Manic

I’m crushing pills between rotted teeth,
gums bleeding from the stems of roses,
Countering the stench of self-infliction;
Puckered lips from lemon drops,
Its sour breath fogs the windows
as I ride along with impulsive behaviors;
I hopped this train to madness,
I will take the ride until I am discovered,
and thrown in the snow
atop this mountain I rolled myself into.


Check out my book, Penny Poetry, available on Amazon!

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Monster of Mind

This monster of mine
will not get me alone
if i choose not to follow
while i still have the power to do so.
I will not allow it to turn my
ink stains into blood spills
or my potted plants into wildflowers.
I have known the fear
of movies played on blank screens
and refuse to see
everything that was never
meant to be there.


Check out my new book, Penny Poetry, now available on Amazon!

The Only Thing I Knew

I used to leave the window down on road trips
because I was scared of the silence
whenever the music quieted.
Scared of the runaway thoughts
hitchhiking along the highway
in my mind,
thumbs poised and ready
to jump at the first chance of an open door.
I was scared of the semi-trucks
looming over something so small,
so breakable,
when I could not hear them approaching.
I used to leave the window down on road trips
because I feared the quiet
might never leave.
And now that it’s gone,
I sometimes miss
knowing the only way to smother it,
is to make a sound.


Check out my book, The Four Stages of Poetry, available on amazon!

Between the Highs

This poem is written in that space
floating away from sobriety
coming down from the high
of talking to my escape
and returning to the beast
that’s tried to drive me away.
Depression is the wedge
trying to get between me
and the only one strong enough
to push back my demons
when they outweigh
even the toughest parts of me.
This poem is written in that space
between hello and goodbye
when I’m struggling to exist
without you next to me.


Check out my book, The Four Stages of Poetry, available on amazon!

Reasons

I’m running out of reasons to smile
in a world that works backwards,
and sad eyes miss the feeling
of being praised
for anything other than their gloss.
I’m running out of reasons to laugh
in a world that moves forward
and forgets there was ever
a symphony of happiness
to dance to.
I’m running out of reasons
to keep searching for them
in a world that denies
answers to the questions
I want to ask.


Check out my book, The Four Stages of Poetry, available on amazon!

Cycle

The cycle starts on the days,
I live with my head in the clouds,
consumed by a lightness,
flowing in the weight of the wind.
Each day’s water clinging to my curves
until the collection grows heavy
and I pour out my heart
to the undeserved without raincoats.
My raindrops salty,
overflow the reflections in the ocean pools,
stirring chaos in the flooding.
The cycle ends on the days,
I live floating in the aftermath
as the sunlight soaks up the damage
I caused at the bottom of the circle.


Check out my book, The Four Stages of Poetry, available on amazon!

Finally Breathing

People take for granted
how it feels to be okay.

A rarity
in my ocean of bad days.

It’s like a breath of fresh air
after realizing you were holding your breath.

Or turning on a light
after the sun’s been down for some time.

It feels like breaking free
of a restraint you didn’t before realize
was holding you down.

Or standing
after sitting for too long.


Check out my book, The Four Stages of Poetry, available on amazon!

I’m Okay (For Now)

The tides pull at my ankles like a persistent child, demanding I look at its creations. The vast saltwater, a menacing navy blue resting at the horizon where the sun begins to take a dip. The sliver of colors consumed by the separation between sky and ocean. It is clear and calm, waves nothing more than a small hop at the surface, where it brings itself to lick my calves. A light breeze lifts my hair from my shoulders and I breathe in the scent of an unusual calmness.

My mind has ripped free of the hurricane’s spiral, and I stand in the eye before the next storm. A relief from the winds that threatened to yank the sanity at its roots in the garden I’d begun to build around the ruins. I stand and I breathe in the serenity I could not dream up just two moons ago. And I allow myself to enjoy the peace before the next tidal wave.


Check out my book, The Four Stages of Poetry, available on amazon!

Reaching Out

I feel the metaphors are the only thing
people will listen to. The only cries for
help taken seriously are those hidden
in the eyes of the narratives speaking
through pains of a story that is merely
‘fiction.’ I feel the imagery is the only
thing people will see, call it pretty, and
fail to truly understand there is inspiration
behind every piece.


Check out my book, The Four Stages of Poetry, available on amazon!