16 December 2009


a fleeting moment.
a chronic routine.
a precious keepsake.  
mine and yours alone.
we laze atop our deepest
of which we'll
soon fulfill.

heavy heads, powerlessly sunken,
and thankful for it.
for perfect dimples
on worn in pillows,
impossible to refuse-
a truly magnetic lure.

a television, not worth mentioning,
muffled by the affection
of body parts and
sweet whispers.
a comforter, from the knees and down,
draped aimlessly
over tangled feet and
knotted legs-

we’re a mutant for tonight.
we’re mutants.

03 December 2009

The Ghost of Guilt

The Ghost of Guilt,
It follows you ‘round
Impelling your shoulders in.
It haunts your core,
And floods your worth,
Allowing your demons to win.

Dressed in white robes
With billowing frills,
It appears to be a friend.
But it traps your trust,
And shackles your heart
Until you lose your way again.

Before you know it
Your life is not yours,
It belongs to a cloak-ed crook.
A swindler and impostor
Who fooled you to believe
It was all for your own good.

But behind the mask
Of trust and aid
Is a nasty, deceptive creature.
It has taken away
Your ability to see YOU
For all your charming features.

Instead you see you
As evil and unworthy,
As you focus on the grim.
The Ghost of Guilt
Has made you absorb
A persona that glorifies him.

You’re so far gone
You can’t see straight
And nothing is alright.
You’re so far gone
You can’t see Hope-
The Spirit of the Light.

She calls for you
She yells your name
On the knees of your heart.
“You simply have to
Choose to move on-
Create a brand new start.
Unleash this beast,
YOU have control,
The reigns are in your hands.
Cast off this burden
And set it free.
Give yourself a chance.”

And so I did,
I released the monster
That had been taunting me completely.
It was just as simple
As making a choice
To not let this devil beat me.

10 September 2009

Can't Stand the Rain: against your window

That painting you painted is starting to bleed-
Right from her fingers,
Right from her knees.

Her eyes shed red tears filled with sorrow and pain-
As though it's her fault,
As though she's to blame.

You get angry and frantic, trying hard to work it out.
You panic and worry,
You scream and you shout.

She's ruined your life, she's off the beaten trail.
Her colors are blurry,
Her skin has turned pale.

You refuse to accept it, this is not what you planned.
She was designed to be special,
She was supposed to be grand.

Now the paint is running, after years of abuse.
She's rebelling, she's defiant
She's stepped out of your shoes.

She has made herself something you do not understand.
No matter that she's beautiful;
She's not what you planned.

This image, this portrait that you spent so long painting,
It's ruined, it's tarnished,
It's not yours, it's tainted.

[She screams]
“How could you do this?
How could this be?
How could you not care
That the painting is ME.”

I'm changing-
I'm human-
Go figure.

I'm flawed, but you can call me Meg

She wears her hair in curly pigtails
And doesn’t mind the sloppiness.
She goes days without washing it,
Embracing the accumulated grit from a hard slogged week.

She refills her favorite mug as many times as possible
With the coffee that fuels her overall stamina.
As a result of this tragic caffeine dependency,
Her teeth are permanently stained in certain spots.

She bites her fingernails compulsively
When life’s stresses get particularly unpleasant.
She leaves them natural- unpolished-
Because it chips off anyway,
So why bother?

Her eyebrows slowly but surely merge
After months of letting them go.
Plucking and grooming takes too much time-
Time that she would rather not sacrifice
For superficial desires.

When she’s at home, she’s in scrubs-
The same outfit every night.
It’s a source of comfort that she anticipates
After the effort to primp for a job
She feels indifferent about.

She knows she’s odd;
Totally aware of her quirks.
They used to bother her.
But not anymore.
They used to haunt her.
Until she chose to think otherwise.

She knows she’s odd,
And she doesn’t much mind.
Being imperfect
Is perfectly fine.

Detroit Annie, Hitchhiking- Judy Grahn

Her words pour out as if her throat were a broken artery
and her mind were cut-glass, carelessly handled.
You imagine her in a huge velvet hat with great
dangling black feathers,but she shaves her head instead
and goes for three-day midnight walks.

Sometimes she goes down to the dock and dances
off the end of it,
simply to prove her belief
that people who cannot walk on water are phonies,
or dead.

When she is cruel, she is very, very cool
and when she is kind she is lavish.
Fisherman think perhaps she’s a fish,
but they’re all fools.
She figured out that the only way
to keep from being frozen was to
stay in motion, and long ago converted
most of her flesh into liquid.

Now when she smells danger,
she spills herself all over,
like gasoline, and lights it.

She leaves the taste of salt and iron
under your tongue, but you don't mind.
The common woman is as common as the reddest wine.

A Favorite Song: Extraordinary Machine

Lyrics and talent: Fiona Apple

I certainly haven't been shopping for any new shoes,
I certainly haven't been spreading myself around.
I still only travel by foot,
And by foot it's a slow climb,
But I'm good at being uncomfortable
So I can't stop changing all the time.

I notice that my opponent is always on the go,
Won't go slow, so's not to focus
And I notice,
He'll hitch a ride with any guide
As long as they go fast from whence he came,
But he's no good at being uncomfortable
So he can't stop being exactly the same.

If there was a better way to go, then it would find me.
I can't help that the road just rose up behind me.
Be kind to me
Or treat me mean.
I'll make the most of it;
I'm an Extraordinary Machine.

04 September 2009


I want to live in a tee-pee.
With no bells, no whistles,
no pressure to upgrade my blinds, or to buy with extravagance.

I'll wash my clothes by hand,
and I'll hunt and gather.
I want to get back to basics and avoid excessiveness;
cherish nature and purity rather than gadgets and fluff.

I want realness and simplicity.
With no strings attached, no catches involved,
no judgment on the type of cell phone I have, or how often I use it.

I'll drive a golf cart, or maybe a bumper car-
I'm sure I could build one myself.
I want to be my own insurance, my own doctor;
heal problems with answers rather than silly run around's.

I want to smell the freshness of breezes.
No chemicals, no artificial fragrances,
no need for $7.00 bottles of Fe-breeze, or glade plug-in's that only last a week.

I'll light my beach estate with a bonfire;
I'll start making it at dusk.
And lanterns too.
And I'll crochet blankets to snuggle up
with my son, as we tell our own stories, and talk about goodness.

I want to sleep under the stars,
with the waves crashing 30 feet away from my homemade pillow.
No sirens blaring, no endless car alarms sounding,
nothing to wake me but the suns morning return.

I'll grow my own tomatoes and corn.
And herbs of every variety.
A full garden.
I'll use kitchen utensils made from scratch,
including a Molcajete for guacamole and salsa.
Who needs a food processor, anyway?

I want to deliberately step back-
away from wastefulness.
Redo the idea of an "essential element."
Get back to basics,
appreciate authenticity and independence,
and find myself wanting a treat,
as opposed to needing a trick.

I just want to be full.
I just want to be.

01 September 2009

Just a Dream

Last night, I dreamt that I saw you
In a car-window's reflection,
But you did not see me.
Your hair was at its best
-curly and wild-
As it shone in the morning light.
Your lips were slathered in their typical tone,
Just as glossy as I’d remembered.
-I smiled-
I couldn’t believe how beautiful you looked.
You wore your favorite sunglasses,
The ones you no longer have
-but oh well-
Easily replaced.
You just stood at your car,
Calculating your next move,
Wracking the endless check-list in your brain.
It was as if you had no idea how gorgeous you were
-Like no one had ever told you-
We both know that’s not the case.
It was as if you had no concept of yourself,
Or the space you stood in.
When I saw you, it nearly took my breath away
-A reaction I was not expecting-
You just looked so, different,
So, changed,
So, poised.
When I saw you, it nearly took my breath away
-Until I woke up and I realized-
You were me.
I was you.

Oh Well.

Tunnel Vision

The light at the end of the tunnel is alive and breathing.
It shines, forever unaware of its influence,
Totally oblivious to its grandeur.
Its brightness is fueled by modesty and consideration,
For everyone besides itself.

For some, it is the support upon which they stand,
And the hope upon which they fall.
As it gleams, day in and day out,
Occasionally flickering with exhaustion,
It provides a solemn sense of reassurance to those that look its way.

For some, it is the gratification of victory,
And the sweet relief of success.
As it glows, every day without fail,
Blinking only to shed a tear,
It says goodbye to one dream fulfilled, and hello to the next aspiration.

For some, it is the worship of idols, and the inspiration drawn from heroes.
As it glistens, reliably from day to day,
Wavering just for a moment,
It drives a fanatical passion,
And cheers for its onlookers with unparalleled fervor.

For me, it is the love of two men,
And the continual joy that they lay on my heart.
As they twinkle, relentlessly, oblivious to their significance,
They congest my soul with gratitude,
And dam my spirit with value.

The lights at the end of the tunnel are alive and breathing.
One is my soul mate,
The other is teething.
Fortune has never blinded me so deeply,
As these two bright lights that will never stop beaming.

25 August 2009

(Pinocchio Should Have Rebelled with a bit More Conviction)

The makeup you have meticulously placed
on my face is
chafing my skin.
These hooks that you have poked
in my limbs
are making me bleed.
I'm made of flesh- SKIN!

I'm lonely up here.
How long have you been
yanking and
cranking and

You did not design me,
as the fulfilled gaze in your haughty,
naughty eyes
would imply you did.
I'm lonely up here.

Cannot be manipulated.
Cannot be fabricated.
Cannot be found from one yank
To another.

I'm done. I quit.
Snap these strings
and put me down,
so I can wash my face.

** A poem I wrote 3 years ago that has recently been accepted into the Spring 2009 issue of GMU's literary journal. So, this makes it 2 for 2... I was also published last semester! It is very cool, and I'm both humbled and proud all at once. **


While the clash between my wits and my carcass evolves,
I pause to dwell on the sensation of gratitude
That I feel pulsing through my conked-out-body-
An insight of immense appreciation for you,
And for your positively priceless presence in my life.

I liberate a tear from my exhausted eye.
It trickles down my face.
I attempt to detain it with my tongue-
Prevent it from tapping your shoulder-
Deter it from unveiling my sentiment-
I refuse it from exposing me.

Another drops,
Hitting every piece of peach fuzz on my Rosie Reds
As it makes its way slowly to my lips.
It tastes like joy!
It tastes like "thank you" and undreamed of miracles.

You embrace my arm and proclaim to me your undying love
Once more before
We drift to a place where reality has no voice.

Another tear- warm and comforting-
I aver my mutual adoration for you.
Once again, I can't help but sample the flavor
That you have inspired my eye to concoct:
The sweet taste of reverence,
The salty sense of lust,
The sour tang of missing you in slumber.

Morning cannot come too soon.
While we lay here,
And as we sleep
Please know my soul is yours to keep,
Until we meet again
On the other side of the moon.

Oh, what would I do without you?
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