You poke prod and play.

I feel it.

All I do is feel
Just feel it
That’s all
All I feel like I can do
All I want to

But now I hold it towards you
Bringer it closer than before
To pretend to have control
As you toy with what is sacred.

I know what I want.
I know what I need.
I know what I deserve.
I let this cloud my mind and
Poison my judgement.

I wish I said these things to you
I have of the agency of my own mind

Of my own voice

But I choose not to use them.
Instead I return
Over and over
Letting your inexpiable amusement
Tear it slowly

To my own demise.

The Bulb

Sometimes a bulb is planted but
It chooses not to bloom until the planter waters another.
When there are too many blooms, the planter
Chooses the prettiest to cut and display, hidden from the light, but
It is the one not cut that will survive the longest.
This one will contain the beauty shared with the world,
As it blooms in nature, for all to see, for all to behold, but
It too will pass one day, but when it does it may leave a child
For the world to keep forever, and through this,
The bloom will never fail.

Many bulbs are planted.
Few will bloom.
And only one could ever last forever.


You wake up in an unfamiliar room
You look around you, but you can’t see
They meld together unknown…

You wake up in an unfamiliar room
You try to speak, but words don’t exist
You see them meld together unknown…

You wake up in an unfamiliar room
You try to touch, but there is nothing
You say they meld together unknown…

You wake up in an unfamiliar room
You listen intently, but there is no sound
You feel them meld together unknown…

You wake up in an unfamiliar room
You inhale deeply, but there is no smell
You hear them meld together unknown…

You wake up in an unfamiliar room
You try to lick, but there is nothing to taste
You smell them meld together unknown…

You wake up in a familiar room
Say the chant, feel your brothers, taste and smell their presence, hear yourself and them and you and them and you and you alone.

You meld together as one,



Fill My Cup

I took the day to fill my cup
But you come to puncture my soul
The water leaves, streaming out
My life, my happiness, my hope
It is as though, the thirst will stay
Yearning, yearning, wanting more
I see the water pure and sweet
Why must you persist in blocking me?
You steal my water, pour it out
You don’t even appreciate it whole
You’re always there, watching me
I can’t escape your hold
I hold the pitcher to pour it in
You’re on your way, I know
It is clear water, but you grab the die
Slowly, you taint my soul.

Twenty Minutes: A Response to the Stanford Rape Case

In twenty minutes,
You could walk a mile.
In twenty minutes,
You could mix up the ingredients for a cake.
In twenty minutes,
You could finish the essay portion of the SAT.
In twenty minutes,
You could learn a new mathematical formula.
In less than twenty minutes,
You could pull a child from a burning building,
Forever being known to the family as a hero.
In less than twenty minutes,
You could give a graduation address,
Forever being known as your class’s valedictorian.
In less than twenty minutes,
You could pull a gun trigger for the first time,
And end someone’s life for the first time.
In less than twenty minutes,
You could deliver a sentence
That takes into account the life of the attacker more than the life of the victim.
In less than twenty minutes,
You could play this ridiculous blaming game,
In which you blame everything and everyone except the person who is at fault.
In less than twenty minutes,
You could call this a mistake, a misstep, an unfortunate happening, a misunderstanding
You could call it anything but rape.
In twenty minutes…
You could have action…
Just twenty minutes of action
In which you take advantage of an unconscious woman
In which you make a decision that ruins her life
In which you decide your own desires trump her inability to consent
In which you rape a woman
In just twenty minutes of action,
You could sexually assault a woman,
And forever earn the right to be labeled a sex offender.
In just twenty minutes of action…
In just twenty minutes of rape.
For just twenty minutes of rape,
You deserve much more than six months in jail.

Turned to Grey

Black and white; sharp and pristine
Until tears cloud them into a grey scene.

From a distance, unavoidable beauty does the portrait hold.
Edging closer, emotions sparked, double-takes, and some fakes
Initial awe diminished.

“‘Tis hideous!”
Easy to say
Unless you know the artist
And your pride is washed away.

Nodding in accordance
Judging from afar
But when it’s your turn
Your whole life is ajar.

Make her a dove
Make him a dove
They are doves
Nothing is evil.

Your lady is a dove
Your man is a dove

Why sting the dove?
How could anyone hurt the dove?
Could one actually bite the dove?

The other was evil.

A portrait, a painting, whatever art may be remaining
Unblurred beauty and lines, easy to see
One drop of emotion
And everything turns to grey.

The Drum

The Drum

It is when I stop caring
That I once again hear the drum
I can see in colour


And I hear it fade to gray.
I’m here now
I’m waiting
But you’re still looking
For that white picket fence.

That Road Not Taken

That Road Not Taken

Two Roads Diverged in a Yellow Wood
One claims the fun
One claims the play
The other provides insight
The other incites delay
One is righteous
One is evil
Which is the one less trodden on?
I’m over this metaphor.
I choose what I want.
I’m taking this path.
No-one can tell me it’s wrong.
This is the path I choose.
Two roads diverged?
One mind diverged
When I find peace with myself
The decision is easy
No more conflict rests within me
The Road Not Taken
Strays far from me
I will not worry
And I do not regret.
That Road Not Taken?
Out of sight
Out of mind.

Waiting for Spring

Waiting for Spring

Spring is a Casanova.
He seduces me with his visits.
I embrace his warmth, but
Tantalizing, with a smile he wisps away.
His dazzling grin is what keeps Frost at bay, so
It is with dismay I look outside to see
My grass is sprinkled with flurries.
I wait for the day where he will stay.
So my garden may bloom again.