You are…

I feel you in every song

and you exist within all my stories.

Your voice passes through my lips

as I convince myself that there is beauty in my existence.

Your laughter dances with the mirth pouring from my eyes

and you are the recipient of the smiles you may never see.

Your fingers caress my own as I gently cup the prayers of my soul,

shy to let go, afraid to ask… for you.

Whistling Winds

The wind whistles through my bones

reminding me

that not too long now,

it will carry away

the dust of my existence


She rose from the ocean
Not like a mermaid, sweet and agile
Rather like a kraken, a force to be reckoned

too long caged,

subdued in a dark blue sleep,

forced down by waves of judgement,
Today she rises,
Today she is awake
Today She Takes Back Her Kingdom

Public Property

My body’s become public property

The shape of it, a wild deserted island

A claim to be staked


These hips with their too wide hills

And unattractive valleys

We’ll just smooth those out now

They tell me: cut this out and cut that out

And see how my frame gets tamed


Some days I crave the cold steel of a knife,

Greedily gliding across this rough canvas

Of stripes of white and brown

Pushing just a little harder

A little more on purpose and

I could just carve out your masterpiece


And soon the image in the mirror

Becomes a living mannequin

Wearing others words for clothes

And looking for warmth in the opinions of those who even now

Deny this civilization of their own making

Deeming it public property,

A free for all. Wanted by none.

The Beauty that You see

The Beauty that You see

So caged it is

A prisoner of its own

The bars so strong

A cage so sublime


Such an illusion

A mirage of passion

Distorts so beautifully

Hides so perfectly

The image of discourse

The wealth of remorse


The pain behind the beautiful vessel

For all to see, yet never to be

seen as being

Anything but

The Beauty that You SEE.



My breath catches in my throat

trying to find the tiniest place to escape

But not breathing comes too easy

It’s become my daily commute

From a calm wisp in the earliest part of day

before the lull of night has passed

to the gasping choke of relief

that wishes the last whispers of day, goodnight

My body’s become a canvas for the expectations others write

The well-meaning dreams that somehow escape my sleep,

but they’ve dreamt for me

The ideal future they’ve constructed

from the confusing present I exist in

They sing the praises of a girl I don’t see in the mirror

the one who looks so good on paper

And why not?

a paper heart is all that’s left

one more rip away from being recycled

Barely staying away from the flame

dreaming of ashes

just barely treading water

dreaming of a deep blue ever after

just barely seeing herself

in the eyes of others



Like a mirror in storage,

so distorted through an inch of built up dust

Over time one cobweb here and a dust bunny there

The swipe of a cloth

like a harsh intrusion searching for a present that the mirror cannot reflect

An image appears in the glass just as distorted as if the dust remained undisturbed

The figure in the mirror stares sightlesssly detached at her reflection and starts to feel

Finally a mirror that she likes

I’ll take this she says, I see perfectly.