Aching for you

For a headache, aspirin

For a muscle ache, ibuprofen 

For an ear ache, antibiotic

For a stomach ache, Tums

For a heartache…what?

I know one thing for sure:

I feel the pain like a cut.

And I can’t get the cure:

It’s miles away. 

When push comes to shove,

The ache’s here to stay.

Oh, my dear love,

The cure’s simple to find,

Just not to do. 

It’s clear in my mind:

I just need you. 



I feel…cold.

I’m scared. My heart shivers

despite the pressure squeezing it ever inward, smaller and smaller till it’s ready to burst.

Each hair on my body tingles with the anxiety blazing across my skin

And even as the tears stream down my face

I know

my pain pales in comparison to yours. Continue reading


“You are a poet,”
She told me,
And maybe words can make it so.
My pen blazes its trail
And yet
I’d like to be a poet
But I am an adolescent:
Ungainly, gawky, disjointed
Growing, perhaps,
Maturing, maybe,
But still covered in those awful pimples
And sweating through my makeup.
I feel a longing
Baffling in a way that makes perfect sense.
An “if only” added to a “but actually”
Sandwiched between two slices of denial
With a side of greasy fries.
I pause to self-edit
But make myself press on.
Maybe if I don’t acknowledge the failures,
They’ll simply

Written March 13, 2014


A swirl of smoke paints its way to the heavens. Hate, contempt, anger, and despondency weave their strands.

Gray gives way to a multihued masterpiece: poison green and fevered pink, sickly orange and despairing blue, a psychosis that pulses with the beat of the bass.

The ephemeral tapestry blisters, shudders, and gives way to the breeze, dissipating, leaving only the rank stench of pollution in its wake.

Ritual Butterfly Cleansing

eeloeiah eeloeiah
aripoa mata ooeiah
eeloeiah eeloeiah
aripoa mata ooeiah

rattle shakes
flames flicker
tattooed eyes dart and quiver
shaman dances ’round the fire
smoke billows from the pyre.

eeloeiah eeloeiah
aripoa mata ooeiah
eeloeiah eeloeiah
aripoa mata ooeiah

wings are torn
body burned
flying beauty slain and spurned
shaman crushes ‘neath his foot
insect majesty ground to soot.

eeloeiah eeloeiah
aripoa mata ooeiah
eeloeiah eeloeiah
aripoa mata ooeiah

fluttering stopped
life ended
guttering flames unattended
anxiety gone, stress relieved
ritual complete, goal achieved.

Polytheistic Wrath

Rushing, racing,
Darting, zooming,
Striking, smashing,
Crashing, caroming:
Shiva’s chaos,
Grown and blooming.

Burning, flaming,
Flashing, fuming,
Crushing, cursing,
Damning, dooming:
Zeus’ lightning,
Bright and looming!

Rumbling, roaring,
Boiling, bursting,
Erupting, pluming:
Great Thor’s thunder,
Fierce and booming!

Present, past,
From age to age,
God or mortal,
Fury, sage:

If I had tears to shed

If I had tears to shed for you,
I’d weep until the puddle soaked my feet.
Kneeling, I’d spread their moisture across the floor
And they’d freeze to twisted stamps of sorrow.

But as I stood, gnarled fingers outstretched
Toward your miserable form,
My shuffling feet would shatter the ice
Into a million jagged fragments,

And when I turned away in horror
The shards would fly as daggers,
And shred your tortured body and soul,
Till naught remained but an icy pool of crimson gore.

Palsied hands trembling, pressed tight against my thudding eyes,
I’d leave you, unaware of the destruction I’d wrought
But for the shuddering of my shoulders
And a stomach-churning scent of salt and iron in the air.

If I had tears to shed.

Imaginary Diary-Peeking

This is in fact a Virtual Blog Tour. I could’ve named it that like a normal person, but you see, then my title would have looked the same as all the other Virtual Blog Tours out there. Booooor-ing.

For the record, Virtual = Imaginary. Blog = Diary. Tour = Peeking. I realize you probably didn’t need me to spell it out for you, but please don’t be insulted. I just have a compulsive need to clarify sometimes.

Anyhow, even though I don’t accept awards, I decided to go ahead and do the blog tour because I desperately needed an excuse to write. I’ve been seeing several other bloggers’ posts about writer’s block — the “I don’t know what to write, so I decided to write about how I don’t know what to write” ones — and I was just about to resort to that myself when Ms. Amelia Groves of “Putting Words Together”-chestershire (say it all together, fast — it works in my head) asked me to answer a few questions. Why not, said I!

Continue reading