The Woods

Write a poem with a twist. Her footsteps cease. A small cottage alone in the woods, tucked away in a white sheen of snow. Rumors of witches eating children flutter in her thoughts. She clutched the man next to her and lifted a trembling hand to knock on the painted wood, dark as night. Crackling … More The Woods

Beautiful It Was

“Come on,” I gestured towards the back of the stoned wall cafe. Your hand hesitated, hovering close to mine. For a second, I felt the impulse to reach for your hand.  Too soon you were moving forward through the quirky coffee shop. “This one,” I smiled up at it, suddenly able to smell your shampoo.  I followed close behind … More Beautiful It Was

Dear Dad

All I’ve ever wanted is to make you feel the way I do. You walk around everyday ignorant to the destruction you’ve created. You have the privilege of a happiness. one I’ve never known. You can smile without cringing. You can love without hesitating. You can hurt without crumbling. You don’t have to look away when you … More Dear Dad

What is Love?

Do you believe in love? Of course not.  Where do you find happiness? In solitude.  Isn’t that lonely? Loneliness implies pain. Solitude is peace. So tell me, what’s love?  Love is what puts solitude to shame. How would you know?  I’ve experienced both. Then, please, explain why love trumps all. Because you feel things you … More What is Love?

Dear Baby Boy

Six word story. Poem edition.  Dear baby boy, you are strong; Stronger than I will ever be. I’ve loved you all the seasons. I’ve cherished you day and night. Yet, God decided to take you before I could hold you close. How could I let you go? When you were all I had. I stayed lying … More Dear Baby Boy


Who’s your hero? They ask, siting impatiently for an answer. The thoughts of families drawn in crayon on classroom walls make me sick. My stomach lurches at the thought of Mom being a hero. My heroes are the pills she uses to escape reality. I used to cry when she washed it down with wine, when the … More Heroes 

Wishing Well

A bloody kiss from the wishing well. -an old prison rhyme A bloody kiss from the wishing well was the last gift he gave me. The sirens were growing stronger. He pulled me close, leaving bright smears of red on my arms. I thought, if only for a second, the trees could protect us. Our breaths … More Wishing Well

Mustard Sky

I close my eyes and listen to you lie. You tell me that mustard is the color of the sky. I open my eyes and don’t dare look. I clench my hands as they shook. I ask, “Then what about the sun?” It looks like a turkey way past done. I do everything not to … More Mustard Sky