Forgiveness

"Slashed her chest, nail by nail,
possessed by something bigger.
Shredded her skin, in a gust of rage,
as if her flesh were your eyeballs-
and her skin your face-
deserving a good talking to.

Bashed her head, side to side,
lost control,
smothered,
by wretchedness.
Pounded, pounded, pounded her fist,

-face, stomach, head-

eager to knock you out
of her system.

Fist to flesh, flesh to fist,
tit for tat, you bastard.
Come to her, leave her alone.
Afterall…
She’s useless."

** This poem was recently published in George Mason University's literary magazine, Volition (2010).

you bitch!

Dear dark side,

Why are you so dark?

Why are you so hard to see through?

Why must you be so fucking scary?

The pitch-blackness is off-putting.

Be more transparent,

please.

Dear bright side,

You're no better.

You are just as blinding.

It hurts their eyes, your fakeness.

The glare is dreadfully intense.

Tone it down,

k, thanks.

Why not green

or perhaps purple.

Or orange;

deep and bright

and perfectly unique.

No extremes,

no black or white

Not even gray.

Bleh, who likes gray anyway?

Dear You-

Be bold and beautiful

and fearlessly vibrant.

Dear dark side,

Dear light side-

you are both

hereby dismissed.

** This poem was recently published in George Mason University's literary magazine, Volition (2010).

be loud

In that moment, the crickets moved swiftly, humming their usual summertime jingle. The royal-toned clouds sashayed along the horizon, appeasing my spellbound peepers, as my feet planted on the mismatched slats of 15 year old plywood. I felt heavy, as if pressed onto the timber deck, my toes cemented through its splinters. But I didn’t mind. I felt as if I was right where I belonged, just for that moment- alone. As the clouds danced their dance, and the crickets waltzed through the black grass, a gust, of deliciously pure breeze blew across my squinted nose. ‘My mouth is dry…’ and I quenched my thirst with a gulp of the freshly painted sky and a sip of the wholesomeness that the night’s essence offered me. Satisfied, I smiled: I had been craving freshness for months now, but it is an elusive substance- not easily found- which worries me to some extent. It does, however, always seem to drift in my direction at exactly the right moment, and find me salivating for its solace. Its unexpectedness is beautiful, making its ‘sparkle’ a novelty worth waiting for, and turning its mysteriousness into something I’ve come to rather enjoy, actually. I shuffled over to the half-rusted rod-iron railing, reaching my hand out as I approached it. Grabbing on, a flake of paint chipped off as I leaned over the edge and glanced down to salute the happiest bushes I have ever seen. I could not tell you off the top of my head what type of shrubbery these particular plants were; my thumbs are nowhere near green, (though I am hoping that will change in time). But I can most certainly aver their overall joy and attest to their contentment with life- as the welcoming committee to the building they sit in front of on Rock Ridge Lane. And the trees- dark at the moment, along the pink and purple skyline- waved at me, affectionately, from their towering stance. ‘I am so small,’ yet I felt so big, in that moment. Fortitude, I will not forsake you.