January 8, 2017

Swing down with a cold-hearted hand of the wood

As you watch little of our meekest desires

And we hold on to even less of our intrinsical selves.

Walk past, shoulder brush, electric sky

Did we ever see that it has been replaced?

Did we ever look up to protect what is ours?


September 15, 2016

I am Three.

Split in half by the separation of my parents, I was broken.

In the lavish world in which my father resided, I was a pretty puppet.
Dresses of tulle and red-soled heels I could not remember names of tried to befriend me, the hollow fragrance of a thousand...

August 7, 2016


Is not a wound

that needs healing.

Sadness is the stitches

that tie you back together:

when the needle pierces your skin,

but necessary

to make you whole again.