we are made of flesh and bones

It is morning, the air is moist and crisp, not yet tainted by the scorching mid day desert sun.

A steady supply of sunlight showers your face when you awake.

Natural light hits the small galaxies splattered in your irises.

With dimples and laugh lines perplexing and forever curious.

Vulnerability, thirst.

I love that you put two packets of Sweet’N low in your coffee because your grandmother did too, when you were young.

Might as well drink up the cancer, we’re all walking vessels of flesh with expiration dates.

Middle of the night conversations about unnecessary Catholic guilt and childhoods concave and short lived.

Planting seeds in our dreams. Flowers bloom in the spring. Flowers.

Violet veins on your fluttering eyelids, goodnight.





Is your carrot cake guilt free???

I just want to enjoy a piece of food without thinking about it’s caloric content per serving, calories from fat, gms of sugar, mg/gms of sodium, cholesterol, ingredients, etc. God damn it who cares if it’s a good carb or bad carb or a healthy fat, or if it’s gluten free/dairy free. Can it all just be guilt free? 

far out

white noise, white lies

sweet embrace

choked out goodbyes

broken clocks and mended wounds

i give the best bad advice

don’t text me anymore

so much is lost in translation

hang up the phone



Re: there is light at the end of the tunnel


the subject line reads: there is light at the end of the tunnel

i can still taste the salt in my tongue from your neck

i can still taste the salt in my tongue from your neck

i think about you in the mornings too

the year is 2017, it is august

the desert sun is unforgiving & scorching

today i let myself feel a little more than usual,

perhaps it has to do with all the rain we’ve been blessed with

it makes me care a little less, live a little more

the burning in the back of my throat is still there

and i still think of you when i awake

not much has changed, i guess





no name #29

shirt tucked in and shoes shined bright

scrambled insides

i think of missed opportunities at night

i dream of east coast winters

and summer somewhere that isn’t here

slap together clusters of words and call them poetry

take photographs that document snippets of realities

remember cast shadows on the pavement

as you breathe in the scent that collects in the gutter

don’t be cynical now

shirt tucked in and shoes shined bright


yeah I’m a communist bite me

cropped-cropped-img_5169.jpgIt’s just the way I was brought up, some things our parents teach us when we’re kids we choose to keep, other’s we gladly discard when we leave the nest.
Communism was one of the ideals I kept.
I don’t want to talk about politics right now, I simply don’t have the energy to explain why I disagree with most democratic and republican ideals.

I guess I am trying to understand why I haven’t entirely put my guard down. I am not allowing myself to be completely vulnerable. Perhaps there was too much damage done too soon. Maybe it’s me. It is most definitely me. It is almost impossible to distinguish real and valid feelings from those distorted thoughts fueled by a combination of Borderline Personality Disorder, body image issues, and manic depression. I mean take drugs out of the equation and you’re left with unmedicated and damaged goods. Is one better than the other? I am starting to think not.

I have a damn good intuition. Usually the knot in my stomach which emerges from nowhere and keeps me up at night when my life is as balanced as it gets tells me I am lying to myself. It warns me to be cautious and protect my heart. That knot is back and has stuck around for weeks now.

Either way, my dear. I get this feeling we’ve both met our match. Welcome to me.



proceed with caution

so sweet my sweet so sweet

you’re naturally good at chasing trails of smoke

and me,

i’m naturally bad at keeping promises i made for myself

in this bathroom, our bodies stuffed

and laughs

and photographs

in this bathtub where I once let scorching hot water cleanse me of yesterday’s mistakes

crimson red fills your syringe

the same crimson red that lives inside of me

nobody particular, somebody new

i wish i was afraid but instead,

i’m committed to the danger we created

and yeah, it’s true,

i’m addicted to the danger we created