am I irrelevant?

I suppose asking that question
is like pissing in the wind,
when the answer is likely
to be twisted,
pointed back in my direction,
the wall of defense too thick,
when I’m left feeling peripheral,
in focus only when my voice is loud,
the squeaky wheel getting the grease,
a game of manipulation,
one I’m no longer willing to play,
when my thinking of you and hoping you’ll do the same becomes inconsequential,

ash, blowing in the wind

-image via Pinterest, original source unknown



my heart moves so slowly,
but my body races deceitfully,
balling it’s fists and snapping into action,
muscles made of memories,
reminders that slow is unacceptable,
that elephants should be ignored,
that depth should be shallow
and easily treadable

except it’s not easy for me –
I always lose my footing,
my muscles exhaust in triviality,
as the gap between what is real
and what is expected widens,
engulfing pieces of me in the wake of the deceit

this deceit –
I have held onto it,
but it’s not mine to keep

-artwork via Pinterest, by Charlie Bowater


she sunk to her knees,
the outline of her ribs a desperate whispering
against the smooth cloth of her shirt,
eyelids closing over foggy, tired eyes,
like haunted marbles lodged into two deep, dark sockets,
and she cried,
a brittle bird bone cry,
futility whispering against her ribs,
just as her ribs whispered against the flawless fabric;
she was withering away to the nothing she always felt

-art via Pinterest, original source unknown



I won’t speak to the masses
or bleed lyrical to please
this ain’t about fame
or coins jinglin’ to my knees

I won’t speak to the masses
or go beggin’ for ears
I ain’t tryin’ to be a cool kid
cliquin’ in, sippin’ beers

I won’t speak to the masses
I’ll use my voice when my spirit moves
it’ll find the ones it’s s’posed to
it’ll dance to its own grooves

-image via Pinterest, original source unknown



insecurity grips
when I’m unsure
or anxious;
when I’m silent
and don’t say a word

insecurity turns to fear
when I feel wounded
or forgotten;
when I’m silent
and don’t say a word

fear turns to loathing
when I seem invisible
or inferior,
when I’m silent
and don’t say a word

-image via Tumblr, original source unknown

“People only get really interesting when they begin to rattle the bars of their cages.”

Alain de Botton



I wonder,
who do you see
when you look at me?

is the me I see you see
the real me?
or just the one
I need to see?

-image via Pinterest, original source unknown



she lay there, radiating fire,
sweat pooling in chilly droplets
as she caught her breath,
the sheets a disheveled mess,
all damp and draping off the side of the bed,
her eyes not quite able to focus just yet,
and her whole body so weak,
her bones felt hollow

oh, God,
the things he had done to her…

she giggled,
numinous bubbles of realization,
an effervescence inhabiting the
center of her soul

for a split second,
it occurred to her that in another life,
she would have felt dirty,

but she did not, no

in fact,
she felt more pure than she’d ever felt

-image via Tumblr, original source unknown


Were Not Some Part of Her

there was once a hole in her heart
where no love would grow,
a void not desolate, no,
it was an urban uproar,
expectations as tall and as
sharp as city skyscrapers,
all angles and edges,
streets littered with elbows
and crowded corners,
she a pedestrian on an
endless, one-way route
of regret,
her yearning a suffocating
smog, a desperate redness
swelling in her tired chest,
droplets of shameful acid rain
eroding roads,
rationalizations the pits and falls
on the map to nowhere

were not some part of her
made of steel and concrete,
her soul would have suffocated,
her lungs would have exploded
against the weight

were not some part of her
a cartographer,
bravely charting the void,
the child inside would never have
ventured forth to find nourishment

were not some part of her
a gardner,
feeding the green amongst
the steel and concrete,
her heart would not now
know such sustenance

were not some part of her
an architect,
unafraid to draft and erase,
hope would have died long, long ago,
and her heart would not now be whole

-image via Pixabay



she sat there reading,
savoring the bittersweet sweet coffee aroma while she meandered through the vibrant world within the words

then, she looked up to take a sip,
and her heart sank

it shouldn’t matter;
she knew it shouldn’t matter,
but some people were so unacceptably,
painfully beautiful it made her feel ashamed,
her inferiority right there,
on display for the world to see

you’ll never look like that,
the vicious, insistent voice inside her shouted with hot, noxious breath

everywhere, there was color,
rich and radiant,
and she was the only colorless thing in the room

-image via Flickr


Feeling It All

in the darkness, spirals called
winding wells and staircases tall
regret and worry, fashioned lenses
costumes and masks, ill-fitting pretenses

naked and bare, exposed to the core
questions unanswered, left wanting more
measures and comparisons, not quite enough
sometimes the darkness has been pretty tough

but the light is brighter than ever before
no fear of darkness, not any more
embracing it all, the darkness and light
the in-between, the fights and flights

I feel it all like never before
this me I was meant to be, open and whole

-image is mine