the smell of loyalty
in my perfume
would linger
after I walked out of the room





Would you pretty please
be so kind as to
get the fuck outta my life.

Words you deserved
words you misheard
used an an invitation
to fuck other women.

And when she showed up
at your house,
I didn’t wait.
I didn’t hate.
I didn’t even yell in your face.

You couldn’t tell
if the silence meant
I was taking it well
or just trying to push the pieces
back in place.

You were wrong motherfucker.

That’s what numbness looks like,
that’s what years of empty promises
years of drug abuse, misuse
years of lying, screaming, fighting, misleading
looks like.

You think your side ho
phased me?

Nah motherfucker, I seen worse you best believe.

Never date a writer

Time machine,
take me back to when things were sweet,
like the taste of flights
on your lips as we were about to take off
into your heart.

Fly me back to a time
when I was beautiful enough for you,
smart enough,
silly enough,
good enough.

Crunch me a number
where I was the solution
to all your problems
instead of just a hole
to bury them in.

Take me back to a time
when you dove into my swimming pools
and found treasures;
instead of an empty vessel to hold
your self-hate,
your masochism.

Lay me back down on the beach of a thousand isles,
where the sun shone as bright as my smile.
Waves became walls,
hard and tall
stained from humiliation,
Protecting the sanctuary within
from a burning fire disguised
as desire with no intention to stay.

I watched the skin on my fingertips
sear off
as I tried to cool your rage
that incinerated all the memories of
my sweet elixir
you drank the day we met.

Take me back to a time when
you placed sunflowers
into my hands.
The same hands that caressed
your hurt,
your anxiety,
held you with love,

Drag me back
to before I became the enemy.
Before I was someone to blame,
push around, shame, put on display,
carry the weight of your hurt
that you couldn’t contain.

You pushed it on me.

You broke into my castle,
stole every jewel every crystal
that made up my light.

Why can’t I commit?
Because no one ever stayed.

Why can’t I trust?
Because the last one told me it was my fault, my mistakes.
I wasn’t good enough, smart enough,
too naive, took too much time,
didn’t think enough, react enough,
do the right thing, said the wrong things,
couldn’t commit enough, be enough,
love enough, try hard enough.

I’m fine. I’ll just sit here and hold your hate until
you are ready to take it back.

You probably never will.
But I’d rather hold your hate
in my delicate hands
than look in the mirror
each morning and hate what
I can’t stop.

Don’t worry about me. Just let me rock.

come clean

go to her instead of me?

Were you not finished?
Was she better?
Did she make you happier than I did?

What flipped the switch in your mind
when you turned her on instead of me?

Was it the old you,
wounds still fresh from her loss?
Was it spite? Did you want to hurt me?
Was it your insecurities?
Did she know how to comfort you better than I did?

Listen to you better?
Hold you better?
Did she love you better than I did?

When you had to choose
why did you go left instead of right?

Were you afraid of me?
Surely you know what that looked like:
me saying all the wrong things,
pushing you to be better,
caressing all the mistakes
you’ve made over a lifetime
of not feeling good enough.

Instead of calling a friend,
a parent,

you called her.

Instead of repairing us,
you called her.

Instead of choosing to love me at my worst,
you chose her.

What good was this well constructed castle,
ornamented with the crystals of my love,
tapestries of my trust,
if it decayed from the inside out?

And the worst part is
I can own your mistakes,
but you can not.


I wasn’t raised to feel,
I was raised to think.
To bottle,
to blame,
to fake perfection at the expense
of my self-worth,
my confidence.
Any signs of cracks
were shamed.
I don’t know how to navigate
a mess of a world that thrives
on passive-agression.

-my mother’s answer to problems is therapy

Love less think more

At what point do you say stop;


Enough is enough.

This love is too rough.

I surrendered my translucent lights

to a second chance at life.


A pure, unequivocal love

was what you deserved.

When I placed my self-preservation

beneath your restoration,

used my gentle hands to heal

a heart broken two-fold too many times,

you forgot how to love right.


Forgot how to break apart selfishness, vindictiveness, forgiveness,

I will never un-love your brokenness.

Why do you continue to make me this mess

of love, hate, fire, slate.


Packaged away, compartmentalized,


I will never un-love your hate;

or the loss of a fate,

stained with mistrust and mistakes.


I will never un-love the break

of glass spreading pieces of our faith

across my living room floor.


I will never un-love your face,

or your haste in jumping to conclusions,

jumping to judgments just because

your mind has no time to waste.


I will never un-love this place,

that once was a home now it’s just

traces of your past;

my future,

mixed in together,

left behind to waste,

because your pride

was bigger than our love.


Make no mistakes.

I needed to write this

Love wasn’t enough to save you.


This world exploded faster than a trigger,

my mind becoming paralyzed, desensitized,

attempting to wrap itself around the culprits of our demise.


You were only sixteen.


Sixteen candles illuminating a bright future that will never know

the sound of your voice or the love in your heart.


Sixteen brilliant ideas capable of changing the world,

that now lie lifeless on the ground,

destroyed before they saw the daybreak of a better tomorrow.


Sixteen nails hammering themselves through

broken hopes, dreams, and possibilities,

into a dark, hard place not invited by will.


Why does our world look like this?


Why instead of love we preach hate,

instead of building trust we build walls,

swallowing pills instead of mistakes,

digging graves instead of deeper into ourselves,

instead of loyalty we





Why are we so broken

and continue to stay broken

breaking our children over our own pride,

teaching them to break each other more every day

teaching them that words don’t matter,

actions don’t matter,

human life doesn’t matter.


You matter.


Your ideas matter.

Your soul matters.

Your song matters,

and until we learn to sing together or we will stay singing hymns

that come too soon,

praying for the day love will save us too.


I hope I was the one

to make you realize love isn’t a game.

What you say matters.

What you do matters more.

Bruises-whether you see them or not take a very long time to heal.

I hope out of all of this you show others more kindness than you showed me.

That you prioritize your relationship with yourself before anyone else.

That you open yourself up to the love you deserve,

and if you don’t, you’ll hurt people

because hurt people hurt people and

second chances mean you put in double the work of reversing triple the damage.

You see people are icebergs, what lies beneath the surface is a mystery

until you ask.

But even then you’re not entitled to an answer without trust

you’ve built through taking the time to learn her, read her, know her.

Not destroy her or control her.

She is a delicate flower you can’t expect to open up and be beautiful for you

the day after you crumple her.

She’s always gonna be too good for you.

Even at your best she will still be too good for you

because love is a choice and she chose to love you

despite your walls and lack of vulnerability.

Second chances don’t come easy so take advantage of every day,

every moment.

You only have here and today, yesterday is gone and packaged away.

Who do you want to be? What do you wanna say?

Don’t waste your time defining dismay.