I hate it when
they rake the leaves
It’s litter from the trees

“But just let it fall
let it sway with the wind
let it go with the fall sales”

Leaves to fall into
and roll in big sweaters and Doc Martens
Leaves to fall
and adorn the grass with a new shiny coat
Leaves to fall into
crown upon my braids

“But just look at the puzzle pieces scattered about
not wanting to be picked up
not seeking symmetry
not dropping bombs”

I hate it when they rake the leaves

We Are All


“But it’s to diiiiiiiieeee for!”
“It must be mine now!”

We all reach and climb
And jump and squeal
For the things we want
But don’t need

The wool pulled freshly off the sheep
Taped to the forefront of our eyelids
Rest securely in it’s place
Till the damage set fire to the already existing flames
Till you’re stuck with the 2 year contract of an underused overpaid phone


“But daddy I love him!”

We all love sometimes and drown sometimes
In tears we shed of heartache sometimes
Best friend texting “uh bitch I told you not to”
Head yelling “fuck this love shit”

Tug-o-waring with Lucifer himself and losing
Whip lashing, back lashing what that mirror reflects
Bleeding stained make-up tears, how could this have been worth the fall!
So butt hurt; Is there a way to erase it all?


“The sun will come out, next Wednesday because fuck Mondays.”

We all laugh with liquor drooling
Tip toeing in our Jordans
Farting and blaming John
Wanting for heaven to call
Bobbing and weaving Mosquitos and all
Not be able to stand at all
“The thing about a body…is it can’t move if there’s no groove”
“What the hell are you saying?!”

But only sometimes

We are all
And stupid…


On NOT Being: An Adult

Immaturity is flabbergasting and flamboyant
Faintly prescribed as fun

A painkiller for the dull, moNOTonous,
9 two 5 cubicle life a certain individual who devastatingly wishes not to have

If you wish to acquire a woman with perforated edges, I must warn you, you are reading the wrong composition, in the wrong facility and wasting this books’ tick tock tick on the grandfather clock
Take flight, if you must, to the nearest wherever the hell to find your platonic perspective,
stuck in green goo, robot for a body woman

You see my edges are a tad wiggly like a child ripping out bounded pages.
Untamed edges like wild lions, tigers and hares. Smooth page with perfect straight jacket blue lines.

I’m gravely aware of my worth
However if the goofy playing tricks on Mickey side of me
is much too much for your “mature” soul to bear.
Allow me to redirect you to your other left
in the direction of a pure hell bound perfection of a woman

I am a girl, a young lady, if you dare,
who’s mind will wander to Neverland and back around the world in 20 days
with a energetic sway and Hey! If this is not the product of a life you aim to achieve,
the door is over yonder. Use it if you please

“If you could just be an adult for a millisecond that would be greatly appreciated”

Fuck you for coming have a slightly terrible day please.

“Is this adult enough for you sir?”

On Being: …Just for you

Ghosts can’t be taken care of
They can only be found at the most convenience
I’d be an abandoned house just for you to inhabit it

Habits die easy with you
They twitter away with each letter drifting off like tumble weeds

Honeymoon Ave. no longer visible in the rearview


As the stereo continues to pulse those Bobby Brown tunes
The ride drags on like we’re running out of gas
And the cans, fettered to our Lincoln town car, bump a slow rumble
The road gets longer and winds around in Cirque De Solé twists
And we’re blowing up steam from the hood


“You’re a pain in my anus.”
“I think we’re in grave danger.” a mumble submerges


Wondering if this a gift or a curse
Wondering if I can be just for you


Who Drank All The Wine (Revised)

I want to feel the room spin
Like I’ve been riding on a haunted Kingdom Ka Wonderwheel
I want scrambled eggs brains
frying away each insecurities with grease slithering down a slippery throat

The wine swims like blood in these viens

“Who drank all the wine!?”
Banshee screaming
Wallet gleaming fluffy white dust bunnies

Who!? Who?! Who!?

The owls whoo in the dark of the beginning night


A dirty smeared mirror reveals
an electric shock of black bushy hair
on a scratched, tear stained brown black shadowed face

Who, Who, Who

On Being Quiet


Have you ever heard the silence
Sweep over your wild subconscious mind?

Have you ever actually listened to the birds
Ceerp in the distance of the woods?

I usually just make up conversations.

Why is it possible that silence
,in all its’ unknown glory,
seem to be
inevitably impossible for me?

Maybe I think the Boggeyman will suddenly reemerge.

Have you ever noticed the silence
and how its’ presence is always lurking but being lacerated?

Have you ever, like for real, paid attention
to the echoing boom of nothing?

Not I, that shit is weird.

I need the oh nah nah pounding of R&B hits
Or the silly giggle of a child
Or the annoying, shut the fuck up dog, barking in the backyard
Or the whispering “I Love You”‘s hanging on the wind

It drowns out the screeching quiet 
Thank God

Butter Flies

Don’t touch him, other female
Can’t you read the stamped in fire red ink forehead
“Mine- another female”

Butterflies love a good stomach
to gnaw and sink their teeny tiny pincers into
causing the heart to pump something
than sex driven, in and out yearning, desires


Feelings- oh they override circuit boards
and cause you to text first and check first
suddenly their blooming smile becomes the core of your happiness
not love, just infatuated like
What ever happened to be the tortoise in the race
Rather than running out at the hare’s pace

Tick Tock Tick Tock Tick Tock

The time pass faster than Happy Hour- half off cocktail sale

I’m trying to get stuck in paste
than run a race that leaves
this sour taste of “feelings” oozing on my face

So I can zoom in on I
eyes blinking dark brown
Damnit, I’m thinking of your smile


“Fuck counting sheep
They never put me to sleep”

Two pairs of deep delicious brown eyes lay staring off into
different directions

One bashful pair open and glancing around the room
One sleepy pair closing, rolling over to imaginary lands

“Hey, are you awake?”

Murmurs escape a sealed mouth
The room roared it’s silent whispers


The whoosh of the breeze breezed past the silk curtains

How does one value that priceless piece of art
that hangs crookedly on the newly painted wall
When they grow tired of looking and looking
and no touching, no doing, no nothing
but looking and hoping

The eyes would suddenly twitch ONCE
or the color would magically change on the walls

“Someone should really paint these walls…”