visiting the homie
just a lil something i painted
007 life

"I wonder how many times my neighbors have seen me naked through my windows because my blinds are open and my lights are on"- an autobiography

the rain does not distinguish

there is something tragically simple and

devastatingly beautiful

in the way the sky opens up and drops its tears

onto the writhing river

waiting to be shushed to a dead calm by the rhythm of the

falling drops

i dont know why the raging water stills

like a crying baby rocked to sleep

why the swirling torrents take

a breath

and sigh away their fight

at the first patter

of droplets on their surface

a breathtaking sight

if you gift yourself with the chance to see it

storm dripping from your hair and

clothes and eyelashes

while the rain falls softly

and silences the breathing river

slows the slight rise and fall

of your sighing chest


today i let frustration get the best of me

as hot angry tears slipped down my face

the salty taste of ‘what if’ on my lips

and the red burning of ‘too late’ in my eyes

17 yrs 364 days 23 hrs

in one hour i will be an adult, and what have i learned?

ive learned that crying doesnt always feel good

and hugs arent always wanted

ive learned that loving someone for long enough

means forgetting what they look like

ive learned that when someone hurts you

not everyone remembers to not like that person for you

ive learned that puppies and sunlight can make me smile

and too much happiness can make me cry

ive learned that there is no worse feeling than giving your true best effort

and having it not be enough

ive learned you can never get enough sleep

and you can never spend too much time singing

ive learned that for every person who takes the time to dislike you

there are 3 who would gladly offer you love

and ive learned that i have learned an impossible amount

and still know nothing at all


ben franklin bridge

broken sonata

every night

a silent symphony of sadness plays inside me

sometimes softly and drifting and heartbroken

sometimes pounding and earsplitting and rampant


trying to get out

and every now and then

when toxins seep through my veins

when eyelids surrender and drop like lead

a part escapes

an out of tune string section

or a harsh jumbled line

never flowing out the way it should

no sense

no audience

my concert hall is empty

sea glass

I sat on the beach as a little girl

and watched an old woman walking

slowly making her way down the shore

until she bent over gently

to pick up the loveliest piece of sea glass

i had ever seen

i spent many following years searching

through pebbles and sand and shattered shells

for a shimmer of something soft and green

finding pieces too brown and too jagged

pieces that cut my fingertips and broke in my hands

until i gave up 

and sat defeated at the water’s edge

as i let the water lap at my toes

i saw a face i had not seen in years

"the trick," said the gentle old woman 

whom i had watched so long ago

"is to stop looking.

Don’t dig and scan and try.

If it’s the right piece of sea glass,

it will catch your eye.”


I threw a bottle in the sea and never wish to find it

for in it were the hopes and dreams I held before unblinded