Neither Writing Nor Rioting

I’m talking to you
Yes, the one who hasn’t said a word
Who hasn’t raised his hand
Hardly given the teacher a glance
No, he’s not here. Not ever.
He’s writing to a girl he hopes to meet
From Ohio. Wisconsin. Or Massachusetts.
Dreaming of a wonderful life together.
Frolicking in the snow, and the passion
Between keeps them warm
He’s rioting on the steps of City Hall
Tears in his eyes he asks for justice
True justice, a calling not for more action
But in silence
Hear the angels in still whispers
And in heaven’s lights take back the night
He wants to see his people free
He’s neither writing nor rioting
Sitting nor standing
Just being himself
Just being
A little loud at times
Too shy for others
But the goal is real
And the passion unlike another

Consummation of Words

People want writers

To write about love

As if it were trivial

Sexy, seducing stanzas

That make the reader wet with anticipation

Or sultry psalms that paint two lovers

In the epitome of embrace

As if love can be put on

And taken off

Like a coat or tie

If you can only have love while you’re solid

Then you have less than lack in love

You lack in humanity

I write of love as a constant state of humility

Forever grateful for life we don’t deserve

For songs of angels that bless this world

And for the people we meet who touch us

Some is sexual

But the best is one that doesn’t ever leave

It’s the one you die with

It’s the touch of breath

That consummates why I write

Words Collapse Boundaries Of Mind

Pour it out

On the streets, into their homes

Into the oceans, into their clothes

Wash their brains, rinse the craniums

These words are me

And I am made of them

Through pain and panic, they’ve built walls

To the outside world that doesn’t accept me

Through loss and longing, they’ve built roads

To the inside world that doesn’t correct me

But burns every time I move

Twitching, stinging until I adjust my thoughts

Attuned to the right waves, I am unstoppable

At least inside this room, I am loved

Inside this balloon, I can talk with anyone

Through regulation and regret pushed aside

I try to catch up to the present time

I’m still living in the past

Because I took so long to figure me out

Because I took so long stamping out doubt

Because I don’t really know where I’m going

But I enjoy the journey

And laughing all the way

Until my resting place, when I’ve finished

But today is not that day

Session Two

It’s business

This pain against you

Ensnared in the Dream, no one

Can rescue you

The end is near

And so very far away

With every day you age

You get younger


Lifeless as a pen on a shelf

Waiting to be made into the abstract

Motionless inside half beating heart


Living and dying you are

In the vein of their gravity

No escape, not without the cry of blasphemy

“How dare you betray us”

“Do you think we’re really that bad?”

You deserve what you did, don’t you?

Spoiled little brat

Life can be a pain in the ass

But we’ve all got our paths

So stop complaining

They’re your parents after all

They know what they’re doing

The Things I’m Not, We All Are

First things first
I’m not a writer
There’s nothing special about my profession
Everyone writes everyday
Even when they’re not thinking about it
Communicating information is centuries old
What makes me so bold
To share it with the world
Is the power and passion that flows
Inside these veins, borne of a brain
Taught to hate the plain, chase the days
Long into the night, resting only
Once I’m on top of the pile
Second things second
I’m not a poet
Speaking powerful words that inspire
There’s nothing special about that
People do that everyday, even when
They don’t know they are
Doctors, nurses, police officers
Bringing forth life with a touch
That’s real power
That’s real change
What makes me so bold
To share it with the world
Is the emptiness I find in breath
The space between our eyes
So many humans are dead, rotting inside
And it’s up to us to bring them back
Inside these veins, borne of a brain
Taught by guilt, molded by pain
Never ready to give up, I get up again
Last things last
Writing doesn’t make me a writer
Powerful images doesn’t make me a poet
None of these things define me
Because humans create powerful images
Humans write words of love and peace
So I guess
I’m just human
I guess
We’re all human

Some Good, Some Bad, Mostly In Between


Hello WordPress. Coming to you in my (very awesome) Fall Out Boy Bomber Jacket (I’m not walking around with this on, it was just for this pic), I’ve been more or less tired as of late. Mentally more than physically.. the days have really started to become blurs. Maybe it’s just the season, just the cold, but it’s a mildly oppressing moshpit of activities. Thanksgiving Week will be weird since Mary’s Gourmet be open Tuesday and Wednesday, which are days I usually spend reading and writing at home or at a park/coffee shop somewhere. Anyway. I’m an aspie holding a customer service job for nine months. Kinda crazy, but it’s humbling and a reminder of how far I’ve come. Customers are always telling me I’m such a wonderful presence, and that I’m always fast of my feet and finding solutions. Heh. Guess I blend in better than I thought I could. Or the gluten free diet is working. I haven’t been exactly GF though. I did order a gluten free pie from one of my favorite vendors at our farmers market for thanksgiving, so #Progress.

Registering for college next year. Now that my dad isn’t around to fuck up, I can actually get the school my tax information. Can’t believe he cost me a year, and way too much embarrassment. Haven’t really done anything school-related, which has allowed me to write a ton. Also, reading. I read Catcher In The Rye over the summer (hated it), but it was nice to have so much free time. It feels good to be writing, but not poetry. Been feeling down lately. Mostly upset with the lack of response from publishers about my book.  Blog views are down. Also having a hard time integrating at my Teen Arts Council. I was there last year but this year I can’t get there on time (work), so I miss about half a meeting. I felt like this year would be better, but I actually feel worse. I just can’t make friends. And none of the girls are interested in me. (Asks someone why). They’re gay. That’s news. I’m not upset, but it does explain the…I dunno how to put it. 

Been published twice in the last couple months on SpillWords….

Here’s my interview with

You Were Meant To Know The Night Writing Prompt

Letting Go for

When You Don’t Know



don’t know what to write

I feel stronger and weaker

every single time

the world gets darker

hope sinks farther

and all the while I fail

at ever being normal

this obsession becomes regression

when I struggle so plainly

maybe I’m no good

maybe I’m no good

or maybe I struggle to do what I should

even when it’s in plain sight

struggle to stay within the lines

they pick and prod my mind

I want to be alone this time

but they don’t get it

some things can’t be quit

and they come back every time you cleanse

cause the only true cleanse

is the one of death

but who’s ready to do that

Sometime Long Ago


sometime long ago

when the house was always hot

and I’d stare out the windows 

to taste the tip of a glorious breeze

or when the winter snows came

and I’d bury my head underneath comforters

and watch Jamaal Charles highlight videos

sometime long ago

when I was skinny, reckless, and angry

and I’d stare at the plaster pour

from the walls I’d beat senseless

until I was sure they felt as much pain as I

or when I had ignored my anxious tendencies

and my parents scolded me for something I couldn’t control

when I cried until my nose ran red

and I was sure I had a pussy instead of a penis

sometime long ago

when I refused to go out

I’d miss god, family, and the restoration of Jerusalem

if it meant I didn’t have to show my face

mu ugly, zitty, scar-ridden face

or when people would talk to me

and I’d just look away

hoping, praying, that if I ignored them enough

they would go away

sometime long ago

when I didn’t know who you were

and I’d spend my nights looking at women

I never should have known

I was like, six, and I just didn’t know

it’s okay to look at pretty women, right world?

I’m 18 and now I see

the pain of my past will always live with me

watching my father leave

friends leave

my world is always collapsing


now I realize

that sometime long ago

can be just that

if you close your eyes

let the scars burn

the blood dissolve

eventually the cocoon falls off

and what’s left is the most beautiful

butterfly anyone’s ever saw





Week In Review: Gluten Free Diet Update and (Finally) Some Goods News Regarding Publication


Now that my busy weekend of work is over, I can catch you all up on what’s been going on with this side of the internet…

-Published (AGAIN) on SpillWords

My poem “They’re All Dead” has been up since Wednesday. Go check it out here: SpillWords

-GF/CF Diet Update

I kinda broke my diet Thursday. I’m not supposed to drink milk, but I did. Discovering it goes well with unsweetened tea, I had a (FEW) glasses. I immediately felt sick. That tells me two things. One, I really shouldn’t have it. Two, my body’s defense systems are attacking faster now that there’s less they have to deal with. I’ve also been feeling very agitated lately, and my poetry has taken more of a violent twist. I dunno if that’s worth mentioning, but even my mom mentioned it to me.

Chiefs/Chargers today! giphy-2.gif


Child Born Of Tremor and Turmoil



writing is my love

my life

the beginning and end

of an always speaking wife

we noticed one another

while drifting away from life

on the verge of exiting

she stole the knife

we courted on balconies


and windows crept through

by cellphone light

we wed four years ago

happy as could be

believing us

is all we would ever need

marriage is not

without difficulty

for to unify two individuals

someone must be subverted

to keep the peace of another

so I remained silent

pregnant by another

far more ravenous insatiable lover

and when the night falls

I run to her

begging to be spared

and spare the world

of a child born of tremor

and turmoil

agony agony I cry

why do you leave me alone

to perish