Possibly compiling a book of never-before-published work.

Try this Epitaph on for Size

Posted: December 21, 2018 in writing

Fear is a man who’s made to pay

Dues to the monsters he’s made.

Keep your breath for now

I’ll wait for death to bring you down

Nothing more than bones in the ground.

Forgiveness is for the sorry

And it was never your quarry.

Boots off, feet first in the fire

Corpse in a hearse, memory a liar

Head full of darkness, heart only mire.

I’d wade through Inferno

Just to dance on your grave.

It’s a matter of time til

Every choice that you made

Catches you.

And in the seventh circle down,

I’ll be grinning,

Your name the blood on my lips.

I saw his project car for sale

The hearse.

73. Purple. Curved windshield. Leather seats

That I never saw when he owned it,


Flat tires

Filled with junk

Like the rest of his…


Like me.


Something like a boomerang that finally broke and

finally didn’t come back

Like a wounded dog;

Emotional limp,

Internalized howl.

Scratch marks on the door until let in.

I finally slipped my collar.

No longer his.

No longer owned.

Like an eggplant-purple piece-of-shit hearse with awesomely gothic seats and door panels.

He had good taste. The devil always does.


Posted: September 2, 2018 in writing

They would wear me like a coat til I was threadbare,

No roses, all thorns. Uprooted.

All filimant, no halogen, no bulb. Only what should spark, with no means to do so.

And I thought I was broken,

But I was really just in the wrong environment.

Birds can’t fly in a fish tank.


Posted: August 16, 2018 in writing

Today marks the end of an era of blind resentment.

Now I’m just bitter,

But in the good ways;

In the understandable, justifiable and manageable ways.

All I can do is try moving on and forgiving, and not repeating old mistakes.

Whether I regret them or not.

You were an old mistake.

I was a dimmer switch never touched. Not really, anyway.

No one ever wanted me at my brightest. Or my darkest.

I was always too much or not enough.

You were an old mistake.

I was a waning light.

Pretending to be faulty wiring

Wishing I was faulty wiring.

Or a broken filimant.

Or anything tangible.

You were an old mistake

And I was the minute after sunset,

The moment the streetlamps flickered on,

The sound of crickets,

The buzz of mosquitos in your ear.

You were an old mistake, love,

And I was a fool to want you the way I did.

Posted: June 19, 2018 in writing

I will never understand why

The place white boys retreat to

To build themselves

Is devoid of compassion

And littered with greed.

I’m an asshole.

Posted: May 13, 2018 in Uncategorized

Why did it take me

One hour and two minutes

To say “Love you” back?

The sexually and emotionally abusive older man who took every first I had and then threw me away in a text message once he figured out he couldn’t mold me into what he wanted.

The accountant/drug dealer who kissed another girl at a party and then dumped me after I didn’t get mad about it because at least he told me.

The Italian mama’s boy who had his friends harass me so hard after we split that I had to change my number. To be fair, he did try to make amends.

The younger guy I dumped so that he would go to college instead because he was too smart to turn down a full scholarship in order to be closer to me. He flunked out. Does drugs now, apparently.

The bipolar New Jersey (but claimed New York) trust fund alcoholic who needed to tear me down in order to feel better about himself, wouldn’t call me his girlfriend until after we broke up and who hit me.

The scene kid turned redneck videogame-obsessed manchild who treated me like a prize that he won and then left on the mantle to collect dust and take care of all of our pets single-handedly while I worked longer hours for less money than he did.

The guy where the timing never worked out and we just periodically break each other’s hearts by getting our hopes up that it could ever work out. He was unemployed and we thought he was going to jail when we were together but that didn’t bother me at all.

Honorable mentions:

The guy who built up my self-esteem enough that I refused to take my first ex back after he dumped me in a text. He took me out for a Valentine’s weekend, never went beyond kissing me and then rejected me when I asked if he wanted to be a couple. He’s now happily married and published and a valuable friend.

My old lover who was so good to me emotionally and did the right thing by rejecting me because we were fatally incompatible. He’s now married to someone who may not be as good to him as he hopes. But he is a father and happy with that, which I never could have given him.

The rehab guy who wooed me over a summer he spent in my town, whose rehab house referred to me as his girlfriend and who turned out to be using me to cheat on his girlfriend back home the entire time.

Press Play

Posted: April 13, 2018 in Uncategorized

Things I taste melt into my bones;

The bitter, the heat. And acrid.

And my heart is in and out of halfway houses

Doomed situations

Room invitations

Stacked debt-ceiling tall

Anything for a reminder.

To be loved.

To be goddess.


Hot mess.

A box of 8-tracks that all fall silent in the middle and never recover.

I’ve got a thing for being unwanted.

It makes me hope.

Love is rarely being together;

It is more often helping a wound along,

Swinging wide the trap doors we make,

The failsafes,

The give and take is all to keep warm somewhere only secrets reach.

Love is growing apart and letting go.

Until maybe it’s not.

Posted: January 1, 2018 in Uncategorized

It’s so bad when you find it was all just in your head

And between the sheets on his bed.