This week could’ve made psychos wish for souls

and cannibals lose their appetite.

But gods,

if I can’t comprehend the day,

then let me be insane tonight.

Let me have these dreams–

that sit here now and fear the light of empty pages.

Let me wish to be the homewrecker

in a universe dissatisfaction colors rose gold.

Oh, but why does it seem so right?

Thinking that I could be her senator…

Tonight, let me believe that the pantsuit fit just right,

that my parents won’t worry when they read this,

that there was a feasible number of drinks that could drown my inhibitions…

And let me believe

that there is someone, out there,

who is worth having me.

Someone who can see the saint, the genius, the creator,

and doesn’t make me feel like I’m settling

for less…

It was so simple to believe

that he knows what he has.

And tonight…

let me believe that there truly is a second chance.

I’ll design every chance I give boys and girls

to show me that they’ll love all my abilities.

And I’ll keep doing it, over and over,

expecting that some day the results

will change.



Ah, so you’re still here…

I’ve fought a lot of monsters throughout the years,

but you,

you aren’t something I’ve been able to escape.

Each time I think you’re gone,

or that your henchmen have been defeated one last time,

that voice still lingers in my head…

“He doesn’t actually want to talk to you.”

“They’re lying.”

“You’re not doing enough.”

“You can’t fight back.”

“You will never be enough to satisfy anyone.”

… That voice sounds a lot like me,

and it is me, technically.

But it also isn’t.

It’s a goblin in a corner that’s never accomplished anything in it’s life.

It makes me feel bad over nothing

and sets fires on good feelings,

and the only way I can beat it, I’ve found,

is to get through the pain.

“So what if he doesn’t want to talk? He hasn’t said so. I’ll talk to him anyway.”

“You’re nothing but a liar.”

I can always fight it. I always have.

But I wish it was easier…

He’s offered to help. He does his best.

But the voice will never listen to love and reason.

And medicine I suppose, is possible,

but I’m always told my problem’s not that big.

My friend, she can’t breathe and starts overheating.

You don’t have that. You’re fine.

Just a voice…

Oh, but someday, I will kill you.

Mark my words that voice will stop bringing me nightmares that don’t exist,

one day.

When somebody listens

and stands beside me through thick and thin,

when my siblings move out

and find happier lives,

when all my trauma, when every broken kiss,

is washed away by new ones

and I wake up in the morning thinking,

“Gosh… Was my life actually like that once?”

And you won’t be there to respond,

or even read.


It’ll finally just be me.

Running Inward

Trust is all about running inward.


When it’s the end of the world

and the monsters come to eat you alive,

do you run away–

back to the solitary life that is survival

where the only thing between you

and the madness

is your feet?

Or do you run inward?

Into the haven, the quarantine,

where others as broken as you stand to lend a hand?

It seems simple enough…

But running inward can hurt you, too.

The people within those walls, they can also eat you alive,

or you can eat them,

with the demons you’ve been carrying inside you

since the fight began.

Do you risk a new type of pain,

a new type of sorrow,

for the chance to not only survive,

but live?


Love is all about running inward.


When my mind was falling over pebbles, and my voice shook,

your hands were the first thing I grabbed for

and your eyes told me that you’d never seen me so afraid.

But I didn’t care,

because I was finally tired

of running away,

and just letting my demons eat me alone.

“You can’t fix me,” I said,

“I’ve fought monster with powers beyond time and space.”

“But I can help,” you said,

and you let me hold your hands

until the thundering ceased.


And never had life felt so simple.

Glee Therapy

Excuse me as I type furiously away

as I’ve already wasted

more than half a day

thinking about you.

I have to write something

so that I might be productive again.

Gosh, it’s like a high school dream again…

Except no, no it’s not.

Yes, it’s a drive to a high school dance,

but it’s also the passenger seat of your roommate’s car,

and the eyes that are on me as I step out in heels and a red dress

and you dance with me to every



It’s a ride to early voting,

eating cereal at 2 in the afternoon

and talking about all our plants.

It’s Friday afternoons at work

where the rolling chairs and slick floors

are more enticing than homework assignments.

It’s so new, so childish, and yet it feels like we’ve grown up

for this.

To be hurt in the worst way


and yet not be scared enough to try again.

To know what’s it’s like to be in the darkest depths

and on top of the world…

It’s so cringey to be writing cheesy poems again,

but I’m happy that my biggest problem

is thinking about you

too much.


I’ve talked once before

about my red’s and blue’s,

how my moods often mix

both these beautiful hues.

Yet in hindsight I see

more than aesthetic shades,

and know I live behind

both of these masquerades:

My bedroom has been blue

since I came to this land,

rather shy and marked by

futures I didn’t plan.

But my blue writes my poems

and puts me to sleep.

She is there through it all,

in the veins I stain deep.

But red is the martyr

who then saves the day,

and says blue is too shy

to have things run her way.

She is loud, she is proud,

and the critics confer;

Every face in this land

could fall in love with her.

And I wish to be violet,

but they always fight.

Telling me it’s not me,

and that shade isn’t right.

Either I can write tales

of futures crystal clear,

or talk effortlessly to a boy

who is so, so near…

Perhaps this is my chance,

in this time and this place,

to fall head over heels

with a sky smile on my face.

I have shown you each side,

how they fight and they fray.

And though it doesn’t matter…

I hope that you stay.

Portrait 12


What a wonder it was

for tarnished eyes to see–

an old Ganesha charm

hanging down gracefully

from a vineyard of beads

that reside on my wrist–

“Oh who would ever think

it was them that I missed?”

When I gave them away

in a misguided plea.

“Here’s my heart, take good care–”


he’s never taken care of silver, has he?

He won’t know that it takes

more than one “I love you.”

It takes hard work and trust

to make love shine like new.

He never saw it darken,

a tragedy so,

until he was wise enough

to just let it go.

And I thank him, for that

(And I’ll also thank you).

Now it’s polished and primed,

and it knows what to do.

To help this young girl learn

to shine bright and be true.

“Do your best and just be

unapologetically you!”

(And if this poem stings,

I do not mean you pain.

I just felt it was right

to write something again.

And I won’t bite my tongue

for no ghost in the fray

You have chosen to read,

so you’ll hear what I say.)

So come on, little girl

and wear your silver dress.

The sun is shining bright

and you’re looking your best.

Find the life you deserve,

love, laugh, and never quit.

You have your heart back now,

so go out and use it!


Silly Love Songs


oh no,

you’ve broken into my radio

and the waves whisper your name

in the car as I drive far from home.

And I would ask you kindly

to stay in your lane,

but no.

Instead your voice hums in every chord

and your face appears in each lyric.

Whether it’s pain


or a long night,

you always take the stage.

And I would ask you kindly

to let me write my own page,

with the book still dedicated

to you.

But alas,

oh no,

that’s just the way things will go.

Because whether it’s five days

or 50 years,

I’ll never be able to listen to the radio.

Music is My Life by Qinni

“Music is My Life”