Be patient with yourself. It takes time to heal. Some days will be better than others.

Mar 17
A reminder

Memories tumble around like the wind and the rain.
I wonder where you went, who you loved, and if you ever came
to the Easy Bay, like you planned.

What are you like now?

Maybe you are youthful and bright,
just like I remember you,
boyish and fun.

Or maybe you’re old and grey,
weathered like stones.
You moved too fast with your unattached lifestyle.

Feb 7
Gloomy Friday

Love will exist as long as human consciousness exists. The love I have for you will not be destroyed when you or I leave human form; it will be transformed, shifted. Love—it floats on.

The cancer cells can eat your body. You may leave your body. The image of your smile and the sound of your laughter will eventually fade away from my memory.

But the love that we share… Will float on into eternity.

Feb 7

Teacher Me: “If you could have a power like a super hero, would you rather be invisible or be able to fly?” 

Student Him: “I would fly, so I can go far, far, far away from school and everyone else.”

Teacher Me: “I share the same sentiment, meaning I sometimes feel like that too.”

Oct 15

I will get over feeling scared of your judgement.
You, you, you, and your negativity.
I will never get over feeling proud of myself.
Me, me, me, and feeling free.

Apr 24
Flying Free

I revisit these wounds and lick them clean from time to time.
I’ll write a fine story,
catch a rhyme,
cry out my memories and baggage in search of a sign that some day I’ll heal from this mess.
The stress I’ll lay upon myself—it’s unpredictable;
triggers hide in movies, books, and media ads discreetly scrolling at the bottom of the screen:


If you or someone you love has been raped, call this hotline.


I’m propelled back to a cold sweat and heart jumping out of my throat.
My first love, now a stranger, we lay side by side.
Confused tears stream from both of our eyes as we begin to understand firsthand the true meaning of consent.
Maybe this crystal clear moment became muddled when we tried to forget this ever happened,
or maybe he and I wanted to remember it differently.
But I can still feel his hand gripping my wrist and the weight of his innocence caving my insides in,
as if it were an ancient rhythm I would forever be in debt to.


I remember finally telling my mom what I did:
sneaking off to indulge in a post pubescent lust to be met with the one thing she always wanted to protect me from.
It was my fault.
I am guilty.
And I betrayed the female race when I announced I am hurt, weak.
I was met with controversial stares and glazed over eyes, some hateful and some hiding.
I forgot this ever happened.
I am a liar.
And when I crushed this dispair down to the deepest parts of my memory,
they came flooding back with a vengeance, screaming that I betrayed the female race by attempting to erase the truth.
I was dirty.
I am a sinner.


To my mother, to my haters, to my supporters, to the non-believers, to all the womyn that I reached out to, to all the womyn I withdrew my helping hand from:
I thought I owed you everything, and at times nothing at all.
I finally see the ebb and flow of connectedness my fellow womyn share,
waning and waxing as the wheels of our lives complete revolutions.
Rape is bigger than you and I,
affecting all womynkind and beyond…
But it’s finally time that I stop seeking love, support, forgiveness in all others besides myself.
It’s time for me to grow my own wings and fly.


Forgive me, Womyn, for I have sinned.

Apr 16
Forgive me

April 8, 2013


I used to write mad poetry,
with styles that I named as mine.
I now experiment with techniques,
reclaiming the words I left behind.
My heart wants to say what my hand cannot write,
my brain craves a writer’s state of mind.
Volumes of unpublished work are a distant silhouette,
A cage with trapped emotions I’ll never forget.


Where might I find the key
when my patience is running thin?
Will I find it in my wildest dreams
or drowning in my gin?
Is it through external inspiration,
or should I only search within?
Wherever the source may be, I’ll find;
from verbal expression I cannot hide.

Apr 9
Ottava Rima

April 7, 2013


Waiting in line can be a drag.
I came armed with the proper utilities.
A book, notepad, and a pen.
I still feel somewhat lost.
I scan the room for a sense of direction.
There are men and women older than I.
Some armed, some bare.
We stare on and off, lost.
I wonder, what else do we have in common?

Apr 9
Declarations end with a question

April 6, 2013


Living in fear
equates to not living at all.
A familiar concept
is a difficult practice.

Constantly looming:
I’m fearful.

All the while I lose:
Fear swallows my time,
while I wallow into oblivion.

Overwhelming fear
will no longer rule my life.
I will give my time
to love and meditative peace.

Yours (but actually mine) humbly,
Rested & Ready

Apr 7
A valediction

April 5, 2013


that you’re adored
by at least one someone;
it’s easy to forget our highs
when low.

Apr 6
Attempt at a cinquain