Once upon a midnight dreary
Midnight Search

I placed my hand on his
thick callused skin
I could feel the warmth of his
rough flesh radiating love.
We laid there nestled between
the wild blades of grass,
hidden in the hollow
of this velvet morning.

Cold, lonely trees
huddled together in the distance,
a skeletal memories of spring,
for some reason, they looked
so distraught there, that I felt a sense
of pity for those barren branches,
The frost lined breeze made them
shiver crinkled leaves, trembling
like pages to the brown
patches of earth.

I stood up and brushed the
rogue bits of soil from my dress,
I never turned around to say goodbye,
but you never stopped me either.
I can tell this have changed,
but it doesn’t mean they are better.

I’m searching for midnight
waiting for solace, and it’s
in this silence
I roam alone.

I’m your worst nightmare

Cyanide lips
quicksand sheets
the skin of your back under my sharpened nails.
I am the poisonous apple they warned you about
the crack in the sidewalk you were to avoid.

I have become the darkness,
and it’s you I will destroy.


My fists clench
knuckles stained white
palms marked with indents
of sharpened nails, made
to draw blood.

I can pack my own cancer now,
my palms are crimson and raw
slamming carton after carton,
temporary lovers, sucked dry.
My skin shrivels at the thought
of your fingers tracing my curves,
and there are no tears left to cry,
my ducts have been removed
so much like my heart.

Nothing but whiskey to vomit
when I think of you each night.
My floor is coated with ripped
pages of your letters, a literal
adaptation of poetic snow.

It was the pain that changed me,
you can’t reach me now,
I’m a man made monster.

Starving for Beauty

I see these women with
bones piercing their skin
the outline of their ribs,
the coils of ivory protruding
through the back of
a dress. The collar,
cheeks, and hips
all lacking flesh and
color, the pink tones
intended for a woman.

And this is what I’m
told is “beautiful?
I flip the pages of my
magazines, turn
channels on television
to see these women
withering away all
in the name of beauty.
So what does that
make me? Ugly?

Not at all.
I love my frame,
fragile with curves in
all the right places.
I embrace my body,
I eat when I want to
and I enjoy being unique.
Women weren’t meant
to starve and disappear.

Being happy, being yourself,
being different, now
that is beautiful.