Tuition is high. FAFSA owns my soul. Maybe I’ll be free one day.   Don’t buy the textbook! Three-hundred is too much for a Book you’ll never use!   What’s that sound? Oh, no! Your new roommate has a boyfriend… Quiet hours aren’t real.  

 A simple meal Reminds me of early days Uncomplicated mornings Simple as oats   Pour, mix, stir, and wait Nothing else Straightforward meal Simple as oats   Here I am preparing oatmeal My mother’s breakfast Unsophisticated woman Simple as oats   I miss her so…

I’m closing my eyes Stepping into ur space Coming closer to ur face I feel u watch me U moisten ur bottom lip And bend ur neck Grabin my hip Meet me half way Shuttin ur eyes They meet and press Push and kiss U…

keep it up, keep it up, keep it up. don’t quit yet, goddamnit! keep going. don’t stop! you hear me brain? … … …”oh shut up.”

I walk this winding wooden trail With beauty everywhere Toward a peaceful destination Filled with dreams beyond compare Each and every way I look God’s wonder clearly shines Blessing every step I talk For He has made this life mine I see the water, so…

Who am I? I’m Jean Valjean No, wait, that’s not right Who am I? I am Inigo Montoya, you killed No, stop that This isn’t kitsch it’s a statement of being Who am I? I guess I don’t know I am a writer Who struggles…

He walked along the winding trail Slightly worn and tossed from his travel In all his days, he never thought he’d see The majesty Of snowcapped mountains And brooks that babble, With each breath, his lungs felt clean A freedom foreign to his past and…

Oh, but i can, and i will! Between children and shills between the daily care of a home built from the bottom up i can and i will! Be this creator’s masterpiece. If i do not do it, who is the creator of this dream?…

  Wood creaks and echoes worn with age and use.   My breathe catches in this biting autumn air I bury myself deeper into warm comfort of my parka.   Solitude and cold Empty feelings Reflections of the mountains Cover the streams. Hollow images of…

Truant Afterwards, everyone judged though they, too, wished they could run. History is only kind to those who judge, and with a girl-child ripped from a mother’s arms, the only cold comfort to be had was in the dusty pages of history books.   They…