Locks of Love

I worry my mother.
I have this temper that
hides beneath my calm.
It simmers and steams
then boils when I’m wrong.

I worry my mother
with a temper like my father’s.
But, I hope she knows
that when I throw a fit
and slam the door,
I never choose to lock it.
Nov. 12th, 2016


“Love is all you have left,”
the heart said.

“Love is all you have right,”
the brain replied.


Completely Empty

There are nights
its hard to write
it’s hard to say
what I’m feeling some days.

But I found
when I stare down
at this empty sheet
this paper is already complete.
completely empty



You know a home is split
when the dinner table itself
emits more sound than the
family sitting at it.


The Gamble

I stay even when they
throw me out like
a garbage bag of trash
full of their own waste
cremating me to ash.
I stay even when they
shove me down like
a puppy on two legs
whining for their love
neglected enough to beg.
I stay even when
I ought to run away.
Even when they hurt
my heart and heart my hurt
I still plunge in head first.
I stay even though
I know they’re bad.
Life is a gamble, a bet.
With them, at least I know
for certain exactly what I’ll get.

Blog, Excerpts

The Grandfather

     A young boy held his dying grandfather in his arms and said, “Please don’t leave me. It hurts.”
     The old man replied, “My son, when everything is okay you must smile-“
     “But it’s not. I can’t!”
     The old man rattled on, “but when everything is not, I need you to remember this: the most important thing you can do is to keep on living.” Then he coughed once more and died with a smile, as if the dead man knew something the rest of the world did not.

Often I’ve realized it’s hard for people to understand me, or perhaps I make it difficult for them to. My heart needs to be seen, but my head wants it to cover up. My voice wants my ideas to be heard, but instead it says ordinary stuff. I want both structure and security, yet I jump on planes spontaneously. Everything in me rests in a calm normality, yet everything in me functions with creative hypersensitivity. I am quiet, yet talkative. Brash, yet meek. Practical, yet impulsive. Appreciative, but also fault-finding. My entire personality is active and joyous, but my soul is troubled and sad. This is my contradiction. It’s as simple and complex as that.



There are stories up my sleeve
that no one will ever read.
They’re a secret form of magic,
this private world inside of me.


Social Accounting

They say social media gives the world more freedom, but from what I’ve seen it straps us down. I often find myself wanting to delete everything I’ve worked so hard to create just to eliminate these chains. Every poem, every prose, every account with an appraised amount, because none of it is worth it if I’m empty where it counts.



They say the strongest and bravest people hide their pain behind a smile, but that’s not true. In a world of people cowering behind happy masks and hiding from expression, the truest form of courage is showing others how you really feel.