Love in the Moonlight

Tell me of the smile of the moon
when the sun whispers goodnight
and the stars make their presence known
for the company of their savior.
I want to know of the jealousy
they hide in the folds of their flames
at the sight of such solidarity.
And the way they bask in the comfort
of its guidance; taking, but never
voicing their underlying fear
of their idol searching for better
in the daytime.


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!

Fault

Tell me it’s not my fault
I feel like I’ve fallen down three flights of stairs,
bounced my head off concrete,
swallowed gasoline,
and blew myself up from the inside.
Tell me the pain
of living unwanted
in a world full of desire
isn’t my accountability.
Tell me I’m not to blame
for the bleeding of my heart
and the leaking of my brain.
Convince me I’m not the cause,
because it all feels like my liability.


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

Bipolar: A Play

*Disclaimer: Not my best, or favorite piece*

 

To help you understand where I’m coming from,
I want you to close your eyes.
Imagine you are watching a play.
I am the screenwriter (and actor).
With just a few directed actions,
I can take you through the show: My Emotions

Act I: Depressive

Depression enters stage right.
It is noon and I am still in bed.
I plant my feet on the floor,
willing a mind to control the body,
and notice the empty room- I mean stage-
I surround myself with.
He follows me center stage,
trailing behind like a shadow.
The rain pours from invisible clouds.

Act II: Manic

Mania enters stage left.
Music plays softly in the background,
our shirts clinging to skin.
She approaches me,
hands linking for a spin,
she takes the lead in this slow dance.
The audience drinks intimacy
from our energy,
but we are only skilled actors.

Act III: Matchmaker

I kick cupid’s bow off stage
and join the audience.
Mania limps center stage.
Depression picks her up.
They share blood from arrow holes,
taking over the show.
We watch the lover’s embrace,
passing on in each other’s arms.

The curtains draw,
and the actors prepare for next month’s showing.


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

Stolen

I hang half-dead on a wall,
displayed and gagged with fear,
I am mute,
the vise tightening against my throat,
fingertips litter the crime scene.

My body was once a temple,
before you entered with your servants,
and ransacked all that belonged to me.

You left me chained to concrete,
my insides broken,
and my voice on mute.


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

Panic Room

Anxiety locked me in this panic room,
forced the gun in my hand and told me
it’s my turn. We’re actively engaged in
a game of russian roulette with my fears,
each shot spraying my thoughts on the
walls, repainting with my brain.


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