I wanted to be with you 

more than I wanted to be myself.

I craved your appetite for me.

Longed for your love expressed 

in compliments.

The feeling of your lips against my forehead.

Your arms around me a promise kept. 

Daffodils and slow dances in our kitchen. 

Nights out with friends,

our love familiar and comforting. 

A choice as simple as

choosing you. 

My home in you. 

I wanted to be with you 

more than I wanted the truth. 

My idea of us continuously ruined 

by the reality of who you were and weren’t.

There was never a single daffodil.

I spent more and more time trying to cover 

lies with hope and my tears with pillowcases.

My body trembled but not with passion.

Your lips spelled hate,

insecurities and rejection projected. 

I wanted to love you

less and less.

It became more about 

why you didn’t want me. 

I would wish it all away now, 

if there was an easier path. 

I had to die to find me.

Perhaps I was reborn in the fire. 

It took therapy and long hours at the gym.

Lengthy journal entries and self help books

for the win. 

Months passed before I started to feel free

from all that had happened.

Now it feels confusing 

to have loved you.

A memory of a memory. 

A stranger with an air of familiarity.

When I think of you I can’t recall your face

nor any of the love 

that made me forget who I am. 


The End is Just Ahead

I micromanaged my happiness

and was dead set on only enjoying life

if it worked out with him.

Our relationship made to be the conduit

for energy spent.

I left no space for miracles

and placed a ceiling on my growth.

Life got harder and harder,

I held on tighter.

My tunnel vision grew.

There were life wraths thrown,

exit signs pointed out,

words of wisdom throw up at the mouth.

And still I said no to peace

if I couldn’t have peace with him.

I want to end with some revelation,

to make it all make sense.

A deep exhale of my breath.

But it’s just a trail of lessons

I leave behind,

and problems to solve ahead.

Learning myself to no end.

There’s no standard set,

just endless wars

and big deep breaths.

My self-worth just ahead.

I will keep pushing for failure

until I am dead.


I keep daydreaming about the rope 

and how each thread would feel against my skin. 

The image of hanging myself

has replayed in my head again and again.

This isn’t a cry for help,

it is just truth spit into the dry pavement. 

It is chalk images washed up on blacktop

and dead leaves swaying to the ground. 

It’s grey heaviness even when the sun is out.

I keep picturing myself hanging

and wonder if my feet will kick.

I see my limbs dangling. 

How high would I have to climb 

to snap my neck?…

And this isn’t a cry for help,

I’ve learned that for me,

living will have to be done for others.

It is just the truth in the empty drink

and the dirty dishes sitting in the sink.

The truth of a broken heart 

and wishful thinking. 

It’s that overstimulation which comes from emptiness in crowded spaces,

It’s knowing I have to stay

even if I am sick of “spaces”. 

I take a breath because I have to…

For Zane and Zade. 

They keep saving me day after day

even when I can’t find the strength

to want to stay.

You Were the Ocean

I was the raindrop

and you were the ocean.

I lost myself

in cascading waves of emotion.

I could not breathe

and did not know it.

My soul pouring from my throat

in a fluid motion.

I could not stop myself from dying.


I was the raindrop

and you were the ocean.

I did not save myself

for lack of trying.

I said keep me but I was crying.

I loved you

but lost my way in time.

I was the raindrop

and you were the ocean.

I died again today

but not for lack of trying.

I could not keep myself from dying.

My cup was empty

but yours was flowing.

I wished for love

and was found wanting.

I Hate Men

I hate men

Specifically the ones that

think I owe them my body

Specifically the ones that 

use alcohol as a tool for entry

Specifically that piece of shit

last night that couldn’t hear no. 

I hate men. 

Specifically the ones who think

their dick is god’s gift to women.

Specifically the ones that assume

my smile promises a good time.

Specifically that mother fucker last night

who caught me as I was about to faint

and pushed me up against a wall

to kiss on me in my haze.

I FUCKING hate men! 

Specifically the ones that 

want me trashed. 

Specifically the ones who

think I have to dance with them

if I accept their drink. 

Specifically that moron last night

who slammed the car door into my knee

when I refused him. 


Usually pain is a great conduit

for poetry

This time though…I’m lost 

In the great abyss

Of a broken heart

A crushed soul

Give me a paint brush

And let me paint black nothingness

Where my mind has retreated

I would hang myself

If the chair were just a bit closer

Or I less tired

This rope has hung for days and days

Astriction a goal

If not a place

Where not breathing is the final big breath

Where loving you

Feels like life spent

I died that day

And have been a zombie since

Throwing my limbs in direction

Of responsibilities

While my laugh is gone

And nothing makes sense

but this tear…

That doesn’t seem to end.

Drown me in this stream

I beg god to end this scene

I only lived to love him

They Were All Right About You

I didn’t sleep last night

because I left you.

I didn’t eat this morning

because you didn’t pursue me when I left.

Your indiscretions unapologetically 

kept me from scrambled eggs and coffee.

My couch has an indentation 

from the fetal position

that held me from dying of despair

all night long and late into the morning. 

I didn’t sleep last night

because you broke me.

I didn’t eat this morning

because I was sick from loving you.

Your indiscretions unapologetically 

kept me in deep breaths

and “don’t you dare call him” chants.

My pillow is stained

from the tears that I begged

to drown me.

I didn’t sleep last night

because you lied to me about that girl. 

I didn’t eat this morning

because living intentionally 

tastes like loving you. 

Your indiscretions unapologetically 

kept me from making due.

My phone sits in another room

just to keep me from calling you.

I didn’t sleep last night

because I left you. 

I Loved You in the Wait

Hope is the quality

that plants the seed

and courage grows the flower.

So I loved you

when you didn’t call

and through the lonely

midnight hour.

I am the sunshine

that beckons the blade of grass

and the force

that moves potential.

I am the change of momentum

and the calm that is the meadow.

I am the hand you hold

in quiet surrender

and the wish whispered

upon a falling star.

I am the beginning

of forever

and my love a promise held true.

I will love you through

the waiting game

because I am

captivated by you.

Waiting Is My Hell

I can measure love

in the smile that hides my fear.

Terrified that you will decide

that I shouldn’t be here…with you. 

After opening up my heart to the hope of us,

despite what I knew to be true and the warnings you gave.

Now, your happy self

doesn’t clue me in.

You say wait…and while we wait,

Let’s pretend.

Partners and friends;

Lovers but always just a guest.

Hang your clothes in my closet

and save the words that linger on your lips 

for drunken nights

when the gin is courage fire.

Making sure you don’t have to burden

your sober self with

I love you’s and relationships.

Waking in the morning,

I act as if it’s not everything I wish to hear from sober lips.

And I’m left with so much to desire

Waiting for forever to begin,

existing in Hell as I smile through the fear

of my heart breaking.

Ode to Mr. Neruda

Pablo Neruda wrote,

“Puedo escribir los versos más tristes esta noche.”

“Tonight I can write the saddest lines.”

He must have shared my disposition.

Reading that verse my whole Being said,

“Yes, me too. I can write the saddest of lines.”

I suffer in love,

each day waking up to not enough.

Never tasting authenticity without pain. 

Smelling a flower

while bleeding all over its thorns.

He must have known those nights

where the tears are fire in the chest,

the sobs in disheveled breaths.

Death so close and yet so far.

Living just to die.

Dying because I loved for love’s sake

and yet never finding safety 

for longer than a moment. 

Torn from the arms of forever

by falsehoods and my stupid expectations. 

Laughter hollowed out by the memories of broken promises.

He must have known,

that sometimes living has to be done for others

just to get yourself through a Monday. 

I may wear the rope forever, 

but I do not climb the chair to hang it. 

Instead I write the saddest of lines,

hoping that my cup will never overspill 

if I just empty my heart now and again

in verses.