Again, I turn the word in my hands,its edges worn, yet sharp.To be all but a tray—an offering, a vessel,laid bare at the feastwhere no invitation waits.
Crushed Lavender
I used to greet the desert sun mid-summer and beaming vital as daybreak swelled and golden by noon
Honeysuckle and Heat
I want to write a poem compare the dew of your lips on a wind-swept summer morning to honeysuckle
Write to me
I don't usually add disclaimers to my poems, nor should art necessarily necessitate a caption - just a captive audience, if you're lucky. HOWEVER, this poem is special to me, and if my therapist didn't convince me this poem could help a lot of people, than I probably would have kept it in my personal … Continue reading Write to me
38.7630512345764, -78.29657968465962
I miss you like the embers miss the heat of a flame after they rest on eastern wind
Lovesick
It feels like one must experience romantic love in a silo Heartbreak permeates society hands grip chests and pace paneled floors more often than joy is chirped beneath willows with songbirds
Moon Lust
I never thought I would choose to describe the moon’s allure, her soft presence as a shard
Call of Nocturne – Why Night is Ironically My Favorite Time of Day
When the stars start whispering, the moon slides into my DMs, and I'm out the door faster than a squirrel chasing an acorn. The night's my jam, and the moon? Well, it's basically my cosmic GPS.
What’s In a Name?
Each name I collect embodies the little bits and bobs of the making of me. They're monikers for a life playfully lived, of kindred spirits, a life drenched in sarcasm and quip, dripping in whimsy.
Since I’m in my 30s now…
Sometimes I feel overwhelmed by the experience of joy. As if within any given moment, she will be ripped away, leaving a gaping hole where my heart used to beat.
Mind The Mess On Mondays 