avoidance dance

We sat across from each other
or maybe I was standing
but ,
were definitely sitting

with the heaviest feet
grounded on the floor
arms on the arm rests
as if to say this is my chair
and I’m not going anywhere

you get up and leave the room
after I look at you

and then the pattern repeats

we haven’t even met yet


Fan in the trees

June, is warm and lazy,
Ending in green,

So many potential lovers
Which I check off as taken
As soon I develop a crush.

The fall is too deep,
even though I have become an expert
At crawling out of the 1000 foot rock pit.
I’d rather not,
I’ll stay here…

On this ledge,
with my back faced away,
admiring the sunset.

My mind remains sane
by creating this imaginary boundary,
Fabricated complication,

I need all of the reasons
why it won’t work
All of the reasons
that it’s not meant to be,
Never happen,
Get over it.

I got a feeling

It’s a year from the valentine’s day
that I wrote a poem,
so it is only right,
to write,
despite the lack of change.

I am in my own world,
repeating the same,
heartbreaking scenes
of my life,
unwanted thoughts,
that continue to live,
sparked by a song,
or a look.

Last Valentine’s day,
and the one before that,
I trusted the eyes,
But at this very moment,
even making eye contact
is incredibly difficult.

I’m not sad,
oh god no
I am not

It’s just a day,
a week,
or more like a year
of introspection.

Band practice

The tools are more expensive
than the end product,
most of the time.

What I will produce with these $60 worth of tools ,
will be laying around,
for only my mother to see.

Writing is free but
is a luxury.

When poems go nowhere,
like this one,
there is the opportunity to erase, delete,
cut and manipulate,

without a trace of a letter.

Painting is layered, mistakes and all.
What is and
what could have been.

Hidden to the eye,
but existent in the nature.

Bag lady

That sheet of metal that you have installed as a roof
isn’t preventing you from drowning.
The sun cannot reach you,
your head is dry,
preventing growth,
suffocating the sprout.

It’s October,
the month of the soul.
I can feel the change and introspection happen
within the melancholy earth colors.

This time last year I was almost in the same state of mind.
Wanting to grow,
but following a blueprint
of what others have found successful.
The true blueprint I should follow is
the one of the trees.
Let the baggage fall.


I felt deeply and without remorse,
so much so,
that I was stamped with a label
and imprisoned.

In a moment of sole
the mind is lost,
the logic is disregarded.
What is left is the warmth of every single nerve in the body,

The light, pulsing
storm like but balanced, with no
shame involved.

I felt,
and I can’t explain fully
because my thoughts weren’t