I’ve left you on the back of old receipts as poems you will never read. 

A sketch of skin on used coffee cups and cigarette bins. 

Memories stuffed in pillowcases and drowned in growlers of grief. 

I’ve flushed you in a public bathroom once when you gave that look to me.

I’ve watched your social feed and felt my insides bleed. Acid relux to the Nth degree.

I let you comfort me with your stains, allow me to believe I’m some cure to your pain.

I’ve let you. I’ve left you. I’ll never be the same.


Sketching futures with our life lines of a pre-determined fate. 

We grasp at our stars like we could seal in a date when all our worries and all our pain would go away. 

A riddle rhymed with pointless promises and relentless faith.


Wild wind you pull me in –

Toss me as a tumbleweed amongst the prettiest flowers. 

Have hope in my purpose,

Believe my intentions to protect 

And that I may never settle, but always have a home amongst the wildflowers. 


He was everything I never needed and all the things I wanted. A six-foot-six red flag who alarmed and charmed his way into my heart. Big, beautiful never-going-to-happen love spread thin and only caused riffs from within. When will I learn? When will the kiss become more infectious than the yearn. What is it about him that I cannot bare to share time or space. A room of regrets. A house of shame. Was it him or was it I who ran away first. All this unforseen, unshakable curse.

Missing Man

There is a peace missing. A peace you filled many lifetimes ago and cannot be reached without knowing where you are. When I think of you, I am reminded of the nights we laughed in the bed of my dad’s truck; picked stars to call ours and screamed back at lightning in the rain. We would giggle about poetry we wrote in notes and picture frames we once made. I remember the first time we had our first time. The blanket wrapped barely around our hips. A motion so slow, yet so quick. 

And I remember the first time you had a hit. Blunt to your lips, red eyes and long rips.Too many pills came next. A needle and that blue shit. White powder lines, who’s next? You got in the game real quick. Thought I was stubborn and your friends needed you more. They called me cunt, slut, and whore. You were wrapped up in the game that played you harder than them all. The best way to explain is that we still cannot find your soul. You’re out hustling the streets without a way to retreat. Those withdraws have a way of working the weakest into the wall. A build-up, a quick draw, a small hit, a large fall. 

My stomach stretches stress the size of a cigarette burn. The hole you left when you never returned. I know the world can be harsh! I too cannot face people most days! But I’d never hurt them without the knowledge of my stay. I’ve hurt them enough with knowledge of my ways. So if you can hear this, know I search for you in the parking lots, parks, and gas stations of our town. Any spare change or a blanket given is on your behalf. I have dreams of finding you and being the heroine of my past. I also have dreams you’ll leave for the heroin – surely your last. 

A Helping Hand

I was planted in the pleasure of your prose.

It was there you watered me and helped me to grow. 

More than doubled my potential.

Settled my ego. 

Backed into a wall painted in truth. 

The truth I couldn’t hold on to.

How do I trust this helping hand that pushed me out and left me stranded?

How do I trust this helping hand that belayed me once and walked away?

How do I trust this helping hand, blessed with words of pixie dust and Father Time’s sand. 

Leave me be. Let me live. 

My body’s worn from this deliverance. 

My Ego is A Girl

There is a girl who lives in me

She is very persuasive and angry.

She peels aways my fingernails when she sits too long without a say.

She lives in me in times of trouble and despair 

At times I find her inconvenient 

And I don’t want her there.

She questions all my motives

Brings present all the past

She is so absorbed 

in the miniscule rough drafts.

My goal is to educate her of the way things are

To use the waters of the tide 

to drift off this forsaken shore.

I worry she is not educated well enough to manage on her own.

I worry she doesn’t know her rights or will fight when she knows it’s wrong. 

My ego is a girl who lives to make me right.

She controls my smile, the one I haven’t seen all night.