When a Sexual Perpetrator Runs For President

I don’t usually post about politics, but by now I think silence is a crime.

When a sexual perpetrator runs for president, don’t accept his degrading comments about women as “locker room talk”.  Don’t let boys think that’s just the way men speak.  Don’t let girls expect so little from their male peers.

When a sexual perpetrator runs for president, don’t dismiss the private confession of his crime as mere lewd or vulgar comments.  Don’t forget these were violations of real, breathing people.  Don’t euphemize sexual assault.

When a sexual perpetrator runs for president, don’t remind us that women have husbands, fathers, and brothers.  Don’t act like women only matter because they are related to men.  Don’t tell us you care because there are women in your life because you should care regardless.

When a sexual perpetrator runs for president, don’t let him win.


Eros Explored

I saw you first after a war

Ashes, blood, and gunpowder

carpeting the battle floor.

And you were the pretty poppy poking through.


Picture Mine

At night when I try to sleep

When nightmares come creeping in

I pass the time by counting sheep

And you’re every single one


Picture Mine

Now I try, I try to write,

putting my story in ink

try to record my sad sorry fight

And you’re the inkblot on my quill.


Picture Mine



I go up and I go down,

but the fall never leaves.

The change, the chill, round and round.

And you’re the crisp in the autumn breeze.


Picture Mine


Though, I’m okay with the cold,

shivering dancing shivering alone.

Just watching how events unfold.

Because you’re when my favorite song begins.






So… I actually did NaPoWriMo

Hello followers!  Because I’ve been deadly quiet all month long, you’ve probably thought I wasn’t  doing NaPoWriMo.  Or thought  I was never going to write again.  Or thought I was dead.  Okay, probably none of you thought about me that much.  That said, after NaPo, I think I might have a handful of decent poetry to share with you.  If you  like them enough, maybe I’ll post more.  Enjoy!

Traumatic Stress

She closes her eyes

His hands on her again

She opens her eyes

Everyone still a predator


He closes his eyes

The guns sounding again

He opens his eyes

War still surrounds him


She closes her eyes

Her child dies again

She opens her eyes

Death still permeates


He closes his eyes

Blood pours out again

He opens his eyes

The wound still there

Source: Google Images


Seven Out of One Hundred

Seven out of one hundred

Recieve a crown

Ninety three out of one hundred

Get knocked down

Seven out of one hundred

Respected for life

Ninety three out of one hundred

Only get strife

Seven out of one hundred

West and whitest

Ninety three out of one hundred

Best and brightest

Seven out of one hundred

Join the club

Ninety three out of one hundred

Ones they snub

Source: Unsplash.com


If You Stayed

I’ve looked at the world through this telescope, and it looks beautiful and bright.  Will it still look that way when I get there?

Yes, of course dear.  Your world will always look beautiful and bright.

I’ve gotten closer to the world now, and I can see some places that don’t glimmer.  Will I be able to make them shine again?

Yes, of course dear.  Your world will always shine.

I’ve reached the world now.  The sun was shining for a while, but now there are clouds.  Will the sun come back again?

Yes, of course dear.  Your sun will always come back.

The sun hasn’t come back at all.  Nothing shines and it’s dark and cold.  Will I ever feel warm again?

I’m sorry, dear.  But you’ll feel warm again soon enough.

The plants have all withered, leaving me hungry.  I’ve never felt so empty.  Will I ever feel full again?

I’m sorry, dear.  But you’ll feel full again in due time.

The world is ice, the world is cold, the world is storm.  I wish I withered with the plants.  Will I ever wish otherwise?

I’m sorry dear.  But please don’t go; you’ll be happy one day.

I’m sorry.  I’m sorry.  I couldn’t make it because I kept hoping and you kept promising, but none of your promises came true.  So I figured nothing ever would.

I miss you every day dear.  So does the sun, which came back.  So do the plants, which grew back.  I think you’d be happy now, if you had stayed.  If…    

Source: Unsplash.com


How a Dream Dies

Let me tell you how a dream dies.

  1. You have an hour glass before your face.

You watch each grain fall into place.

You think your dream will come at a steady pace.

But darling, that’s not the case.

2. At first you don’t notice that hairline crack.

And once you do, there’s no going back.

All you can do is watch the world go black

as the fragile glass holding your dream shatters.

3. You thought your dream would slowly trickle out.

Instead it spills out in a single spout.

You grab the grains of sand to push them back,

but they fall through your fingers like bits of ash.

4. In one moment your dream is gone.  What to do?

You’ll likely laugh at it one day, pretend it didn’t matter

only to hide how much it did,

   and that your dream will always live in you,

in the form of regret.

Water Eyes

Your eyes are water


When we first met they were the sea

So beautiful, so vast, so wild

I could easily get lost

And I did


After that your eyes became a mountain stream

Friendly, peaceful

Cool and refreshing

Gurgling and full of life


Then I don’t  know what happened

Your eyes became ice

Jagged jarring cold

It made us both freeze


And last of all

I remember so well

When I said goodbye

Your eyes weren’t the wild sea

The gurgling stream

Or jagged ice

But they were still water


They were tears.


If you bleed when you fall, it’s just a sign of life

‘Cause we cried with our first breath, gasping for air ever since

Growing in and out of skins, just another strife

Four legs to two to three, that’s why we all wince

Sprouting wings, finding they don’t last long

Hitting hard ground, our faces in the rocks, the dirt again

Sages loosing mind, beauts loosing face, that’s our sad song

Running and running, Rover chases his rear, round and round, count to ten

Caught in the inevitable tide, bleeding against rocks

Trying to grow wings that last; that’s why we all strive

What’s urgent won’t matter, and what matters hides behind locks

Bleeding, crying, growing, flying, falling, running.  We’re alive.



We are the puppets

With our clapping wooden limbs

Trying to follow along

As the puppeteers pull us in a garish dance

No one notices


Yearning for our splinters to smooth into skin

Overshadowed by the real actors on the stage

Some sever their strings

Diving in the darkened dust

Dismay aside, we don’t drop the dance

Ever wondering why we do

‘Cause no one notices we’re made of wood

We reach

reminding ourselves the most real of us were all wooden once

We dance with painted grins

To hid the grimace within

Hoping to be real

Hoping to be free