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.


366 Poems: October 23rd, 2016


Please excuse the spots on my face.

For it’s been a couple

late nights

where the work and stress outrun

the bathroom sink,

making me look like a teenager

in some coming-of-age movie.

Oh wait.

I am.

But I’be got no makeup artists here.

Just a face

with some eyes

and a brain

and a plan to change my entire world

for the better…

Do not excuse my face.

This is my game face.

And you’re gonna have to get used to it.

366 Poems: July 13th, 2016

One Step Away

Isn’t it that we always seem

one step away

from a great adventure?

One star away

from a perfect night?

One tear away

from a beautiful disaster?

Isn’t it that we always seem

one frame away

from the movie stars–

that maybe I could be Audrey Hepburn

or Marilyn Monroe

if only you decided to blur your eyes a little,

look at me in a different


Isn’t it that we almost seem

doomed to choose the wrong way?

Like the girl who still hasn’t figured out

the best way to end

her poetry?