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.


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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.


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Imaginary Friends

Am I the only one that plays with my monsters,
like I’m back in elementary,
a small child playing pretend with dresses and barbie dolls,
painting the beauty in these smiles?
Am I the only one that moved the beasts
from under the bed
and gave them a home to rest in my mind
when the dust bunnies got too violent?
Am I the only one that promised the demons
to forever believe
you don’t always grow out of imaginary friends?


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We All Want What We Can’t Have

I want to break the binds,
and reject the embrace
I’m stuck in.
I want to sever the knots
in the stitches holding
the hurt inside my head.
I want to scream in the silence
and shatter the glass cage
keeping the numbing ice
pressed against my skin,
when all I need
is the warmth
of gentle fingertips
and the tenderness
of delicately spoken promises.


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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.


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Longing For Serenity

I close my eyes. Reach into the back of my mind with singed hands. Remember how to breathe through the smoke. The music deafens me, fed directly to my thoughts; an attempt to make them mute. I want nothing more than to live in the silence where my mind loses its voice; forgets how to speak. Ashes fall from my lips; I whisper embers, begging for the kind of quiet I see in blank pages.


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