I am who I am.

I can be a sinner or a saint, the sweetest thing next to a nightmare. I can be terribly awkward and gracefully poised, androgynously daring and daintily coy. I dissolve within and outside of genders. I am woman with all the power she possesses; unbelievably brilliant and frustratingly idiotic. I am innocent and I fluster easily but my tongue is also sharp and my head is sometimes filled with carnal things. I am quiet when I think. I think a lot.

I am a cacophony of things that matter and don’t; of pictures painted and blurred out. I am certain fears, flitting highs and crushing lows, I am the monster beneath my bed and yours. I am depressed and broken and reinvented whole. I am my own salvation even if I sometimes don’t know it.

I am an escape artist; freedom in a t-shirt and torn jeans. I am a rebel in faded leather, I am a jaded healer who chooses whom to heal, and I am Libran whether I believe.

I am not what you think I am, not what you say I am, and definitely NOT what others imagine me to be. I am many things and you have not even begun to scratch my surface. And like you I can exist alone.

I am my own darkness and light.

We are all in the process of dying


 There is nothing worse than seeing fear in the eyes of the dying, nor does it make it any easier to hear them clamor for air or struggle while in the throes of death.  A few may confide how they do not wish to die. Not just yet. And many of them did, eventually. I could do nothing. And I hated it. Hated the hopelessness, the helplessness that we are left to deal with. I realize despite all the advancements we’ve made we are still inadequate when it comes to facing our own mortality.

Some people have their own personal “hell”.  Mine is reliving other people’s deaths over and over in my head. The process has left its indelible mark on me.

Tracing lines


Color in the lines that are missing or faded
Don’t say goodnight

There’s a bird chirping a song I haven’t heard before
Outside my window,
don’t say goodnight and learn the words with me
And carve a song into memory

There is no moon only stars
Dozens by the dozens
Unmarked, aimless, haunting
To dance in light, to speak,
Don’t say goodnight

The grass still smells sweet, dawn is too far
it is in another tomorrow, another dream, I do not belong
Don’t say goodnight.



You and I are like polished mirrors

facing each other

in perfect reflection

in uncanny synchrony

and yet

divided by the space between fingertips

we are in fact

two walls

built up to shield whatever principles

we hold dear

both stubborn

but all we really are

is board-thin glass

fragile and vulnerable

so we never touch

but we ache dully

for warmth.


We are both afraid,

always afraid

to get too close

we fear

breaking each other.

So we remain where we are

staring into each other

silently feeling

soul to soul

echoing heartbeats

in muted darkness.


How beautiful it must be to hear the sound

of broken glass.

of shattered fear

In reckless abandon

To attempt that transcension.

To be where you are.

To feel what you feel.


Beyond glass,

Beyond mirrors,


Ending silence,

Ending doubts,


and seeing for the first time

in perfect clarity, without walls or shadows

the colors of your eyes

reflecting mine.

My Grandmother’s keys


My Grandmother’s Keys


My grandmother owns these keys

They’re all attached to a metal hoop

On a keychain of no specific design

New keys, old keys, skeleton keys,

Large and small

They open locks and doors

I imagine.


I imagine

She must have collected them all her life

To think she could have opened so many doors

And so many locks

Locking and unlocking

Them as she goes

Those locks could be missing now

I wonder.


I wonder

If she lost any of those locks

If those locks remained locked when she lost them or

If they were opened and whatever they held

Got free before the key ever had the chance

To get them back into place.

I counted the keys one day

But they are never the same.


Never the same

These keys, some of them

Lost the doors they are paired to.

What happens to a key if the door’s gone?

I guess they’re just stuck in that hoop for no reason

They’ll never open another door again.


How many doors did grandmother open?

What did she see?

She has extra keys now

For the doors that need them

For the doors we use

You can have as many keys for the same door I guess

But each key can only fit one door.


We can’t lose these keys.

What happens if we do lose them?

I guess when you destroy doors

The keys are all that’s left behind

To remind you that once a door existed.


I guess there are some doors we aren’t meant to open

Like some locks are meant to keep things together

or keep things out

And I don’t know all the stories

But grandmother knows

She knows where each key goes

I know

Because she knows exactly which key to hold

Whenever she opens something.


In the end there will be new doors

With new keys

But all the keys would remain in a metal hoop

Bound to a seemingly ordinary keychain

Of no specific design.


Memento Mori




These ashes, your ghost-

No, the remains of matter that was you-

They taste the same altogether,


No longer your breath

No longer your skin

No longer the sweet taste that is you


It is bitter…and putrid

Like some hearts become

Bitter and pruned

Until they taste nothing like the wine

We used to empty

Out of vessels we keep close

In case we want to forget this world

And all its unkind and cruel eyes

In case we want to fly to Never-land

In that secret garden

We drink up ‘til we sober up

To dead mornings of your curfew

And my breakfast of prejudice

From all the tangential angles

Of eyeful minds

And mindful bigots

We drank them both

Daily doses of reality

Searing our throats.



But these are nothing to endure

We lace fingers silently

and those fingertips

are my sanctuary

from the demons of the day.


But hatred was a demon who never thought well

Of us, he wore rose-tinted glasses

And held bonfires every weekend.

He burns bridges and stake witches-

things like you and me

should never have existed you see


These darkened scars where your ashes kissed

will never say farewell

How could anyone deny you wings?

These images you burned in permanence

These eternal stirrings

This commotion that forever swells

Refuses to die, continues to burn

It was not born from the ashes

And so from ashes it shan’t return.


(June 3, 2012)

Find me


Find me.


I intend to destroy it

Burn it until nothing remains

Tonight it must die…


So I seared it with my lips and licked it barren with my tongue I let my hands work the fever to a pitch

drank what eyes could drink,

trace your lines with these fingertips and break them

and brand them and own them with vengeful avarice

I inhaled the heady scent of moistened, sweetened skin

Of feral dew, and we melted in and out of heaven

just as parched as we had begun.


In a loop as addicting as your breath when it baptized my name

And gave me wings

I flew but you chained me

And I sank into an anguish that coiled me from within

This desire must die tonight in your dreams, in my sleep


It must not reach the morning

I cannot bear to wake up to another day

Of empty yearning.









And after enmeshing every atom of our existence together create a new universe.


Completely sated

And I shall fall like a silent light

To come crashing back into you

When morning comes



Please don’t let me wake up to empty sheets

No more…no more…


It ends tonight.

Or you shall find me there in the morning.

(July 1, 2012)