Monster’s Cage

Teeth bared, spit flying,
the beast growls an angry tune,
threatening me with every act towards freedom.
I’m trapped in its prison,
scarred from the fight,
and spilling my insides in its peripheral vision.
I was turned to stone,
shattered and placed
in a bullet proof box with the lid sealed shut,
searching for a way out of the monster’s cage.

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Her body was burned by the fire-breathers
coughing flames onto her skin
with every word telling her why
the answers will always be isolation.
She picks through her ruins,
piecing together
mismatched chunks of metal
that survived the heat
she was forced to live inside.

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

Caged Bird

I am a caged bird,
allowed only to fly
when a test subject for your coal mines.

Do not ask me to sing,
or I will screech until you realize
my golden feathers are worth more
than your safety net.

I am a caged bird,
and I will not sing for you
because I know what lies beyond these walls
and I am saving my voice
for someone who deserves to hear my words.

I have tasted freedom before
and I will wait in silence
for its doors to open for me once more.

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

Forever and Ever

*Not very well written*

Three tears, two years, one fear

Thoughts wrap around an unsuspecting throat like a rope of broken promises.

Jaw clenched, cheeks drenched, gut wrenched

Apologies bursting from the seams, trying to explain what you mean to me.

I’m sorry this time, temporary goodbye, someday we’ll be fine, just promise for now that you won’t let love die.

I know we can’t talk, but we’re not made of chalk, outlined on the pavement but unable to be washed away.

Fears become real as the seal covering my anxiety snaps and I can’t see.

I just wanted to be happy with you and me, eternity, but now the skies bleed from my insecurities.

So, we hope, in order to cope, with the downward slope of being alone.

Three tears, two years, one fear

I’ll see this through, wait for you, I love you times two.


They asked me who I talk to

being home-schooled with no social media.

They did not believe me when I said,

“I talk to blank pages

and through the characters I read about.”

They asked if I ever get lonely

So I spoke,

“All the time;

When ink dries up,

words won’t spill,

and pages run out.

I am most alone when

my mind is starved of words

written or typed upon paper.

That is when it is the worst;

When the river of literature dries up,

and my mind is suffering the heatwave of thoughts

during a summer’s drought.”