Her eyes, shine like the sun, soft as moonbeams,

her smile far outweigh all the stars above,

surrounding her is pureness held gently,

like spun moss, silvery soft to the touch.

Not often a true beauty can be found,

she is wildflowers, a spring lake pure,

surrounded by heaven and earth, calming,

to write of such as this, would fill pages.

This is music without sound or movement,

this is the dance longed for generations,

a melody never-ending such love.

She brings the goodness of spirit to task.

And yet, she does not know that I listen.

It matters not; this pleasure, I hold true.

Intakes of breath, free writing until my mind pops - stardust that falls lightly on her red sweater like snow fall. Quotes from the internet that inspire tattoos, a young girl’s fantasy in her childhood home. Perhaps we’re all trying to be known, a lifetime of experiences leading us to the watering hole.

Baileys that pours through my brain, rocks that diminish to sand grains. Irish bars that reflect inner chaos. I am bipolar, defying the odds. If we are merely spacedust, I am the asteroid. Am I defying or succumbing to earth’s gravitational pull?

I regret not being drunk as I write it down.

The written word arrests me. Their sirens transport me to the truth, blaring me into oblivion. I am their prisoner, a poet who grasps at anything to be relevant.

There is no “wow factor” in writing, unless it sucker punches you in the gut. Likewise, you can find me in a bar fight. Martinis that taste sour, literature with pages worn down. Rupi Kaur going live on Instagram makes me want to kiss the crowd.

I regret a lot, not least of all my use of this scattershot wretchedness I cringe at calling my best written testimony.

It started as a premonition

A scratching thought at night

A sleepless, watchful disposition

An unrest that tends to bite

You called a guardian by your side

And they check for signs of hostility

And in the shadows I quickly hide

As they wave off an evil possibility

You called me many names

Cruel, eerie, and unkind

And my ego and heart you maimed

As the words rest on my mind

Eventually you began to ignore

My futile efforts to connect

And instead you vowed and swore

To disregard and neglect

You say that I am scary

When I’m just here to make a friend

But now that you are older

My purpose has come to an end

I’ve been told that you can never really be sure of anything. And I believed it. But For the past year, I have been absolutely certain of one thing.

I love Adan Walker.

No one can deny it. I love him. This is a truth as sure as the sun is bright. And I know, without a shadow of a doubt, that he can love me too. So while people say you can never really be sure of anything, I will be here, absolutely sure of love.

hour glass

they call it,

my curves.

the end numbers

used to

match up precisely.

hips spread

in recent years.

in anticipation,

of a baby

i refuse

to grow within.

not that

i don’t enjoy

taking you

into my body.

it’s my

pinnacle, when you

release your

seed into me.

i’m certain

a deep primal

explanation exists.

i don’t care

to examine.

i’ve simply never

wanted to

bring tiny humans

into this

sad broken world.

never met

a man that

could live

up to title

of Father.

i had three

flawed examples.

i know for

a fact

it is an

impossible job.

one very few

men can

handle and i

refuse to

go solo for

such an

important life commitment.

i will

continue to protect

my womb,

and enjoy practicing.

explore my

valleys and caves.

run your

fingers along my

milky skin.

climb my peaks,

dive into

my abyss and

bathe in

my hot springs.

no obligations