Writings

Alabaster Angel

Most days, she is a hero.

Kindness in her eyes.

Love in her voice,

Preparing to carry the world

On narrow shoulders.

Some days, she is a villain.

A vendetta in her heart,

Suffering in her mind.

Stifling a pain great enough,

To tear the world apart.

She is imperfect, flawed, and indulgent.

Yet, she bears no shame,

For she holds within her spirit,

The very key to eternal life.

A love of herself so great, 

Even the Universe is envious. 

Writings

Endearment

She had wondered what it meant, 

When it was happening, 

She payed little attention. 

Suddenly, she found herself, 

In the middle of a wildfire, 

Ash falling down around her like snow. 

She was shocked to see what was burning; 

High above her in the sky, 

The bridges she worked so hard to build, 

Collapsing on barren ground. 

She shivered at the thought of it, 

Even shed a tear. 

But she kept moving, 

Further into the light.  

Writings

She Loved a Beggar Man

If all he had done was lie to her, 

she could’ve forgiven that,

moved on from him,  her love in tow. 

Instead, he plucked every flower

from her field,  wrapped them

in gold tissue paper, 

and sold them back to her. 

Instead he wrangled every star in her sky, 

pulled them to the ground, 

and gifted them to her as a dowry. 

She could’ve forgiven him for lying to her, 

easy. 

But he made her lie to herself,  and that,  

she reasons,  is unforgivable.  

Writings

McCray Creek Trail

We’ve kept each other’s secrets like no one’s business.

Protecting each other by throwing sticks and stones at others.

Too bad for us though.

All that throwing,

and all along they were cloaking daggers.

When the first one hit your back you spilled like water.

Nothing to do now but watch you sink.

I could say what you want to hear.

But you know I won’t mean it.

Writings

Crouching Tiger

If this is life now, she thought, 

Then surely I am living it. 

She held her breath, 

Patiently waiting for something, 

Something to prove her wrong, 

Something to oppose her, 

But nothing ever came. 

She was right.  

Her life was as poignant 

As the great American novel. 

God took as much care in creating her

As he did in creating Heaven. 

She was the center of her Universe, 

And she floated, effortlessly, 

Among the stars. 

Writings

So tell me…

My words wax poetic.

It’s how I’ve been built.

Like you, I tower over

Things all around me.

I raise myself up

An effigy of progress.

Painted yellow in the pits.

Colored orange in the eyes.

Tragic, unloving and bold.

Before he burns me down

And everyone crowds around me,

And raises their arms to the sky.

They erase every mention of my name.
*sidenote: There is a question hidden in this work. A little code to get the gears of the mind grinding. If you find the question, answer it.