I was asked where I feel most at home. The simple answer being inside of poetry. The more complicated answer? Inside of poetry. And I wouldn’t change a thing.

It is a place where I don’t care if a bug gets on me from laying in the grass. It is a place where innocence was in full bloom. It felt like everything was right even though might not have been at the time. It…

The Capturer   Sometimes I wish I could close my eyes and not see the world around me. Pretend I’m not the way I am, compulsed to save. I take pictures of the dirt because I love the patterns, afraid to forget. I pick up…

Up rose the horizon As it always has Lightening the unearthed dawn Fifteen minutes back yonder Awakening the birds in droves First came the songlets Trilling sweetly announcing the sun Then came the minstrels Whose music was more practiced And third came the tone deaf…

Home is where the heart is, Home is where words are a hearty meal Full of conversation ’til sunrise And a little bit beyond; Simply put A hug and a friendly pat on the back Salient sensations and creation Passed down between generations Knowledge a…

When the dawn breaks, my dreams-they will fall And down will come reality, cradled in the long haul. For what I dream Is too much a far-fetched fantasy. Only things within my reach can withstand And reasoning that nothing ever goes as planned- But they…

melty and enjoyed on bread. chew chew chew with soup or alone yum yum yum.

Part Two: The Only Time I’m Home is With Your Hands On My Hips, Descending   I typically live at the centerfold of misery,  some semblance of my mind stapling the pages of my body  to the rest of these articles of dissociation.  Yet, at…

I like my poetry like my favorite snack Cheesy Satisfying and sometimes a little gooey.

The solitude of a simple forest cabin at the water’s edge, Or the luxury of a glass penthouse overlooking the city lights. It does not matter where I may be, An eclectic, well-filled library is what I need, A chaise longue and good, hot coffee,…