writing
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Starting Somewhere
It only takes one word Like a slow, hesitant breath Streaming into more fluid exhales – An even cadence Unfurling the tense coils Of anxiety From deep within the chest Until it becomes less painful To draw these words out Even when they Snag and bruise With their jagged edges At the exposed places And delicate fringes Of my mind A balsamic comfort Trails over these wounds Soothing the unease With the knowledge That Continue reading
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Morning Accident
Scalded tongueBurns with curses —Hot coffee Poured down the drainBittersweet swirlsOf wasted pleasureWashed down In vacant streams An angry jerk Of the refrigerator doorBears a cold breathOver flushed cheeksIce cubes crudely culledFrom their deep bedsFor the surly monsterRolling out from its wet cave —Pink and scorched Saliva drips into the sinkThe burn cools She pours Continue reading
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When the Night Comes
There is an intimacy that comes with the night. When the moon hoists herself high with unabashed flourish amid the glimmer of a star-studded sky. In the hours when the earth sighs soft and nocturnal melodies drift on the whistling wind. Here, in this room, where the walls are so thin they may not have Continue reading
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1:03AM
I am afraid. That sole thought paces my skull like an echo of frantic footsteps over wooden floors. I am afraid that I no longer recognize who I am…or was when I first began writing here. I am afraid I no longer have that mind from which creative thought had bloomed — in an almost Continue reading
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Welcomed
Am I still welcome here? That’s a strange question to ask. This is my blog, but I picture it as a room within the halls of an endless mansion that I share with faceless others. One that is now unfamiliar to me because of how long I’ve been gone. And this room no longer bears Continue reading
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Staying Alive
Rupert’s hand would always go to his pocket when his sensibilities strayed too far beyond the fray. His focus would glaze, amber irises dimming like the telltale signs of life slowly ebbing from a character in a tragic film. He’d rub the things sheltered in his left pocket. Three rubiginous balls. Cold, plastic shells cocooning Continue reading
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What Isn’t
His touch was always like a phantom wind. A zephyr grazing her cheek. As if he was afraid fire would trail his hand and burn her. And he always kept his distance whenever they walked together. Careful that their hands never bumped or brushed together. The subtlety of his avoidance perplexed her. But she would Continue reading
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Puberty
We watched the shadowsStretch and entangle themselvesFolding into each other over the beige wallsLike secret loversLured by the pearl-tongued murmursOf the moonWhile the wind danced and whistled coollyBy the window And we were still by each other —Silent and supine–Our chests in tandemWith echoes of our soft breathPulling in anxietyRattling our rib cagesFor sleep couldn’t Continue reading
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Morning Rituals
She didn’t like coffee, but the smell reminded her of home. Of early mornings roused from sleep by the chaos unfolding in the kitchen down the hall. Her father had always been late for work, stumbling over his big, socked feet to grab his briefcase while stuffing his shirttail in his pants. She would catch Continue reading
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Loneliness
Sometimes it’s easy to forget: the things that are important or what you love. Because the distractions never come like a marauding beast yanking your arm and ripping all that you cherish from your chest. It often begins as an innocuous brush against the shoulder; an allure to the senses drawing you away from the Continue reading
Nomad Writer 