A snowflake fell upon my leg

then quickly disappeared.

I wondered why it couldn’t stay

but enjoyed it while it was here.


It made me think of pleasant times

that all come to sad ends,

or seasonal people in our lives

like teachers, lovers, and friends.


For as time changes and we age,

good and bad may come and go.

And so we must turn each new page

if we wish to learn and grow.


So as the snowflake faded away

a smile grew on my face.

I accepted that it couldn’t stay,

for a new one would take its place.


(written 3 Feb 18)



She had a dream

she was stuck in her bed,

stuck in her head,

left for dead

so she spread out all her thoughts across this keyboard

hoping someone could find her in between these words

a little voice that wants to be heard

but is scared of not being afraid

because the mess she’s made has her doubting her sanity

and all of humanity is a mess

they tell her it’s stress

but she can’t stress enough

that this is more than life being rough

there’s a certain place where she’s been before

but where she’s headed is behind a locked door

one she’d never opened in fear of what’s ahead

in fear of being stuck in her head,

left for dead,

alone in her bed

and when she thought she’d woken up,

a soft voice said,

‘my darling, this isn’t a dream…’




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A downward spiral

you took a trip to a bad neighborhood where you can’t turn around,

so you move in

and find comfort within city limits

you ignore the feeling of misery

you pretend you don’t deserve better,

just so you don’t feel bad for treating yourself so cruelly


when you walk into the city, you have no name

you are another face on a milk carton

one that everyone sees in a glance,

but no one remembers enough to care


you are lost

and no one wants to save you

because it’s too dangerous

and they all care more about themselves

in their cozy bungalows

with their fenced-in backyards

and wrap-around porches


you’re not like them anymore

you’re mentally fluid,

flowing faster than a river

drowning feelings

and resuscitating them just as quickly

in swift, fluid motions,

your graceful morbidity keeping you afloat


you’re just a girl

lost in a downward spiral.




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The Strangest Therapy

A strange change

has estranged me from the rest,

the best mess yet,

I put my feelings to the test

and guessed that I’d be left

with a set of regrets,

or blessed

with a handful of excuses,

a hallway full of nooses to hang my worries dry,

put them to bed

as they leave my empty head hollow,

it’s a hard pill to swallow

when you don’t follow through,

but what can you do

when your mind is unclothed

in an empty room,

when you thought you could trust

but you







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Hot, Hot Heat

I can’t help

but feel the squelching heat of defeat

I’m beat, life has won

I’m done with all the running away

praying for another day to save myself

when all I want is the peace beneath my eyelids

and they have no clue what I plan to do

behind closed doors.

Linoleum floors never felt colder underneath soft skin

I say it’s comfort but you call it a sin.

But who wins when you can’t find me in an abandoned bathroom

struggling to breathe beneath the heat of defeat

that did me in?




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It’s a mad, mad world

and she’s a good little girl

but there are people who love

to screw it all up

’cause they know how to make a bad boy better

and a good girl bitter,

turn the hopeful to doubt

and the winner into a quitter


but one day it hit her,

she figured it out

she surely didn’t have to live her whole life in doubt

that it’s a mad, mad world

and that good little girl

grew up to be bitter

’cause she couldn’t be the winner

of love.


I wish I weren’t trapped in a bubble of self-hate,

stuck debating whether I’m evading or persuading myself

to be someone I ain’t.

I admire the girl I see through the glass

who’s going for it, not looking back

at all the shit she bit off before she could chew

the fact that she knew who she was all along.

What’s stronger than the power

behind her disguise are the lies

she told herself to compromise her demise

for the prize of being free, fleeing from the tree

with broken branches, entranced by second chances,

she glances at the reflection and sees a cosmic connection

of affection for what’s inside,

a pride of being alive and well,

with a pen and a paper

and a story to tell.