Happy Birthdays.

Tears are like the rain to water the soul…

And in these days I grow.

On August 17th, I turned 27 years old. Many emotional thoughts and reflections happened to me on that day..I just sat back and took in all of the things I was responsible for, and all of the things I’d like to change.

Have a wonderful week.


She Lives In Cancer

She closes her eyes and lays her head to the side.

Her body feels of bricks
Like she’s carrying the weight of the night sky.

As the breathing machine does its cry,
she sighs, there goes the air she couldn’t afford to lose.

And her head hangs low.
Morphine dancing through her blood stream, eyes closed, preparing for a vacation to paradise.
Beep breathing machine, beep.

She lives in Cancer.

Trust Left In A Rush


Heavy hazed.

Confused because I don’t know how to feel about this recent battle of words. Cutting each other like swords, childish insults thrown around in circles like we were playing tether ball during recess in the 5th grade. I failed and crashed during your last test, guess I was your test dummy of trust. Our relationship on its death-bed so I know these are my last words, mutual agreement to pull the plug on this lifeline. Thoughts abandoned while I kissed those lips, intimate activity amiss. My eyes open, guess I was looking for you.  I cried my tears to this loss, trust being the biggest, as you scream back my betrayal. I thought you knew me? Time and time again I tried to avoid you but you got me. And now as my name changes from baby to slut, from forever to “why did I ever…?”, I can go back to what feels comfortable for me, desolation. You can lay down with your eyes closed feeling you’ve won, and you would be right.



I can hear the sounds click clacking against my walls every morning
3 A.M. They call it the witching hour.
A mockery of a promised heaven
Beginning of a dream of happily ever after I remember slowly
each step up to the altar.
even with hesitation, I let my big toe touch the ground
Your hopeful eyes stare back at me, awaiting a happy marriage to security
The memory is of a horror movie.
You turn the knob and proceed at a scary pace
The demon covered in black clothing and guilty energy
Who knew I’d be the wife to the one that dwells within
I close my eyes, playing dead to fade any possibilities
To you, the devil..
touching me.
My body has paid enough of the sacrifice
And though my mind knows the dangers that await
My loved ones can’t exorcise me
I have signed on to be your love forsaken portal
Living where those in hell reside
Right beside you, devil in the flesh
Right inside you
Is where my life is put to rest.
I’ve died; I’ve died a thousand nights
Each time in the witching hour waiting for the clock to read 3:01.

Today, I heard a story.

I’d like to share this Native American quote…

“An old Cherokee told his grandson: “My son, there’s a battle between two wolves inside us all. One is Evil. It’s anger, jealousy, greed, resentment, inferiority, lies and ego. The other is Good. It’s joy, peace, love, hope, humility, kindness and truth.” The boy thought about it and asked: “Grandfather, which wolf wins?”. The old man quietly replied: “The one you feed.”

I am sure we all battle both sides..let the better man win. 😉

Enlightened When Lights Vanish

A poem, or a confession. 

The fundamental details of my life are quite unnecessary, but since inquiry sparks then I will gladly share my story.
I am naked and ashamed. With each question asked you begin to peel away yet another layer of what is me,
made solid by the protection of my secrets.
My mother was a heavy drinker. She wore glasses thick and lipstick bright, thought the look made her look quirky.
I was envious of her character, bright like firestorms blazing with power
Wonder how something so illuminating could conceive a human made purely of what darkness speaks
Embracing what has always been an open wound, Life. Things would sting just a bit more, picture yourself being stabbed with
the stinger of the angriest bee, with his demise a showcase of pure euphoric suicide. That comparison made one feel the utmost
amount of cynicism, but one feels what is actual.
Yet, I have tried to challenge what have become of me
I would paint the sun on the side of my school notebooks, my idea of sunshine
I would bloom my own flowers, declaring war with melancholy.

I will recreate the light
Hoping that it will return the favor
..and recreate me.
Shower me in perfection, and wet me only with happiness
I’d be as intricate as Confucius
and as delicate as peace after war
Like mother, blazing through like a firestorm
Enlightened when lights vanish…