Modern Death Trap – A poem.

Creative Writing

Based off what you’re telling me, you no longer believe in magic.
you have chosen to be forgotten
you have chosen to be fatigued.
Based off what I’m seeing, your a dying soul, a fogged out rainbow
greying out of the spectrum.
I’ll pity you tomorrow
Im too busy sniffing flowers.
Come to me next week and I’ll have your color pallette ready
I’ll rub it in your face, your skin
I’ll cover you with petals and daffodillies.
There now, go to sleep
rest your eyes
become obsolete
Rest your head, never wake up
your trapped in a world of grime and muck
This is what you have chosen.
this is what you believe.
leave me to my fairies, I’ll be seeing you beneath the trees.
Image: acrylic/ink/watercolor/electrical tape circa 2011


Creative Writing, Picture Diaries


I remember this day. It was the best part of the whole trip. It was the moment I finally let go of all the all my preconceived notions.  Jumping on that scooter and having the ability to roam foreign territory on our own, gave me the confidence to strip away the dependencies that made me feel boxed in my own judgement. That moment was what life should be about: floating, feeling – free.

I’ve been contemplating a lot lately. Each day as I come home from work I can’t help but feel a bit of angst and heavy emptiness. My whole day gone, my eyes burn, and my muscles continue to get soft as I sit in front of a computer for 10 hours a day. I try really hard to maintain my work – life balance: I work out 2 – 3 times a week, I play in a classical quartet one night a week, I socialize with friends, I Netflix and chill, I live in an awesome city, I have health benefits, I have the weekends off… the blessings go on and on. But every Sunday night, as I get myself ready for the week, I can’t help but feel a sense of loss. What have I done wrong along the road? I’ve always listened to my parents and my mentors. I finished school, which was a struggle and a half, I really wanted to become a traveling artist – of what, I have no clue…. I took the job that not only would accelerate my career, but one that also helps others. Everyday I think, there has to be more than this, working for the machine.

Why do we work so hard for such a small blimp in time, to come back into the grind, and forget about what truly is mine – time, my day and my night- should be spent as if I own it. Time spent should be for me. I’ve been daydreaming with my boyfriend lately, about this idea of dropping everything and working on organic farms around the world, touching the earth, learning how to survive on our own. We keep toying with the idea, and as much as I want to do it, I am completely terrified. We made a promise to keep pushing each other, the only thing stopping us is ourselves.

We have a goal set for January 2018; and I’m thinking of Portugal.



Excelsior: Ever Upward 

Creative Writing

This morning I had the chance to visit the other side of town where I used to know. I spent a lot of time there, I gave a lot of myself there. I had to catch the 44 bus line from the other side of the park. I enjoyed the sun peering through the empty bus, as the rest of the city was still asleep- The Excelsior, ever upward, was where I was going. I was reminded a lot today. I was reminded of my ghosts, and reminded of my faults. I was reminded of my blessings and reminded of the silent acknowledgement between two individuals now, forever strangers, that were once tangled in each others path; painstakingly trying to line up with each others map. There is a weight lifted off this side of town, now, as the sun can peer down on me. Me, able to absorb it’s light.  Free of what was intoxicating to the both of us….

I thought for a moment, about the day, if there ever was a day, that I would pass through this side of town again. And on that day,  I imagined I would be in a place to casually call and say ‘Hey, funny, but I’m just passing our grave…” … I quickly dismissed this idea, because this day will never come, and there is no need for it to come. Once you pass onto your new lives, sometimes it’s best to just remember, and acknowledge each other from the looking glass. No words to be spoken, no words left unsaid.

Law of Gravity – A poem.

Creative Writing

we came up from the beach at night
the bridge doomed under a sheet of fog- orange glowing.
the bus horned down the hill like a life size slug storming to get me.
i stood up, staggering with fleet and flight. arms up in surrender.
i was told to just sit down;wave them off.
the raccoons kept staring. a thousand pairs of eyes reflecting off my lights.
i ran but the pavement kept on moving.
we were droogs in the night bending backwards and forwards possessed with heaving laughter.
we pulsated under streetlights.
we melted on walls.
we sat in silence as colorful sweat dribbled down our faces.
our eyes rolled back.
the clock struck midnight as we struggled to count our cash
we ventured to the bus stop and waited.
there, a hopeless man kept on pounding his chest; testosterone flying in the air.
i merely took the greens he offered and left.
i was late for a meeting on the next corner.
the appointment commenced.
a bump of life swept through us. back in the realm we were again.
the bus driver nodded, pupils as big as dimes.
dooms day.
i need to get off on 6th.

In one house – A poem.

Creative Writing


In one house.

What emotional intellect would it take for two people in love to live in one house.

One house, which, over time becomes your sanctuary,

your time capsule, your gray cell,

your pillow.

Two minds in one house circle each other in tired tracks.

Two spirits dance in unison down candle lit hallways.

Two people together in one house, root their feet into the earth;

eternally weaving in and out of each other down the deepest of depths

and the highest of blue skies.

February 20 – 26, 2017

Creative Writing

There are a lot of expectations I put on myself. I need to remember it’s ok to relax.

Yesterday I wanted to do so much, but with the rain, I just didn’t want to leave the house. I sat around and went through a wave of emotions, occasionally asking myself if I was OK.

I work hard, 9 – 5, sometimes 7 – 5, Monday through Friday; and I get so caught up in my future plans, which then gets me worked up on my current plans. It’s the Virgo in me to criticize myself harshly, and endlessly. It’s a viscous cycle to get caught up in. With that said, when those waves of emotions hit me, usually when I have down time, I I go through this inner battle telling myself to relax and also telling myself I’m not using my time wisely, and then another part just wanting to say fuck everything, what is all this hard work for anyways? I get so caught up in my dreams, the clouds grow and float so far away, sometimes they seem impossible to reach. Especially in moments when I have time to think about them.

This is why I’m obsessed with lists and planners, it gives me an illusion and remedy to my anxiety. Lately my mantra has been the word “EFFICIENT” what can I do now to ensure I’m setting up a solid foundation for my future plans. Instead of daydreaming about the big picture, I need to fine polish the smaller details. Mindfulness is needed to focus on the here and now.

Post Cards to Prisoners Anyone?

Creative Writing

My Boyfriend and I have been watching a lot of documentaries lately on prisons, their systems and how they compare to other countries. We watched one on solitary confinement and we were moved to find a way to send them mail. Many interviewees emphasized how family and friends are dwindling away, how they miss just having a stimulating conversation, and the painful anxiety they get when the mail arrives and there isn’t any mail for them, their only contact with the real world.

We decided to choose a few profiles off ; and we were selective over which ones, being careful not to choose the obvious romantic seekers. We made up pen names, to be safe, and introduced ourselves as a couple, both of us writing something in the same card. My boyfriend who was so enthusiastic about this found himself stuck, not knowing what to write, and I found myself writing as if it was to a long lost friend, quite the opposite of what we expected of ourselves.

We hope this will, in some incremental way, save someone’s sanity, and teach us a thing or two. I look forward to getting a response.

We shall wait and see.