It’s the year that you shed your childhood skin, it’s the day you wake up and realize you’re no longer sleeping in your own bed, It’s the feeling you get in the base of your ribcage,...
Sometimes I wish I could stop the… sometimes I wish you could underst… I already know. Your words molasses-thick stuck un… the pads of my knuckles peeled bac…
I wripped open my chest only to find you sitting on my lungs, no wonder I haven’t been able to breathe right these past two years. I reached up to the sky and sunk my wrists into saturn...
So many misconceptions of boys with brass knuckles and moonlight teeth, family’s are just illusions, a glass castle floating in the palms of your hands, trying to conceal the bruises he...
It’s 11:03 and I’m walking barefoot on thin Ice. The sound of my broken heart mixed with the taste of the frozen wind is beginning to suffocate me, but in a good way. It’s 11:19 and I’m...
Living inside a kaleidoscope ribca… Listening to the sound of my own voice I hear thunder crackling inside my hands hold oceans,
Some have said that I am a lion, My mouth holds worlds that can pie… oceans, that feel like home. Some have said that I am a Sunday…
A delicate girl made of glass, lay glimmering and still, in a teardrop shaped room. With the beautiful foliage of her life sprouting from the roots of her fragile ribcage, blooming arou...
I stood with my back to the mouth of the open field, my reflection pressed hard against the river’s teeth, my sharp face looking back at me; I am clothed in a skin I never asked to be k...
The problem with the air today is that it feels too thick around us I heard someone say as I played a passerby at terminal 5 in Grand central station Like they know our bones are beco...
Most people are born homesick. They leave the home their mothers… Most of us are born homesick. But then we hear our parents carve… We hear their voices fuse together…
We carry in our bones the vanilla… We carry in our veins the knowledg… We carry through every life, the m… but it’s not untill that life is o… I’m a dreamer first and a writer s…
She lived with her bare feet buried in the grass, and her palms outstretched against the willow trees, carving her memories into their trunks, and breathing their story’s into her salt ...
There was something heavy about th… Or maybe it was the way it didn’t… I wear October on my forearms lik… That I can not take off until it… I have finished the words that tri…
I have written about you for so long, and now finally my eyes lay before you, mother ocean. All of my poems seem to gather your energy, they roar with your voice and shine from your sun...