Posted: September 14, 2016 in writing

‚ÄčI think sadness is the deepest emotion,

Happiness is the lightest,

Anger is the strongest

And fear is the darkest.

Posted: July 23, 2016 in writing

I miss California rain; warm mist in soft breezes, drumming on the fiberglass porch roof, dark marks on the hood of my sweatshirt, soaked up gleefully by parched earth, rivulets to cement drainage on street corners and ravines. 

I miss Hawaii rain; thick, cold sheeting downpour that steams the hot roads with rolling billows of white under street lamps, slick and juicy over red dirt and green everything else, the only winter the island knows. 

Arkansas rain is natural disasters, swelling bayous, obese river, merciless grey and flooded drainage ditches choking roads. Arkansas rain is groaning thunder and tornado sirens; nature’s discontent. 


Posted: July 3, 2016 in writing
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Some months ago, I slammed my thumb in your car door after a long night of drunken kareoke. It blood-blistered right at the base of the nail; a merlot that deepened to a malbec even though we’d mostly drunk beer that night–in pitchers. I think it was PBR. 

We’d had the worst conversations that night; the “I didn’t mean what I’ve been saying” conversations, the “I can’t think of you that way” ones. We all but licked the envelopes for our resignation letters that night. It was over. 

I couldn’t sleep next to you, on that air mattress. I threw on my sweatshirt, put the hood up and stretched out face-up on your bare living room floor, contemplating for the remaining hours whether it was really over. 

For seven years we’d been each other’s only constant: keeping each other’s deepest secrets, standing by one another with unwavering loyalty, always reminding anyone adverse that “even good people sometimes do horrible things”.

But, oh, the horrible thing you did to me, I finally found unforgivable. 

The red grew out of my thumbnail and the jagged edge where it had split apart on impact is growing smoother by the day. Soon, it will look completely normal. Soon, I will be without the constant reminder of the night our friendship became an alka-seltzer tablet in a cup that was both half full and half empty. 


Posted: May 28, 2016 in writing

It was raining steadily in the cold night outside the house. She locked all the doors and pushed the window by the bed open to hear the downpour and feel the cold, whisking in gently.  It was easy to not fear leaving a window open when she slept with a bowie on the nightstand.

Say cheese

Posted: May 8, 2016 in writing

I was forced to smile in pictures as a kid… So there are all these pictures of me with uncomfortable, fake smiles plastered on my face and I hate them. So much. It’s not that I wasn’t happy, I’ve just always been more for laughing than smiling, and you can’t easily capture that in a photo.

Promise ring

Posted: May 7, 2016 in writing

I never did like wearing the ring my first boyfriend gave me.
Thirteen little diamonds set in sterling, all sparkly and pretty.
My hands never have been quite feminine,
Even when I’ve done my nails or had acrylics.
I’m not built for promises.
My metal allergies should have tipped me off long ago that I find it irritating;
The “forever” symbolized by a ring,
The universal signal for romantic ownership,
A small, round, metal prison I imagined bisecting my heart,
Carving through tissue like a chain embedded in a neglected dog’s neck.
Like this little token was supposed to make me feel grateful;
Overjoyed, really, but there was a reason I gave it back to him at the end.
I never liked wearing it.
I’m not built for promises.
I cannot be contained,
Even by a loop of metal on my finger.
I am not built for promises,
But for possibilities.

Posted: April 7, 2016 in writing

I miss the way you kissed me
Exactly the right way
At exactly the right moments,
The way you smelled like cheap cologne and whiskey,
And Marlboro 27’s,
And in the mornings, it was dollar store body wash
And toothpaste.
Sharp and sweet.

I miss your breath on my shoulder,
The way I could still count your freckles in the dark,
The way your face changed when it rained.

I miss the unspoken agreement that
The car was our therapy couch.

No one has turned off the radio to talk to me, before or since.


Posted: April 3, 2016 in writing
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I had the audacity to believe that I was strong enough to remain unhardened by life.
There were periods of time when “inhibition” was not present in my lexicon;
When I was openly ridiculous and passionately expressive.
Times when hugs, for example, were freely given, even to vague acquaintances,
Without even a tinge of emotional discomfort.

When I recall that, I cannot help puzzling over how I have become so frigid.
But I think I know.

When your first lover sexually abuses you
–and even before he does, you feel so insecure in the relationship that you find yourself trailing three feet behind him everywhere you go–
You lose trust.

When each new love, enthusiastically indulged in to the point of total vulnerability
Results in ugliness, abuse, harassment, stalking or even extortion,
You lose your spark in the inferno.

Your chemical composition itself changes;
You are no longer starstuff,
Only fire.

It is both disheartening and wondrous how much of ourselves is just chemicals in our brains;
How our emotions are quite literally reactions in every sense of the word.

When rejection dons a sheep costume and you find,
Down the road a ways, just how sharp its teeth are….
And my, what big eyes you’ve had, to think you could handle it all!
And what a big, dumb heart you’ve had,
Writhing around in your chest like the end of a garden hose (whether the balter was from pleasure or pain)!

Oxytocin or adrenaline.
Dopamine and serotonin or a complete lack of them….
Dormant neurons free from the line of fire.

Each new beginning feels like rising from the ashes
Although it is impossible to discern where the ashes end and you begin.
Until someone hugs you, and you are saddened to realize that there is far less of you left than you had hoped.


Posted: March 26, 2016 in writing

I have plans now
That don’t include
Anyone else.


Posted: March 13, 2016 in writing

For all the nights I could have
Stepped across that very blurry line
That I dwell on as if it were a place to be made home,
I am grateful that I did not.
That I, for once, refrained;
That I remained in the blur.
In the gray.