Mice Become Men.

This is wrong, I feel.

Petty earthquakes shatter my ground,

As I arrive helpless and unaware

Of the damage left undone,

The words left unsaid,

The temper that equally, we do not share.

Perhaps it’s time

For mice to become men.

In this war I foresee,

In this battle I shall rage,

Against your damnation,

Against your sins,

Unlocking your narrow minded cage.

For this new place I had hope,

In this new place I found a hollow

Scapegoat of lies.

Your words will not damn me.

From this low, I shall rise.



Heavy clouds shut out the sun,

as I fell in deep.

Enconcsed in darkness, your hand was my rope,

Your voice led the way,

For this burrowed mole, you filled with hope.

How did you do it?

Butterflies dance to the tune of your laugh.

Your steps leaving trails of gold,

Sunshine in your wake.

The Earth had crumbled beneath me

Before your gleeful soul stilled my quake.

Your face is magic,

Like wrinkles carved from laughter.

Happiness etched into your eyes.

Knowing your smile could carry me home.

Oh, to die in your sunrise.


Memoirs of the Passive Aggressive: Lion Inside Me

Push, shove, hit me once more.

The Lion who waits for you, stands at your door.

Red rash, scratch, bleeds till I’m sore

My mouth may be silent, but she’s keeping score.

Careless assumptions fly

like darts to my eyes,

While she’s steadying hers,

Aiming to pounce at your lies.

As I take in your cruel voice, with it’s ear numbing shrill,

Shes waiting to swallow you whole, Like a whale eats her krill.

Those heavy words from your mouth, the one you never pause,

May sting sharp like a bee,

But she’s sharpening her claws.

Push, shove,

Open your door,

The Lion who waits for you,

Waits here, no more.

Lower your gaze, you narrow minded louse.

I thought I was a lion,

But, when it comes to fighting back,

I am really just a mouse.


My Love

This poem was suppose to be completely different. I was suppose to write a found poem about flavors, but having strayed so far away from that subject, I completed something I wanted to write more. The funny thing about writing is that I don’t always know where I’m headed or what my purpose was in the beginning. It’s as if the deeper pockets of my mind escape and emotions I’ve buried away come out of hiding. This one is about not fitting in, being different and, sometimes, feeling alone in a room full of people. People you know, people you don’t know. It doesn’t really matter. When you’re sinking, it all feels the same. In those moments, it takes every ounce of my being to just nod and smile. Keep up the charade, until I can escape and be alone. Only then, do I not feel alone.

My love, please do not slip into the darkness,

Pitch black, where spiders crawl.

When the weight of the world has crushed you,

Please, do not fall,

Through the gaping hole beneath you,

The one that knows your plight.

The sinner who speaks to your weakness.

The seer who stole your sight.

My love, please maintain your grip.

When the sun sets over the horizon,

Remember the golden day and sip,

On the little black birds calmly chirping,

Their songs emitted through the trees.

Remember the children and their laughter.

Forget the storm that brought you to your knees.

My love, please take my hand.

I’m feigning strength for you.

I’ve seen the darkness in that hole.

I’ve felt the cold chill of judgement, the cruel slap of conformity.

I’ve feared the numbing of my soul.

My love, please listen,

I promise there is a way.

To rise above the flames of normalcy,

To live in the sparkle of the golden embers,

And weather out the storm.

Don’t worry, my love, I’ll be your shield,

I fight this everyday.



Who hasn’t fallen victim to the entanglement of social media? Every time I open Instagram and see the pictures of beautiful people I’ll never look like with millions of friends I’ll never have, I regret it. I question myself. I feel as if I am not enough. But then I look outside of my window. I remember that real beauty is everywhere in the natural world. It’s not a made up, filtered face on social media, it’s the whites of the clear blue waves crashing on the shore. It’s the bird building a nest of torn up branches for his mate on the sand cliffs above the flat sand where the dogs eagerly chase their toy balls. This is real beauty. Just escaping the walls that surround you and enjoying the world outside your window.

Photo by: Pooeelouis

Monterey Bay, CA

My fingertips glide from your lowest point,

to your highest.

One glance, one glimmer,

at perfection, I’ll never be.

Images that move, images that are still.

Still, I am no you.


is what you create

and my obsessions,

are what you stimulate.

One screen, set my eyes ablaze, forever a prisoner

to a deep wave of jealous green.

Yet, another screen, transparency save,

blocks another life.

A tangible world of imperfect beauty.

I open that screen.