In like a lion
out like a lamb
now quiet
subdued to retreat
into himself.

Turned on his side
waiting for my tide pool
arms to slip around
to stick the urchins
into his skin.

He is passive, now
limp and comatose
overtaken by

He was in like
a lion
but now he’s out like a lamb
just like a lamb
in my ewe arms.



Everywhere I go there is a crooked sign

that sits upright but wrong,

for every place I go, your wild honey eyes

are misleading

rich and strong.

If there is one thing I learned, that I learned with you

it was to be careful with my steps.

And if there’s one thing I learned, that I would review,

is to always cast out my net.

How to Save Fernie

I was assigned to write a “How-To” piece for my creative writing class. I have been developing it into a bigger story, but this is the basis for it all. 

Make sure that Elizabeth won’t choke on her tears. Push the light blonde hairs out of her face and the tears off of her cheeks. Look back over the balustrade and see if Fernie got caught (hope that Fernie got caught) on something before she fell into the river.

When you realize Fernie isn’t there, tell Elizabeth that you’ll get her a new Fernie. Listen to her hiccups coming back, sobs, screaming. Turn your head away so she doesn’t scream in your ear. Look up at the sky. Blue, blue, blue, white. You remember how wonderful this day had begun, how you held hands the whole way from the park to the bridge. You went for ice cream and when she asked for the Black Cherry ice cream, you got Double Dutch Chocolate for yourself so that when she inevitably hated the cherry, you could switch with her. You regretted putting her in a white blouse that day.

Now, the tears are catching in your hair and you have to act now or else this will just be. You have to tell her to stay here, to not move and hold onto the balustrade. Tell her it’s a game, That her feet are dipped in honey and she wins if she stays until mommy comes back. When you let go of her, don’t touch her again or you won’t leave. Run down the bridge and take a sharp left. Don’t slide down the ravine.

You wore the wrong shoes for this.

Look down the river. The current is too strong today, but you catch sight of Fernie’s big ears bobbing up and down. Elizabeth calls for you. Reassure her. Make a new rule, like the fact that the honey is on her hands. Remember when she would hold your hands at night and never let go until she fell asleep on your chest. Breathe a tight breath.

Scale the bank of the river, pressing yourself up against the underside of the bridge. Your shoes sink down into the dirt and you can almost see yourself rolling down into the water if you aren’t careful enough. Look for hope. Fernie’s lemon ears are caught on a tree that got struck by lightening fell into the river during the last thunderstorm. That was the night Elizabeth’s dad told you he didn’t know how to help you anymore. And you told him you didn’t know how to either. But now you do.

Walk a little further down the bank, touching tree limbs to steady you. See one of Fernie’s ears loosen (that goddamned rabbit). Run now, despite your high heels and despite looking back to see if Elizabeth is still in the same place. See how precariously the tree is resting over the water, teetering over the edge of the bank. It’s not the first time you would have gotten yourself into a situation where the rug was pulled out from under you (one time, it quite literally was). Think better of it.

Break off a split limb on the tree. You probably will get an abrasion on your palm from the bark, but keep going. Keep going. Turn the limb over in your hands. It is heavier than expected. Reach out for Fernie with the extension of yourself, the tree branch. Reach, reach, reaaaach. Not close enough. Put the toes of your shoes in the water. Reach again and catch the ear on the end of your faux fishing rod. Scream out that you caught her. This is more for yourself than for Elizabeth, but let her know you’ve got Fernie and you’re coming back up. Hear her joyous cry and her short steps as she rushes to the other side of the bridge to watch you walk to her a hero.

Wrench the lemon colored bunny to your chest, stroke the divot in her cotton tail that Elizabeth pulled out with her teeth, remember how he handed Fernie to her and said that this was her baby like she was your baby.

Formula For Sadness/Happiness/Indifference

The fact of life is that some days are better than others. 

There are always reasons, sometimes dramatic ones like today I got the job I always wanted or today I lost the guy or friend I thought I wanted/needed. 

But sometimes it’s the mundane. Sometimes you wake up in the morning and there’s just a shadow cast over you, a great big shadow. And that shadow makes your heart heavy. It’s those kinds of days that make you think about your failings in life and career and love and friendship and all those crazy things that make up the human experience. 

It’s those days where you wake up without any predisposition to sadness, but feel sad anyway. It’s those days when you look in the mirror and think you’re less beautiful, more chubby, more pimply than you were the day before. 

How do we avoid these days? I’m only 19. I have never found a way to avoid the bad day, the just “I woke up like this” bad day where you’re afraid everything in the world is turning against you and that things will never look up (even though they are totally up, you are wonderfully happy, and things are just good). 

Give yourself over to this sadness until you can give it away. Not to others but to the universe. When you see people who are worse off, going through a tough time, anything like that, you have to be the stronger person and give your sadness away to help their’s. 

I have a problem with giving and never taking what I need. But giving more than you get is the way to live if you want to live a life full of love for others, empathy, and spreading happiness.  


Just when you think you’re done babbling. 

How much of you

wasn’t plastic?

I would have given you the world if you could hold it. But your hands are too stiff to grasp onto what I have you and your eyes are fixated on the space over my head.

You Star, Bright Star

Realizing your self-worth when you’ve been cast aside. 

You are a star. The sun. You are the sun.

He saw how bright you were. How you smiled so big and laughed so loud. He knew that you were so smart and well-read and you were passionate about all sorts of things. Your kindness and capacity for love was resounding in the space he kept between you. He could see your brightness from miles away.

But he didn’t want to give you your solar system. He knew that you deserved that entire solar system and all of the moons and asteroids and space dust.

And he was too scared.

He was too scared to give that all to you because that would mean letting part of himself go. That would mean letting caution to the wind. That would mean letting you in.

So, sure, it hurts. It hurts a lot to know he didn’t try enough to give you that solar system.

But doesn’t it feel good to be the sun?


While I try to get over you, I write bad poetry. 

You think I’ll be okay, you think I’ll be okay.

You don’t know.

My heart is on your sleeve. I see it there, sewn on the inside of your forearms with all the other ones you’ve taken. And mine is still fresh, still beating, still bloodied.

At first, I was mad. You had taken my heart, sewed it on your sleeve like a fucking animal head on your wall. You could show people and they would know that I was hurting and that you took the power.

I never thought that perhaps someone had done that to you. That your own heart was on someone else’s sleeve.

So now you steal other people’s in the hopes that maybe you’ll be able to love someone someday.

(News flash: you don’t just take someone’s love, you give it back)

Little Boy

A response to the question of can we just be friends.

When you smiled for me, I smiled back.

So let’s keep smiling, please.

They will not be the same smiles. I know.

I know they will not be the same glimmers of knowingness of want of nervousness.

They will not be the rememberwhenitouchedyouandyoulikeditandnooneknowsbutus smiles.

Please keep smiling at me though. Please keep smiling so I smile back.

Little, little boy.

thematic elements

Changing themes is one of the hardest things about maintaining a blog. You find one you like, you get attached to it. You kind of fall in love with it and after you publish a post, you go to your blog to look at it because, “Wow, it looks so much better with a theme around it.”

Doesn’t it?

I left my first theme at the beginning of 2015 for something a little pinker, a little darker, a little calmer. And I miss my first theme. I have thought about going back to that first theme, that one that served me so well, that held my posts so tenderly and made them look pretty even when the content was so banal, so disgustingly trivial I audibly gasp when I reread them.

Thanks old theme. New theme has big shoes to fill. You have to take each post and act like it’s genius, even if it’s not. You have to be kind to me and let me manipulate you just a bit (old theme was a little stubborn). And you have to know that one day I will probably let go of you, just like old theme. For now, you’re the new theme.

Sometimes, all it takes is a little bit of a thematic change to create a new world of blogging.

So now I’m gonna post this and go check it out on my blog and see how my theme is dealing with this ramble.