sometimes dreams don’t come true

I’ve always wanted to be a dancer
but I have no rhythm
I am unable to keep of movement
I am all clumsy feet
as I try to follow the beat
There is no grace within me

I’ve always wanted to be a dancer
but I am just backstage
the one drawing the curtain
dragging the light across center stage

I watch dance movies
make myself depressed of what I will never become
I shake my head
I’ve always wanted to be a dancer
add it to the list of things I’ll never be


lala land

I stopped sleeping
the constant noise in my head
struggle in my bed

roaming outside in dawn lit hours
starting a new day
while never putting the previous to rest

the numbing void
the pounding in my head
the dry eye shockets
the voices in my head

I stopped sleeping

light my soul on fire

I want to light my soul of fire
with the fireflies I catch in my mason jar
running around cashing the little flying light bulbs
the ones I catch sit on my nightstand
like a nightlight until the light runs out
its funny how these little creatures are more dependable than a flashlight

My soul ignites
As the light dances across the ceiling space
Everything collides when light invades
Stars spread against the spacious sky

I want you to light my soul on fire
With your words dripping like velvet honey
I burn with the trail of your touch
The looks in your eyes melting me in place
Forgetting all about time and space
just for you to disappear without a trace

Remember you were the one to set my soul on fire


In the twilight
I am found whole
fairy dust spread across the night sky

In the twilight
Life takes its toll
Simplicity is thinking it can all be fixed with a cherry pie

In the twilight
The thunder rolls
Standing next to you hoping we don’t die

In the twilight
I never saw the poll
as my eyes rolled
my last thoughts were that we were never tied

In the twilight
You and I divide


** forgive the gloom and doom feel of the poem, this is just where it all flowed from and what it became.

Lies we tell… lies we believe, while the truth is haunting

loving is easy
forgetting is hard
trusting is a fear
letting go is sometimes a mistake
while others, its for the best

Falling in love happens so fast
sometimes without warning
you feel like your floating

sometimes love is violent
love can be cruel and mean

For me
loving is hard
forgetting is easy
trusting almost never happens
letting go is always for the best

growing up I learned that love
was a misconception and a fairy tale
my first 7 years of life,
love was a lie
in disguise

I honestly believed that “I love you”
Meant fist flying at me
hair being pulled out in bloody clumps
tossed aside on the floor
being pushed down a flight of stairs
being chased by knives
and hiding in closets
objects being thrown at my head
chaos was a storm surrounding me
being kicked, beaten, and bitten
unaware that my reality of love was twisted and demented

that was my childhood
that was how my parents showed their love towards me
how they showed their love towards my siblings
I could never manage a fairy tale
because my life was a living nightmare

I first learned something was fundamentally wrong
when I was allowed to go to a friends house for the the first time at the age of 7
there was a reason why I wasn’t allowed for so long
I just didn’t know it yet,
not until I witnessed it
There was no screaming, yelling or fighting
no sharp objects being thrown around
my friend wasn’t wearing a lot of clothes to hide the scars and bruises
she wasn’t afraid to change in front of me

Her parents laughed and joked with her and her sister
they said “I love you” more times than I could count
I had never heard those words from anyone but my sisters
even then it was only occasionally,
especially when we were hiding in the closet

my breath hitched in my throat
when her parents hugged her and she hugged each of them back
I was witnessing a human interaction I had never known before
for the first time in my life I felt a deep ache inside
longing for a love I did not understand or recognize.

I went home that next day and asked my sisters
while explaining everything I had seen
they laughed at my stupidity
claiming to me that we were not loved
we would never be loved by the monsters we called “mom” and “dad”
they hated each other, especially hated each and everyone of us
because we were just another mouth to feed
another unnecessary stress

one whisper as a silent echo: we could never have what others have

There was a brief period I believed that to be a lie
I honestly held out hope that we could be loved
that we deserved to be loved
we could have it all

But now, I am left to wonder
Don’t get me wrong
I have tasted and seen the goodness that life has to offer
I have experienced the love my parent denied and neglected me
I am also not naive to think of love as a fairy tale portrayed in the movies

But, the words of my sisters haunt me

My siblings have all been through multiple divorces and broken relationships
I will be 30 this year
my last relationship was when I was 17,
going on 12 years single

I do not believe the lie that myself and my siblings are some sort of damaged goods
I refuse to accept that
I refuse to believe we are just another statistic

loving is still hard for me
I doubt if someone is really only after my best interest
living in fear of a secret agenda

there is only a small handful of people who are able to touch me without a very noticeable cringe to follow
I back away from strangers and acquaintances
I still cower when someone unapproved tries to put there arms around me in an embrace
I have, however, improved drastically
but there is still so much damage to recover from
It will happen, in time I guess
Time is suppose to heal all wounds
And it has for the most part

The rest can only be undone when I finally allow some access to me in an intimate manner
believing that they could love me
because for so long I believed I was some sort of pariah
that I had a sort of disease
that I was an untouchable
condemned with internal leprosy
my parents only touched me to abuse
so forgive me if I believed

years of regret

the thoughts gnawing in my head
Wanting to rack my brain around
in my skull
picking at the skin on my fingers
until they bleed

In the name of anxiety

sitting by the candlelight
the night stars flooding the midnight sky
missing you
trying to write a letter that will never get to you
not like the words will form right anyways

filled with so much regret
why did I let you leave like that
you got in the car
and never came back

not like you could if you even tried
that was the night you died
and we never got to say goodbye

Emily Dickenson

Emily Dickenson is speaking
her words are comfort
food to my aching and wondering soul

How do I collide with centuries in-between
the aching of knowing
longing to be understood

Emily Dickenson was a member of Misfit Society

One of my favorite poems by her goes a little something like this:

The soul selects her own society,
Then shuts the door;
On her divine majority
Obtrude no more.

Unmoved, she notes the chariot’s pausing
At her low gate;
Unmoved, an emperor is knelling
Upon her mat.

I’ve known her from an ample nation
Choose one;
Then close the valves of her attention
Like stone.

And of coarse one of her more famous poems

I’m nobody! Who are you?
Are you nobody, too?
Then there’s a pair of us – don ‘t tell!
They’d banish us, you know.

How dreary to be somebody!
How public, like a frog
To tell your name the livelong day
To an admiring bog!


I believe Emily and I would have been great friends, if we lived in the same century!