I am from Seattle, WA, living in Chicago. I am twenty years old, studying opera at DePaul's school of music. I write poetry to connect with the world through mutual comfort and understanding.
Thank you and hope to hear from you.
Our Friend Grief
As the human core wanders to foreign, infinite galaxies,
she often allows her senses to conform into estranged grooves of hesitation.
Grief erodes her heart
as separation becomes the medicine for her wounds.
To her, the thought of new beginnings is an open sea.
A limitless, daunting body where
exotic creatures lodge in a mystical world and
is just a concept.
Swimming hearts become puppets dancing on the facade of breath.
is an inconsistent insect fluttering
whichever way she pleases succumbing
to our mind’s influences of outside, inside,
So, we wander into a world similar to those of dreams
where a new energy envelopes affection
and slurps fear’s flesh.
Going On Two Years
You should be driving through the interstate.
Seventy years to go, steer
into your life’s foundation, unanswered.
Where the grapefruits grow
your eyes have everything in common with the sky’s center of a heart
full of water, tainted with citrus.
Ceasing to flood
awaiting your arrival
She sucks you up like a glittery fly
eager for her dinner, or maybe
for her Heaven’s purpose of reinvention to come down, again
to watch us through the rust above
as we sit around blocks of worried oak, speaking of you
or perch on the Evergreen outside lover’s windowpane
listening to her dreams of you
and smile when She weeps at the spotting of you.
You would be driving through the interstate.
Anxious to see her pretty hair
imagining her warm, radiating core
laughing with her over your delayed arrival.
She waited while you sang the song about her new city.
The whole world saw
watching with delirious, twinkling eyes
you basked in their praise. As you deserved the sole assurance of breath.
But there are too many ways to stop breathing.
I looked for you in the interstate.
I looked for you on a Great Lake.
I looked for you in the paper
and found your blue eyes
mocked with black ink’s makeshift.
I then looked to the right column to find a head of fine, white hair
on a fellow with an old name: Fred.
Words of other’s survival upon his.
His absent smile was occupied
by the aspiring life next to him drifting
away in Heaven’s rippling waves
as the mother of our Earth depleted an emerging creation
A year is gone too quickly to digest life’s wonders of the worlds.
In my heart I am longing
for the lost fragments of a love
in the deep, indigo waters of Powell
surfacing now and then,
my laments resist the water’s submersion
where he lays now
a gentle spirit in concert with the lapping waves
making his music for the other lives’ conclusions.
I am feeling, feeling, feeling
lacking clarity, not alive, nor dead).
Haunting whispers from his Angel
remind me to breathe
for I am not the diseased
I am life.
We swim together
with consent to love again
I hold his hands
like a leech’s dire need
for blood as my heart cringes with agony.
Blue eyes wander
Heaven is idle.
Without him now, but always in the water
His spirit swims through her veins, apart of her.
I Am Free
My battle wounds stick to my arteries like butter.
The cure is foreign
but the fix is given for me to carry.
Take my Heart to your penitentiary.
Lock It up, let It marry
the steel in the dark, cold cell’s perries
made by hell’s men
with hearts of bitter spice
curing the meats of those who fight.
Take It away to the lands of dragons.
In a fire
batter It up to free from sins
caused by the bruised hands of a knight
running from his monster
lost, in flight
soaring, the red birds turn to blue
unto the ground
delicate feathers succumb to earth’s revenue.
from afar the devil sings
calling all evil to kiss the human core
what was once locked up
now, open once more.
She who gave me life
is the force that enraptured my mind as a little girl
into the days of womanhood, still distracted
by her beauty, her white teeth, her cheeks like mountains
Mama, you give me joy.
A heart as pure as an egget
translucent in the ocean light.
A mind as sharp as a fence pole
protective and dangerous accordingly.
A love like a drenched insect
determined to heal and shelter.
Your lessons are monuments.
They are history.
Generations to come
while we float together above
dancing in the waves.