April 2, 2017
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?
October 26, 2016
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 28, 2016
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,
to make you whole again.