366 Poems: December 2nd, 2016

Stomach Ache

My body hates me

and my mind betrays me

into thinking all of these awful things.

But you can see the beauty

in everything…

even if I can’t quite

stomach it.


366 Poems: October 18th, 2016

Stranger Things

I can find so much beauty

in so many strange things–

a cloudy day,

an English paper,

a computer code,

a broken shell.

All of the things

that mean nothing to anyone

but me.


So why do I feel

that you should be on this list?

366 Poems: April 22nd, 2016


Just call me a work of art

as I am pressed




and pulled into the spotlight.


Squeeze me like a paint tube

into a tight blue dress,

with my hair tied into crocheted knots

and my skin the home of glitter and glue.


Place me like a china doll

into a robin’s egg house,

as a fair treasure to be locked on a shelf

and to shine in the shadow of dust.



do not lock me

in this mausoleum of a museum.

“Please,” I will rage, “Give me the stage!”

And watch…


Watch as the hairspray cracks and crumbles,

the eye liner shutters and smears,

the dress shifts, the arms lift,

and the scuffed high heels are kicked off

on the way to the dance floor.


Because I am a Pollock,

a Picasso,

a diamond who finds the rough


Do not put me in the picture frame

and tell me I am art.


Let me show you.

366 Poems: January 19th, 2016

Fairy Tale

This love is not a fairy tale:

your face still spotted,

arms still pale,

your teeth quite large

and bent weird ways,

your shirt quite old

with threads in frays.


This love has no fairy to fix

all of the flaws

with magic tricks,

but yet, you’ve still

got me convinced:

If I’m a princess,

you’re my prince.

366 Poems: January 8th, 2016

Night Vision

There’s something deep within my eyes

that takes the sky

and gives it night vision–


a world of colored fractal patterns

that heals the frayed

in red, blue, and green–


but all of that

is just a pretty way of seeing

the darkness–


that all of us have

and all of us hide

until the night comes crawling–


you can tell me I have rainbow eyes,

but they still only surround

the black–


the fear, the cold, the chemicals

that take the darkness

and make it grow–


we cannot see beauty

without the night

that gives a calloused contrast–


but even then,

we must always know

that we cannot hide anymore.

365 Poems: September 26th, 2014

What We Can’t Say

Now they can’t say he’s beautiful,

because the laws expect less

for the boy who hasn’t lived away

from the computer screen

and doesn’t know how to say the things

that we’d expect from society’s sirens.

But he’s beautiful,

there’s proof enough of that

in the way he smiles

and asks you how you are.

Now they can’t say she’s beautiful,

because the stars can’t walk down

the red carpets in shrugging black jackets

and ripped-up jeans

or be afraid to recognize the cameras

besides the ones that are turned away.

But she’s beautiful,

it’s plain enough to see

in her shaking excitement

and short conversations.


Because just because we can’t say it,

doesn’t mean it isn’t there.

“You Are Beautiful…”

365 Poems: April 7th, 2014


Sir Eiffel believed in things so tall

that would save the rain if the sky should fall.

Davinci knew art and he knew how to fly

but he never knew the tower that could paint the sky.

Words for girls and for guys and for shapes of the two

and hotels with small balconies facing the bleu

and the metal is rouge and the lights are all blanc

for the miserables who finally get what they want.

Poor old Marie with her sad little ship

doesn’t marchons march longer when the wine starts to tip.

But the bread is all baked and the hats are all bought.

If I kissed you right now, do you think we’d get caught?

On this old Paris night so alive and so free,

anything can happen to us. Non or oui?

“Koutek in Paris”