For the saviors of the digital world.

While not unbothered by
The issues of today,
I choose to remain
(In certain ways) uninvolved.
I have passions,
And problems
With the way things go,
The way things have been
For so many years.
But I do not respect
The attitude for change
That bears no action in,
Or beyond it.
Digital fingerprints,
It all baffles me.
The ability to change,
To make peace
Where peace has been abandoned,
Is difficult even for those
Who are in those suffering streets.
I speak my mind,
But keep some thoughts quiet,
For I share the human trait
Of being fearful of failure,
Of being wrong in the face of
Others’ opinions.
I desire change,
But can I make it?
What can I do for you to hear it…
The things I want from life…
The things I want for others in their lives?
Am I uninvolved by my own volition,
Or am I, too, bound by history,
Doomed to be alone,
And, from salvation,


When in the dark,
I try to close my eyes,
But sadly, nothing works.
I’ve never bothered
Counting sheep,
Because, well,
Why bother?
Repetitive, no?
Well, let me guess:
You came here
For a reason,
A reason I cannot
Or dare to
Venture further.
I do apologize
For all of
My misconceptions,
All of the lies I’ve hidden
These awful,
Mute deceptions.


Look at you,
Both of you,
Holding onto both my arms,
And pulling,
Without thought
Of causing harm.
But look at me,
Just look at me –
Look at all I’ve done,
(And all I feel).
Why is it only you
Who have emotions
That are real?
Like tug of war
You play my heart,
And warp the mind
I’ve worked to make.
So, if you will just
Let me breathe,
Let me decide,
Time after time,
The happier
We all shall be.


You are a coach;
The woman at the bookstore
Described you perfectly,
With a single word.
It is not a bad thing;
You are the one who guides
Me when I make bad decisions,
When I bite my nails,
When I choose to hide
When all else fails.
You are the coach,
And I am the team player,
Waiting for the moment
To run.

Minding of the Soul, a poem for #Orlando

A country,
United as one,
Even with the pain
Of tragedy
On the minds of every individual.
There is no escaping the wrath,
For even children,
Blind to these atrocities,
Will one day learn of them.
This hate we know,
Rebounds and reverberates,
Through these harrowed events
We will one day call History.
The mind is a cruel weapon,
Perhaps one of the cruelest,
For out of metal comes action,
And from hate,
The urge to take a soul,
As victim.
We are united as one,
But the sun I see today
Is one that many now cannot.
Today I fear the future
And try to understand the past,
The past that is only twelve hours old.
We grasp the fear,
And try to analyze the pain,
And then hold close
The thoughts of yesterday.


Day Five #FivePoems

(Two sides)
I will not declare
What I do not know or what
I don’t understand.


Politics are fun
To discuss with those who know
What they are saying.

Writing on the fifth day is hard.
It’s also not easy to find things to write about
When you feel like a greeting card.

On Tuesdays,
My friends and I get tacos,
But only when we’re all free.
Sometimes it’s just me and the boyfriend.
There is a waiter who tried once to befriend all of us,
We spoke to him a fair amount,
And then he just started to stay away.
No idea why, we were perfectly nice,
And whenever I see him, I say, ‘Hi.’
I just realized that I do not know his name.

I worked today,
And I feel a little better
Because I made $30
Off of the opinions of strangers.

Nothing better than bad weather,
For someone with storms in their mind.
I’ll try to find shelter, when the wind picks up,
And I ask you to leave me behind.

Day Four #FivePoems

Sometimes, I am too bored to write.
Inspiration is there, of course,
Because everything inspires me.
But there are nights I spend
Forming prayers and lines
In my head, in an attempt to
Convince myself that creativity is my friend.

When I look at you,
From my dizzying state,
I fall, back, into it.
I can’t return each minute,
Each hour I’ve spent,
Thinking about nothing.
You can return the sentiments
And everything else I’ve given.
I’ve lost, and I’m done,
Once more, again.

I have respect for other artists,
For keeping it in so well.
I wonder how it feels for you,
To paint, or to write,
But I suppose I probably don’t deserve
To see it all.

My boyfriend is a comp-sci major.
It’s different from anything I’ve ever tried to learn.
He hasn’t read a lot of the books I’ve read,
And I haven’t ever built my own computer.
I once wrote a poem about him,
And submitted it, blindly, to my college’s
Lit Magazine.
For some reason, a shorter poem I submitted
Appeared in the final cut.
The poem I wrote about him, well,
It had not.
For so long I thought about why that could be,
When I forgot that I even entered
The one that would succeed.
But dating a computer science major
Has taught me to be patient,
To understand that my choices
Are consequential in nature.
I long to understand how he thinks,
What he feels when he finishes building a computer.
I wonder if it’s like how I feel,
After I have edited the final sentence.
His technical components are my words,
And we use them without consequence.

(For Kylie Jenner)
Lips, hair,
I don’t care.