I used to be me. 

A recipe of pieces come 

together easily, fondly. 

Smooth as warmed butter,

calm as the sunrise bay. 

I was an amalgamation of

amicable pieces,

born to connect – to work. 

When I woke up this morning,

everything had changed. 



Tick. Tick. Tick
An incessant itch.
Little by little,
trickling into nothing
as space becomes past
tense and the present
becomes too much.

Tighter than a noose –
a noose is an end.
This is life, a long
reality tightening
around your throat,
grabbing hold just enough
to sultrily tease with the
cool, crisp, gentle respite of oxygen.

Feeling like you’ll make it but
praying that you’re wrong.
Nervous habits,
Constricted lungs,
A mind racing ’round a corpse
Whose heart is still beating
To escape its mortal cage.
Anxiety crushing every last
moment of me. Every last chance.

What’s Left

It’s flattering to hear people remember,
sharing eulogies for my former self. She
will be greatly missed. So much she had
left to accomplish. Full of heart and drive.

Nine years later and being useless
has become second nature.
It’s what I do best, really. Disappointing
others who see the potential smothered
By a cancerous pain that dropped in
for a surprise visit and decided to stay.
If only this, if only that. If only.
Then I’d really be something.
    Somebody great.

And of course it’s not my fault she’s gone.
I should never feel guilty.
But survivor’s guilt can be paralyzing
When the victim was another side of you.

So as flattering as it is to know how much
I am missed, it is crushing to know what’s left
        Isn’t good enough.


Tangled sitting here, alone,
But tangled nonetheless,
In the chaos of you, of me,
Of what I’m supposed to be
Without you. Or am I
Supposed to be anything
Without you?

It’s an intertwining of spirit and soul,
Of lust and longing,
Something so physical it suggests
Something far beyond physicality.
Or emotion. Or spirituality.
A combination of what I need to be me
And what I want to be us.

Sitting here, a chair and me,
In the darkness, wrapped in everything
As potential feeds on possibilities
And possibilities drown out doubt.
Finding a way out by giving in
To the tangled web.

Reno to San Diego

I met you at the bus station,
bag in hand, ready to flee.
I met you there thinking
I was running away from life,
looking for a new start with all
new questions to answer.
I met you with my
grandmother’s wide brimmed hat
and a pocket of loose change
rattling on about the lust of adventure.
Sitting side by side on the bench,
watching the bus pull up.
I met you there.
But I left myself behind.

Tasting Summer

Cotton candied clouds
Give off an impression of perfection.
One look up and the day’s frustration
Disintegrates like sugar crystals on the tongue.
The world is sweet. If only for now.
Remember this, remember it all.
The colors in the cloud, the smell across the summer
breeze. Remember what you can while you can.
Let it stick to you. Let it become a part of you.
It’s easy to forget part of this world. It’s only a little
bit harder to forget a part of yourself.