadn’t taken my problems away.

In fact, they were sitting on the bench she once sat, begging me to pick them up.

They must’ve fallen when I bent over.

They eventually would find their way back to me so best to pick them up now.

I shuffled back, past the bench I sat, and made my way to the door.

This is when I saw her again.

She was in different clothes now, less gloomy and more colorful.

I wiped my eyes with my finger to see if she was really there.

She was still there.

I closed my eyes for a few seconds and when I opened them,

she was no longer there.

I wasn’t so confident in this vision anymore.

I could’ve created it to combat my loneliness for being an outsider.

I wanted connection, but I wasn’t willing to lose myself in the process.

As my body braced for the change in temperature, for a brief moment, I wondered

if she was an angel.

When Pistol Speaks, You Listen

Pull it out.

Nice and shiny.

The power. The glory. The spotlight.

You want it.

Yes. Yes. Yes.

You got it.

Many times.

Many times over.

You have it.





Not here.

Not now.

Not later.

You do.



All of it.



I invited you more than once.

It wasn’t right of me to do.

Taking your power away.

Bleeding your veins until they were dry.

You resented me. I know.

It didn’t matter. I didn’t care. I still don’t.

You knew this.

Still, you kept at me, wanting me to answer.

So foolish. So stupid. So numb.

I wanted you to grow up. Be a man.

Be someone like me, but you failed me, every time.

I did you a favor. The one you never thanked me for.

You wouldn’t have been happy alive.

I knew this as your head detached from your neck.

Your hands seeking admiration as you took your last breath.

Seeking your meaning in the wrong places.

I closed your eyes and buried your head.

You can hate me. I accept this.

It really doesn’t matter. It never did.

You are gone. I am still here.

You are bloodless. I still bleed.

Because I’m Human

I woke up hungry

and not because I hadn’t eaten the night before.

I did. Okay, I really did.

Still, my stomach made noises right away,

and not those painful ones accompanied by growls.

I didn’t deny myself anything last night,

and yet the reminder before things get crazy,

before I become really mad,

and not able to control myself continued.

Hold on.

First things must come first.

I must brush the nasty taste out of my mouth,

and rid myself of what I drank the previous day.

No one likes cotton mouth.

No one likes bad breath.

No one likes to hold it.

No eggs. I understand.

The punishment of it all, but this was a year ago.

There must’ve been some change within me.

I know. I’m kidding myself. I know.

Open the door and look inside.

It’s the same thing.

On All Fours You Were Gone

Your head was flattened as far as it could go in that tire track.

We spotted each other at the same time.

I wanted to help, but what could I have done.

There wasn’t enough room under my coat,

And I didn’t want to get scratched by your claws.

Been there. Done that. No thanks again.

It was pouring that day. The sky was dark. The drops were harsh against my face.

I had places to be, but I slowed down and crept toward you.

I thought, maybe, you could use a friend.

Maybe, you could feel a connection with my words and hand gestures.

Without moving your head, I knew you were watching me.

I meant you no harm when you raised your body on all fours.

Out of fear or hesitation, I can’t be sure.

I didn’t mean to drive you out of your comfort zone with that extra step.

You darted away, running for another place.

I watched you through my half-obscured glasses, wondering where you had gone.

For this I am sorry.

The Deal

You weren’t the exception that day for me.

I saw your hands gripping the steering wheel tight enough to make your

fingers cramp like one’s stomach does after overeating.

A person of your caliber never thinks logically when someone like me chases you.

It’s tragic knowing there’s nothing you can do to get away.

You claim your living the good life. You’re not.

A whole range of thoughts go through your head when your livelihood is at stake.

You possess a half-life, if that, and you know there’s never a way out.

I’m always on your heels.

The threat of your inside becoming your outside is real.

The cuts are now shallow. The hours will seem much longer.

You’ll find your life will further dissect until you can’t hold the minutes with ease.

You want what I have. You want my name. You want my power.

This will never happen when there’s nothing to add and everything to subtract.

Let it Go

I was willing to let it go.

Let the dogs lie peacefully, but you had to utter those words.

You did not see how it’s my usual nature to ignore someone like you,

to let the wind carry your stupidity away before it lands on my shoulder.

This time it was different.

Your disrespect in the way you muttered something under your breath.

I will remind you it was your fault.

I was not the one who took something that was not mine.

You were the one who kept pecking.

You were the one who created this divide between us with the reaction

on your face, and the returned response on mine.

There was nothing left between us except your frustration and anger,

and all because you could not let it go.

Those words I could not hear.

I knew what they meant,

and this is why I was not silent.

Five Words

I’ve seen what tired looks like on a divorced woman.

It hangs in front of her like a carrot she never can reach again.

I knew of others who suffered this affliction.

They bathed in it much too long, and I never bothered to ask the important


How do you get rid of it? Maybe, you don’t. Maybe, you can’t.

Maybe, you should try harder. Maybe, you shouldn’t.

When I came home that Wednesday night, there was a note.

Yes, it was the night he left me after fifteen years together.


Did I mention, he put an exclamation point.

It was, at this point, I lost my appetite. I became a closet Debbie Downer.

A few times I thought death was the best option, but it passed quickly.

I wasn’t that kind of woman, but when the waves in my life tank became too big,

and the bottom no longer there, it was tempting.

I managed to grab something, only for it to slip out of my hand, and drift away.

Sometimes the loss was unbearable and was forced to close my eyes.

He was the one person I thought would never leave me.

It became the longest year of my life. It isn’t easy to breath when you’re not in


I no longer had his arms comforting me.

I longed for his touch. I longed for his smell. I longed for his words.

I also longed to slap his face for his inability to be truthful.

A few months had passed when I recognized something.

It was no longer our bedroom. It was my bedroom.

This was my carpet digging into my legs. This was my wall touching my back.

I could paint over the ugliness on the walls.

Nothing was ours anymore. Nothing was his anymore.

He didn’t want the house. His input no longer matters.

I should’ve known better. Our separation was a bad dream.

Our divorce is going to be a good dream.

I loved him once, and he loved me too.

I have no idea where he is living or if he has another woman.

Too much time has passed, and I have since painted the walls again.


Dig Deeper

I have cut myself to my ankles many times before

because that is what you taught me.

This is what you breathed into my mouth

when I didn’t want your lips anywhere near mine.

You insisted,

Boy, did you keep insisting.

Jeez, how deep did you think you could go?

What the fuck was the matter with you?

Wait, don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.

The hatred. The loathing. The revenge. The pain.

The sad part is you still don’t give a shit.

I trusted you to have my back,

and you did nothing but push me down,

over and over again

until my shell was cracked into a thousand pieces.

It’s a wonder how I ever survived through it all.

Yet, I did.

Some fucking how, I did.

Here, I am, the only one left.

The survivor.

It started with you and ends with me.

Get ready because soon the whole world will know what you did

despite you never caring.

The Belly

I have outlived you by a few years, at most probably five,

maybe even ten, but no more than eleven.

As I sat waiting to reach my destination,

I had time to think about you in the silence, imagining what

aspirations you had, and when you realized all was lost.

You went back to nothing again and again because the path you followed was the

wrong one. It must’ve been a revelation hitting you in the face

when you reached the dead end.

I’m not sure what I would’ve done in your shoes,

but I know the tears you wiped and the revenge you should’ve had

was all for one thing and one thing only.

I should’ve asked for you sooner.

I never imagined I would pick you apart, only to try to tape you back together again

year after painful year.

I never knew why you were gone even though I knew what had happened.

There’s no more needing the answer.

I have it, and so do you now.

There’s freedom for both of us, and while this feels strange to say,

it is reality I’ve accepted because

without you there would be no me.

Weary Comparison

You tell me you can’t go on,

that you are sore,

burned out,

sent to the brink of not being able to return.

But you’ve never listened to yourself,

or told yourself you can go on,

as a fighter,

a survivor,

someone that strikes first and asks questions later.

You pass by people who have betrayed

you with all their intelligence,

and you think they are better

than you,

but they aren’t,

and why you can’t accept that I’m not sure.

Their fingers and toes aren’t

anymore special than your own,

but you insist on burning both ends of the stick,

and it never makes sense

why you do this,

when your existence is questionable.


If I told you to touch it, would you?

I don’t think you would.

I really don’t think you would.

You crave loneliness.

You do things in the dark.

It’s not like I don’t know who you are.

I see you not holding your words in truth.

I hear you doing bad things.

I touch your ugliness all the time.

You have not fooled me.

It’s not as if I lost my senses.

You keep trying to hide things, believing each time you succeeded.

You wonder why it happened that way.

If I told you I would kill it, would you let me?

Allow me to stop its suffering.

Allow me to stop the contortions.

Have it not scamper to an unknown spot,

Never to be found again.

Your misery vanished.

I don’t think you could handle it.

I really don’t think you could.

You like darkness.

I wonder if you really do.

You might stay there forever.

What would you do?

What could I do to you?

Not You

I’ve kicked you out many times

From my mind.

I’ve bolted down the tiny path,

Always leading somewhere toward mistakes.

I played with death

Because of you.

I wanted it.

I craved it.

I needed it.

My chest was crushed under your weight.

The weight I thought was something else.

The something else that was fear.

The fear that turned into pure ugliness.

I screamed.

I sobbed.

I mourned.

It wasn’t that you betrayed me,

But the way you did it,

So viciously and carelessly.

You simply didn’t give a damn,

Despite all your promises.

You’ve been replaced with pain of another kind,

Broken and dejected.

Similar yet different.

Empty feelings.


I wonder.

I wander.

I wait.

In the Meantime


Are up there,


I am down here.


Were always with me,


And hearing my voice quiver.

My high pitched words,

Sounding like unsettled screams,

As you stroked my fears away.

Every day you are gone,

I am unsettled,

Not still,

Not sure,


And waiting.

Sometimes it is

Unbearable for me,

And I think

When this feeling ends,

Will I be stronger?


Have moved away,

For such a long time,

Way over there,


I miss you,



It seems you have been here before.

Yes, you have.

The objects look the same.

Yet, you know they are different.

The dust is another layer formed.

Another year gone by, and you must escape from under these dark clouds.

Your eyes are heavy.

Your ears don’t hear well.

Strength can be difficult to find.

Every morning you put life into categories,

As if they can be labeled,

As if they will gain a different meaning.

One you will understand better.

One that doesn’t make your heart so weary.

One that doesn’t make you suffer so much.

Yes, the arrows still fly around you.

Nights become days as you walk toward the dark again.

You feel more is within your grasp, but never fully able to see it.

It takes time to deliver.




You tell yourself these words.

You navigate the weight of life on your shoulders.

There are no remedies to take the pressure away.

Yes, it is this way.

Not all the time is it great.

Not all the time is it right.

There aren’t magical words to fulfill your desires.

Half of your existence remains tucked away.


What Could Have Been

What are the odds?

Not very high.

I told myself this over and over.

It must be difficult to know you lost out on something.

Yes, it stings a little bit, but all the time people lose.

Some lose something small.

Some lose something big.

It is easy to let it fester.

Stay up all hours of the night.

What was the meaning of this?

Am I not seeing something there?

Is this is another lesson?

Why did I miss it?

What do other people do?

Because I only feel numbness.

This is a screwed up way to teach me a lesson.

I wasn’t told these kinds of things would happen.

I wasn’t given the choice that life would get harder instead of easier.

I wasn’t told many things.

I find myself not so hopeful.

It is sad I might never be reunited with the might have been.

It is downright a gloomy prospect.

I am not sure where to place my feet now.

It scares me more than I am admitting.

The sun rising or setting does not comfort me like it once did.

This kind of repetition gets old.

Will the sun stop rising and setting at some point?

Will it disappear?

I am not feeling like I once was.

I am not feeling much at all.

The odds were very high this time.

There had to be another way.

There simply was not.

The Blind Date

She told me to not be so damn perfect.

It wasn’t that I was trying all that hard.

I told her this. I truly did. I did.

I did, I did, I did, I did, I did.

You think she listened to me.

No. No. No.

Each no for what I presume to be each of her emotions.

She didn’t listen to me,

For she was intrigued too much.

Maybe, my thick hair.

Maybe, my biceps.

Or, my imported leather jacket.

Were any of those her reasons?

She didn’t let herself hear of my minor flaws.

It didn’t even enter the space between her head to listen.

She hardly knew me, and to make it worse, she was such a stubborn, little thing.

I would’ve let her slip her hand into my pocket: back or side, if I cared

To listen to her chattering on and on.

It wasn’t that I tried to get to this point as she sipped her cosmopolitans.

She did. She did. She did. She did. She did.

This wasn’t the right woman for me. It wasn’t the right woman, at all.

She had none of the characteristics I was seeking.

I wasn’t sure why she put my entire essence on a gold encrusted pedestal.

If only it were real, then that would be something to get excited about.

How I wish it was both, the gold and our initial meeting, at the same time.

This girl wanted to be a gigantic do it yourself woman.

This bubbling world we call modern life isn’t suited for men like me.

As the saying goes, she was turned on.

Yet, I didn’t want to go anywhere with her, suitable or not.

I’m all for bringing chivalry back,

But not when it includes this kind of woman.

Certainly not.

Certainly not.

Most certainly, definitely, absolutely not.

But something held me back.

I couldn’t run even if I had tried.

So, don’t fault me for not leaving,

Because when a man cracks,

Everyone hears it.

I Ask When

This too shall pass, they told me.

When I asked why, there was nothing but silence.

This was why it never went beyond the first question.

On that day, I never received anything substantial.

I wanted more and rightly so, but it was never the right time.

They proved me wrong over and over again.

These hardened feelings still fracture my heart.

If they haven’t passed yet, it soon will was the message.

But I’d like to know when.

Mirror, Mirror

The face in the mirror looked at me.

Hadn’t seen this face for a long time, but here it was to haunt me.

Couldn’t tell if it was mine or that of the monster.

I hadn’t seen the monster for a while either.

He held my attention even when its features became blurry.

No longer could I spot where the sides of the face ended.

The flesh seemed to melt away or maybe it disappeared behind the steam.

I wasn’t ready for it to leave quite yet.

But I knew it was not mine to claim.

I had tried to discard this face a long time ago.

It was the right choice to make, and yet the dark eye was visible to me.

It had restricted me at certain times.

I was too impressionable back then.

The small changes within myself were purposely forgotten.

My proof of turning a new leaf was an invention of mine.

I had turned into an ugly liar, and it felt crummy.

I was not a good person as much as believed otherwise.

My insides never caught up with my outer appearance.

The face in the mirror was despicable.

The monster that scared me was wicked.

There was a time I saw my innocent face, but I knew deep down it was cracked.

It didn’t matter what I desired.

None of it would come true.

The face in the mirror continued looking at me.

Couldn’t tell who it was, but only that it was searching for something more.

The Night

The music between us was loud and boisterous, as if it shouted from the speakers,


There was no one in that room not moving that night.

If you weren’t dancing, someone would have grabbed your hand and dragged you

onto the floor.

All of the movement made my head dizzy. The price you pay for fashion.

My headband somehow managed its way into the dryer.

The things people hold onto even when they are too tight.

I never wanted to go back to the old way of doing things.

That night was so close to perfection.

I haven’t been able to get that back.

I’ve tried, but I never rolled snake eyes.

I felt so safe around him.

Even if we weren’t in the same room, things were easier for me.

The way his wavy hair cascaded past his shoulders.

Some of my friends told me men shouldn’t have long hair, but I didn’t care.

All I knew that he was mine.

I wanted to lose a part of myself to him that night, and he did not disappoint.

The way he touched my face when the beat slowed a bit.

His hands were smooth, and his breath was a mixture of coffee and cigarettes.

I didn’t care about the stink when I kissed him that night.

This was how our relationship developed.

He allowed me to release all the worries as I boogied on the dance floor.

He had such a carefree attitude.

I felt free for the first time in my life.

This freedom lasted throughout the night each time I grabbed his hand as he

twirled me around.

We only existed to each other. He mouthed something to me.

I made out a few words.


The music remained the same when he drifted away from me.

He was no longer close by my side.

Something BOOMED! Something BANGED!

He still made me believe in things. His advice mattered. He kept my heart intact.

We experienced from the same place.

This was an important time in my life.

There were no limits.

It was worth it when we reached our finale.

Yellow Bird

If a bird landed on my shoulder, what color would it be? And what would he do?

It might defecate on my new white crispy shirt from my favorite brand name store.

It could stand on one foot attached to a spindly leg, then the other as if life were

only a game to him.

But when he appeared, he did neither.

Instead, took one glance at my eye wear resting ever so peacefully on my nose

And then tried to lift the frames off my ears, hopping from one side to the next.

This continued much to my mixture of delight and slight irritation until I was

consumed with irritation alone.

I made limited contact with his frenetic body after a few misses.

I concluded with a purposeful swat to his body.

Quite stunned by what I had done, he collected himself and flew away.

I blurted rather loudly, “good riddance,” and went along my intended path.

But when I turned my head to make sure he was gone, he was about 25 feet away

And flying towards me with his wings flapping in a state of what appeared to be

sheer panic or rage.

Maybe, this yellow bird has something to tell me.

“That can’t be,” I said with emphasis. Birds can’t talk. Sure, they can chirp. But

talk to a human being?

Absolutely not!

I turned back, hoping I would only see a dot in the sky,

With thoughts of what my body must do and my mind should release from the past


It was no such luck because he was still there, only closer.

And as I continued onto the next physical destination,

My mind clearly was not in sync with the next task before me.

I was flustered from head to toe and beyond.

If only there were repeats in one’s lifetime.

If another bird landed on my shoulder, would the color be different?

Would he be a she this time?

Would she peck my eye out?

Females tend to be more aggressive than males or what I noticed as of late.

Would she take something away? And not return it back?

Would she return it to me in a million broken pieces?

Would she succeed?

The bird, at hand, must be paid attention to instead of wondering about


The future may hold many possibilities but not currently.

I straightened up as much as my crippled back allowed, and

Prepared for another duel with this stinking yellow bird.

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