i am

i am :

emotions on sleeves.  heart on the outside looking in.
stained glass, cracked, but unbroken.  tears in the darkness of 

i am :

terrified of losing you.  tied up in moments of
complicated and time and waiting.  miserable at best.

i am :

yours and no one else’s.  it’s so easy to wait
to make things simple.  to imagine touching your skin with the flesh of
my lips.

i am :

waiting for time to stand still.  hoping for a moment
that might never come, but i was never one to doubt in love (but we
all know that’s a lie

i am :

the saddest rainbow at the end of summer.  stained
glass painted dull and lifeless.

with you around.

i am : 
unbroken, the stars in the sky.

Control: An Instant Star oneshot

Seriously. This one REALLY fails. I am such an awful writer! It’s so CORNY. I wrote this like last summer.



. . . . . . . . . .

She moved to the music. He watched her silently from the doorway as she strummed her guitar. His lips quivered with both laughter and longing.

“Jude,” he said quietly. She stopped strumming and whirled around, her long red hair swirling around her face.

“Tommy,” she gasped, tripping on her guitar cord and falling on the ground.

“Are you okay?” he asked, biting his lip to hold back his laughter. She glared at him, setting her guitar aside and turning off the amp.

“What’re you doing here?” she asked, walking towards him.

“I came to see you,” he answered. She shook her head.

“No,” she mumbled, “you didn’t.”

“Where is everyone?” he asked, ignoring her previous statement.

“I’m alone.”

“Mmhm,” he answered, moving closer to her before taking a sharp left and pacing through the living room.

“Why are you here?” she asked again.

“I told you,” he said with his back to her, “I came to see you.”

“I don’t believe you,” she said, crossing her arms.

“You don’t have to,” he said, keeping his back to her and pretending to study the furniture.

“Tommy,” she said, rolling her eyes, “just go. Us being alone isn’t a good idea.”

“Why not?” he asked, finally turning back to look at her.

“We have a history,” she answered.

“Jude,” he said, moving towards her and not stopping until their bodies were just barely touching. She glared up at him.

“What?” she asked, trying to act angry.

“You know what.”

“Don’t do this again,” she growled, turning her back to him.

“Jude,” he said, putting his hands on her hips and pulling her back into him. She struggled in his grasp.

“Stop it,” she said, “I can’t handle this anymore.” He pulled away from her.

“I know how you feel about me, Jude,” he said, “I’ve known all along.”

“I know,” she screamed, throwing up her arms, “I’m just tired of you kissing me and then saying it doesn’t mean anything!”

“I love you, Jude,” he said, gazing into her eyes.

“No you don’t,” she said with a sigh, “you love the idea of me.”


“Tommy.” He moved towards her again and she backed up.

“Stop,” she said when he got too close, placing her hands against his chest to hold him back.

“Why?” he asked, standing arms length away from her.

“You know why.” He bit his lip and stared down at her.

“Are you afraid?” he asked her. She looked away from him and stared at the wall. “Jude.”

“Tommy…” she sighed, “we really shouldn’t be all alone.”

“I know.” Tommy sighed, moving closer towards her.

“Go now.” Jude winced, staring at the ground.

“I can’t,” he admitted, “I need you, Jude.”

“Not now,” she answered, “wait.”

“I can’t,” he said, “not anymore.”

“If I mean anything to you,” she whispered, “you’ll wait.” He sighed in frustration and pulled away from her, turning his back.

“I’m sorry,” he said, walking towards the door.

“No,” she said, “I’m sorry.” Tommy turned and looked at her. Jude swallowed hard, seeing all the pent up desire in his eyes.

“Tommy…” she whispered and before she could stop herself she was already in his arms kissing him with all she had. He kissed her back, his heart pounding loudly in his ears, arms wrapping around her waist.

“I need you,” he said when he pulled back.

“I know,” she whispered, tilting her head back when he leaned down to kiss her neck. “I need you too.”

“Hey Jude,” someone called from the entry way. The two broke apart quickly, hearts pounding louder with fear.

“Mom,” Jude said, mustering her best innocent smile.

“What’s Tommy doing here?” her mother asked. Jude glanced at Tommy and shrugged.

“Just got here,” Tommy said, “came to tell Jude something important.”

“Oh?” her mother asked, “what?” Jude glared at Tommy.

“Yeah, Tom,” Jude mumbled, “what about?”

“Look at the time,” Tommy said, “I really should get going. It was nice talking to you Mrs. Harrison.”

“Always nice to see you, Tom.” Tommy walked quickly towards the door, opening it and with one apologetic glance back at Jude he was gone.

Jude sighed with relief.

“Thanks mom,” Jude whispered, climbing the stairs and going to her room, “I was afraid we’d lose control.”

. . . . . . . . . .



shove these p i l l s down my throat and 
t e l l – m e that I’m normal
enough for you when I’m staring at an 
empty void, loss of color and focus.

you tell me I can be f i x e d with 
medication but, when was I ever

           – KEN?

stop trying to fix something that’s complete
you’re p i c k i n g away at what I am

T   E 
        A  R

away w h o  i  tried so hard to become.

you tell me I need theselittlewhite p i l l s
because for once in my life I’m finally
H A P P Y.

Lost in the Void of Normalcy

you’d rather i be 


and normal, simple, dead 
in my eyes
(you want them to be void
of sparkle and hope, grace, compassion)

you think it’d be easier
if i never felt the things rising to the surface
bubbling and causing the sweet upward curl
of my lips.

you wish i was flat, emotionless, broken
you choke me on those pills
tell me it’s helping me to be NORMAL
but all it does is bring the 
numbness back and force me 
under the perpetual shade of
darkness behind my eyelids.

i’ll never be normal enough for you.

Line Breaks

I’m caught
in these lines,
stanzas, versus,
because they
remind me how
broken, lonely
in love
I am.

I read
them so often
it almost
they always
tell me who
I am
or was
long ago.

Even now
my words have
the ability
break someone’s
heart on contact
to show
love and
hate – red.

They overtake
my memories of
a happier
and make
them seem less
important than
the times
of sadness.

I wish
I could find
my way
of this
labyrinth of dark
words and
unhappy moments
in life.


This isn’t technically a poem, but it’s close to it.

It was a simple task on record, but off it was easily the hardest thing she could ever hope to accomplish.  

In his arms, things were safe, warm, delicate but on the outside of his embrace she was finding life hard to cope with.  On the outside there were no gentle kisses to her lips, cheek and forehead to reassure her of her safety.  There was no strong arms to hold her up from hitting rock bottom.  And there was certainly no peaceful slumber.

She could argue that he didn’t understand what he did to her.  She could almost be certain that he didn’t know of the delicate emotions that erupted with every twitch of his fingers and every flutter of his eyelashes against her cheek.  And, of course, she knew without a doubt that he didn’t know about the sensations she felt when he pressed his bare flesh against hers, or nuzzled her neck.

In fact, she wasn’t even quite sure herself.  The only word previously used to describe these intense emotions was “butterflies”.  The word seemed so broad now.  The butterflies referred to a feeling in your chest or stomach, not a feeling that washed over your skin in waves, making you feel warm, safe and wanted.

Outside of his arms was where she currently resided, head resting on her knees, eyes staring sideways at the blue wall in her darkened room.  One hour being both the exact amount of time he had been gone and the exact amount of time she slept the previous evening (or morning, but who’s counting).  

She was tired, her mind ceased making sense and she still tingled from the whisper of his touch (strong arms previously wrapped around her).  Her body ached to both be with him and to drift off into a peaceful slumber, where her memories of those few beautiful (however, fleeting) moments they shared earlier in the day would be on repeat (and not drenched in blue around the edges).

Alas, neither ache would subside as neither want would come true.

Peace was written on the walls, on her sheets, on her blanket, on her clothes, but never in her mind.  Slumber was painted where it was able to be seen, but not to be acted out.  Love was at the fore front of her mind, body still holding sweet whispers of caresses.  

Dear Mr. Sandman,
the slumber never calms
the waking beast
changing their heart
to let someone in

but perhaps, it’s misery.