Witness

I watch
as she takes in more pills than she can swallow,
choking on the medicine
supposed to relieve the ache
of the strain on her lungs
from her mind’s refusal
to let her breathe in the oxygen
through the ash.

I watch
as she drowns the pills
in cheap liquor,
dissolving the lump in her throat,
but refuse to listen
as she screams.

I watch
as she drains herself of voice,
and claim
I never knew
because she never spoke;
watched,
but refused to see;
a murderer,
you cannot convict.

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

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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.

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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.

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

Muted

I pull at the stitches
holding my lips together
and cry for all I cannot say.
The words remain balled in my throat
for another day,
choking on the sentences
caught up in my indecisiveness,
wondering if this time I can create a voice,
or leave myself on mute again.

---

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

Goodnight

Chisel and hammer in hand,
I’m ready to carve my name
into the pre-weathered granite.
The smell of mourning’s flowers
encases me near death’s bed,
and I rest my limbs on satin,
welcoming the sound
of an oak-wood lullaby
singing me to sleep.

---

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

Crappy Gift

Living is like receiving socks
as a toddler on Christmas.
You were taught to appreciate
the gift, so you accept it with
an expression of gratitude,
when you’d rather throw it
in the face of the giver, and
tell them to return their crappy
present.

---

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

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