activism art belief biology books civility desserts destruction deviance fucking government and a lack thereof human behavior humanity literature love Uncategorized

My poetry is being held for questioning…

My poetry is irreverent, prone to sentimentality, and prurient behavior.

My poetry hates your mother.

My poetry worships humanity.

My poetry stuck a finger in your wedding cake.

My poetry made a blonde girl cry in Starbucks.

My poetry wants to overthrow the government.

My poetry misses her father.

My poetry screwed your sister in the back of a Chevrolet.

My poetry can’t sing, but she can dance, baby.

My poetry took a shit in your designer handbag.

My poetry is piss shiver art.

My poetry laughs too loudly.

My poetry thinks god has run out of excuses.

My poetry weeps for the dying world.

But mostly,

My poetry hopes

you’re enjoying the ride.

poetry Short Stories Uncategorized Urban Legends


there is an old reel to reel memory

burned onto my psyche’s screen

of my fallen god

the father

throwing a planet sized

console television set out the front door

off the porch

and into the yard

in a fit of rage


eventually replaced by a larger zenith console tv

to erase the damage done


the scene horrified me for years

as his vengeance that night

could not be contained

by the red brick of the house


but as i bashed a $3oo cell phone

with a hammer

into the floor of a deserving verizon store

a warming contentment wrapped it’s arms around me


i realized i truly am my father’s daughter

and i loved him all the more for

the genetic ability

to shatter minds and electronics


poetry Short Stories Uncategorized

the night he died

i can no longer recall
the last words we shared
but it was something screamed in anger
whilst trying to force the earth
to bend to our geography

memories, blood, and paint
all turn to brown
when mixed and left alone to dry

my mind retains only one
fading recording
of his voice
a few words
he would say in the most desperate
hours of the night

“Baby, I’m tired, I need to sleep. This is not the last day that will see me loving you.”

…until it was

poetry Short Stories Uncategorized

of demolition, derrida, and undone theories

there comes a moment
of unraveling
between failing lovers
wearing derrida t shirts
mouths wrenched
with burning questions

street corner emotions so obvious
even passing cars
with judgmental eyes
view them
as a
deconstruction site

poetry Short Stories Uncategorized

what monsters do

when they see
your back is broken
in their hands

curled into a permanent apology
defeated by bloody rage

neck veins bulge
teeth are bared
the monster’s screams
billow through the ceiling

for you have only angered
the monster more
by reminding it
of its nonsense box

of long since
broken things

“Our anger and annoyance are more detrimental to us than the things themselves which anger and annoy us.”

– Marcus Aurelius