Will there ever be a morning when this darkness turns to gray?

Will these winter-summers droll on further into disarray?


Will I see you in the morning when the dusk is yesterday?

Will you be there when I wake up or will our love slip away?


Will I never see a morning when the moon shines no ray?

Will the gloom ghouls never give up or will hope seize the day?


I am here now in the mourning of my soul’s own slow decay,

Still in waiting for a sunrise—’nother day, another day.


My Left Hand

Less use for lack of ambidextrousness,

Less scars for lack of use,

Less stories for lack of scars,

Less experience for lack of stories,

Less ability for lack of experience,

Less ambidextrousness for lack of ability,

And yet I’m staring at it like it’s the most meaningful thing I’ve ever seen in my life.


This is my attempt to figure that out.


How often do we take for granted the things that we couldn’t live without?

Oxygen, Water, Salt, Bacteria, Spiders, Bees, Immune systems, Ecosystems, Social systems, Political systems, Solar systems, Gravity


Ah, Gravity.

The concept I use to describe my depression.

How quaint it seems to me now in awe of my left hand.


“What is this a joke?” I hear you thinking.

“What does that even mean?” I don’t even know myself.

But I do know that currently as I type this, I am in awe of my left hand.

I stare into its surface contemplating its vast simplistic complexity.

“You’re crazy.” Yep, totally, but aren’t we all?

Continue reading “My Left Hand”


Author’s Note: I wrote this while listening to Radiohead’s “Videotape” and recommend that it be read while listening to it also (if you want to).

I step out of the cab just as I did years before, but this time I moved slower.

I remember holding you in my arms as you left me whispering a tear-filled, “I love you. I’m so sorry,” again and again.

I look out across the dry park grass while white winds wisp past—time hasn’t been kind to here.

I remember screaming, “NO!” as you fell to the ground—the shot still ringing through the rain.

Continue reading “Videotape”

Love is

Staying up late doing something you both love regardless of tomorrow still saying, “One more.”

Allowing her quiet time alone when she needs it even if you really want to be with her.

Copying down all the times she says, “I like this,” and waiting for a good time to give it to her.

Receiving gifts with gratitude letting her know you appreciate her trying even if you don’t like it.

Initiating massages, hugs, and kisses to remove all doubt and respecting her when she asks not to.

Finishing things neither of you like to do just so she doesn’t have to without expecting anything.

Ignoring the things that annoy you and things she does wrong and instead focusing on the good.

Complementing her daily whether or not you want to, it’s convenient, or she deserves it.

Enjoying the little things, sweet sayings, and memories because they are all that matters after all.


Author’s Note: It’s an acrostic.

First Love

Across the lab, I catch a shimmer

Of faded, purple-based red dyed hair

Scattered across soft cheeks and luscious lips

Then pulled back to avoid touching chemicals.

She’s one of the smart ones in the class

Way out of my league.

We could at least be friends, I think

I start to walk over, I’ll um…ask for a flask.

Her lab partner scoffs, “What do you want?”

“I uh…was wondering if you had an Erlenmeyer flask.

I can’t find mine,” is what I come up with.

“No, we’re using ours,” her lab partner rejects.

“Oh ok,” I resolve. Now what do I do?!

I ask a few other people so it looks like I actually needed it.

I reject them if they offer one.

After a few more, Good, they’ve forgotten about it.

Never again. You didn’t even stand a chance.

Just forget about her. But I couldn’t.

She didn’t even say anything. Was she just being nice?

Does she like me back? No, of course not.

Continue reading “First Love”

The boy with one inch boundaries

He owns the corner seat

Surrounded by friends.

He’s quite a social fellow as much as a high school boy can be.

His composure calm, cool, and connected to everyone around him.

He listens to them more than they’ve probably ever been listened to before.

They respond by making him popular, and he accepts this mantle willingly.

They all laugh now, but he quickly stifles.

He leaves on a good joke and walks out alone.

Continue reading “The boy with one inch boundaries”

The man with no tongue

The man with no tongue can’t scream as the one

Ignoble-man on horse gets away.

Descriptions are useless as no guard who chooses

To defy this royal will remain unslain.


The man with no tongue can still feel his lungs

As they heave and help him hum a song.

He scribbles the choruses, bars, lines, and lyrics—

His hands are so weak, but his heart is strong.

Continue reading “The man with no tongue”