Archive for the ‘poetry’ Category


Posted: March 8, 2016 in poetry, writing
Tags: , , , , ,

My sincere regrets
To every girl I shot down;
I did not mean to lie.

It seems remiss to say I didn’t know,
Because of course I did,
Didn’t I? I don’t know.
How could I have differentiated
My impulses to comb flaxen waves of hair with my fingers
From heteronormal sleepover behavior?
It’s so normal for chicks to touch,
Hugs and cheek kisses, cuddles?
Wasn’t I just affectionate and touchy-feely
Until that girl kissed me, changed me?
But if we’re born this way, how could…
Was I born bi?
Conditioned “straight”?



Posted: December 20, 2015 in poetry, writing
Tags: , , , ,

I believe in unicorns more than I believe in truly good people,
But there you are;
Some soul-bearing articulate set of eyes with a martyr complex.
Bottles make monsters out of those like me,
And they kill the kind slowly,
One heartbeat hiccup at a time.


Posted: November 2, 2015 in art, poetry, writing
Tags: , , , ,

I’m tired of gender.
I’m tired of being reluctantly called ma’am by strangers.
I’m tired of people being taken aback when they meet me in person
after hearing my “feminine” voice on the phone.
I’m tired of guys talking over me and then thinking me rude
when I refuse to yield to it.
I’m tired of friends being confused when they figure out I wear
“men’s” cologne and “men’s” shirts and shoes.
I’m tired of the pink tax.
I’m tired of the media pushing machismo onto men
while infantalizing women.
I’m tired of being the “girl” that guys can “really open up to”
because I’m “not going to judge them like the guys would”
I’m tired of being privy to deep, dark secrets
concerning other people’s gender identities and sexual orientations,
not because it is not flattering to be so trusted,
but because it is so overwhelmingly sad
that we live in a world where people have to feel afraid of being who they are.
We live in a world where gender is a poison
shoved down the throats of children from birth.
The concept is weaponized and used as justification
for abuse, for abandonment, for assault… For murder.

I am not tired of naturally-occurring gender,
but of the pain that comes with
forcefeeding narrow archetypes to diverse masses.

I sunk my past into you and fed on yours;
My teeth in your throat and my nails clawing your back
To get under your skin
While feelings bubbled up under mine,
Little vapor pockets full of remorse, attachment, affection and want
That popped, spilling their contents
Every time you kissed me.

Sad haiku

Posted: August 29, 2015 in art, poetry, writing
Tags: , ,

I’m a free spirit;
Don’t belong to anyone.
I don’t think I can.

Strangers don’t approach me in bars,
No one questions me being into cars
And I don’t get harassed on the street.
I don’t get called “ma’am” nearly as much,
And I don’t have to do much convincing my baggers that I can carry my groceries out by myself.
As if longer hair somehow made me weaker.
But didn’t it?
The extra effort just 6 more inches created,
I now designate for putting myself in a good state of mind.
I no longer get heat rash over my ears,
And I look like I’ve got the right number of years under my belt;
No longer do I appear to be underage.
I walk taller because I have no curtain of protein strands to hide behind,
And I don’t mind the lack of those inclined to talk to me;
I find those who are to be more worthwhile.
More likely to smile genuinely rather than out of perceived obligation.
Had I done it sooner, it might have saved me the trouble of dealing with shallow, judgemental people.
And I might have felt more secure in myself sooner.


Posted: July 7, 2015 in art, poetry, writing
Tags: , , , , ,

You find me when I am weakest;
Synced synapses screaming for a cease-fire.
Always “Hey”, always like it’s nothing.
Always when you instinctively know I could use a stiff drink and a night in heels,
Followed by my heels dug into the mattress,
Or my hands on a headboard,
(although, who the hell uses a headboard while giving or getting head?)
You know I am dead-bored
With all these sophomoric,  2-dimensional lives lacking spinal cords.
Even continents away, your manic states indicate when I feel desolate.

And no one calls me “doll” anymore,
Certainly not in the same breath as calling me a “broad”.

As bad as it ever was, it was also that good.

At one time.

Before I could speak, the decision was made
That I would be trained to believe in god.
Their god.
A god whose bestseller book justified slavery, incest, male dominance and mutilation.
The god described as “love”, “savior”, “king”, “father”
“All-knowing”, “all-loving” while all are told he is to be feared.
I was raised to believe that a single lifetime of wrongdoing
Was righteously met with an eternity of torture.
But their god is “loving.”
I was recruited to a cause only days after my birth without my consent.
I was not given a choice.
It was washed away with holy water.


Posted: July 3, 2015 in art, poetry, writing
Tags: , , , , , ,

The worst ghosts were once the best people.
They leave and the feelings haunt you.

Did you think I’d change enough, soon enough
To become worthwhile?
I was, once; before I was me.
I regret that it wasn’t for you.
Now I can’t trust those I love
And I can’t love those I trust;
The cute, boring love
Inevitably becomes a hollowed, smiling corpse.

                   ….Fucking nothing…
….Nothing good lasts.


Posted: June 5, 2015 in art, poetry, writing
Tags: , , , , , ,

All I am is avoidance;
Ignoring, yet not ignorant.
Some lucky charm with
A wingspan longer than my patience,
A murmur in my heart,
Long lost to the blue,
Sharkteeth so far below,
Yet imminent.