I’m Fine 

The biggest lie ever told

The one that could quickly quiet your voice

Hush your arguments

Force the world to pause

The simple phrase that one must accept

But cannot

The quick routined line

Conditioned and engrained into your mind

As much as “it’s okay” or “I love you”

The one you play over and over again

More than the annoying songs on the radio

The one she says to silence him

The one he says when he’s thinking about her

The I AM that contradicts the WHO YOU are

Because they cannot be

Because they refuse to be

That one problem lingering in your mind

Forcing you to understand 

It cannot be 

Because you refuse to be

Won’t let it be

Simply Fine 

Poetry, Writing


Break ups are parallel to the aftermath of a death

People wish their condolences, slightly turn their head to the right
Ask if you’re okay with inevitable pity in their eyes. 

Some are truly sympathetic, while others are artificial 

They blindly follow the lines they were given to appear mannerly and thoughtful 

While the broken casualty deals with the sorrows and burdens they left behind

Others cope with the remembrance of their loved one  

They bask in their memory with a hard heart

They discard and wish away the worst memories and try to remain positive

Try to remain strong.  

Others simply cry and wish for them back

They scream at the top of their lungs into a mindless void and curse the unfairness of life

Behind a mountain of tissues and chocolates

They sob with a raspy voice about their battle plan to retrieve their lost one

But everyone knows their strategy will fail. 

Others get angry and throw themselves into danger

Trying to forget their sorrows and they sink into an unhealthy train wreck of denial

Because life just seems. So. Meaningless. 

Others aren’t fazed

Because they pretended they cared

But they don’t even show up to the funeral

Because they fooled everyone 

And continue to live life as if nothing has changed. 

Break ups are parallel to the aftermath of a death

Poetry, Writing

Life Affirming

Growing up invisible but you saw me

We played pretend but knew it was realAnd when the day came 

They found me

That’s when you began to understand

That I was yours and you were mine 

But you had different ideas in mind

Girls who aimed to please and ignored the crimes

Were the ones you switched to your demise

Because we are real and you can’t deny

That you’re saving me for later and that is fine

Get out your problems, tendencies, and fears

But heaven knows if I’ll be here

Because you forgot one simple thing

I am now visible

Poetry, Writing

The Change 

She’s not me
The girl that used to smile routinely  

But now the painted smile is chipping at the seams

The girl that was motivated

But now haunted by the tormenting future 

The girl that craved your touch and ignored your harsh words

But now is left with the regret of her weakness

She was so certain she could fix you 

But now she knows better 

Because that girl was ignorant

That girl would die to conform

That girl was innocent 

But now she knows better 

And I’m no longer her

And never will be after I met you

Because I’m no longer numb

Because I am finally certain when I say

I am me. 

Poetry, Writing

For Caitlin 

All she could do was say I love you
All he could do was look into her piercing blues and believe it

He kept the three words with a trembling voice 
He let go of the tight hugs and don’t go’s
As he flew for the future
As she stayed worried 
Hoping he doesn’t change 
Hoping that all the G.I. Janes are ugly 
Wishing that it was two months from now
Wishing she could truly hear his voice 
To get more than a letter
To know he’s safe
Because she misses her best friend
Because she misses the love of her life 
But she knows he’ll be okay
John is army strong

Short Story, Writing

BDA pt. 1

“Hi, I’m Charles and I am a blood drinker.”“Hi, Charles,” they all mumble with unenthusiastic declarations.

“And it’s been thirty days since my last drink.”

I sigh and sit back down as all the other drones proclaim their progress. It’s hard to believe some of these people haven’t drunk in years. They just become hermits and work from home. I’m finding it hard just lasting a month. This gnawing numbing indifference is so unsatisfying. I long for her high just one more time…

“Charles,” a moderate tone awakens me from my thought.

“You haven’t shared why you’re here yet and I think it’s necessary you do,” the group leader says in a sleeping tone.

“Why? It’s not going to make me “feel” better, nothing’s going to change that we can’t feel,” I said with blood on my mind.

“That’s the blood talking. There’s a reason why you’re trying to be a drone. When you were high from all that blood and feeling, something happened. And you need to remind yourself of what happened. This will help the remembrance and will keep you strong.”

“Fine.” I said in surrender preparing myself to “share”.

“Thirty days ago, I killed my girlfriend,” they all nod in understanding relatable faces.

“Like the normal prey, I dated her just for the high. I would take her to nice dinners and finally when she spent the night I did the usual. I put her in a trance, drew her blood and took a few packages for later, and shot up the first dose. Her feeling was sensational. Nothing I’ve ever felt before; I was hooked. I would shoot up once a week and a whole bag would last me a month. We dated for a year and I would take inventory every other month. She was so pure her high, would last so long. I thought it was a one nightstand and that a bag would last me only a day, but it was different with her. However, I did a rookie mistake and fell in love with her during the high,” everyone moaned at the thought of love and how it felt.

“Not going to lie, I was addicted to her. Best feelings I ever had. She made me feel human. One day, we were showering and she cut herself while shaving…it was too much to handle and I licked it off. She of course freaked out and I begged her to stay and when she was packing up she found my stash… I told her everything and she left anyway,” the drained faces shook their heads, already knowing the next part before I said it.

“I obviously told the doctors and they cut me off because I’ve had more instances in the past. They did the usual routine, enchanted her that night and two days later she felt ill and they told her she had cancer and needed surgery. ‘She died on the table’ and they had a feast. They were so hopped up they called me crying in sympathy for what happened. So no, this isn’t my choice. I loved her then because I was high off of her blood. Doesn’t mean I was more human or anything. I just want blood to feel again. This is all bullshit.”

“You loved her. It was real. Remember that.”

“Don’t tell me it was real. I was the reason she died; I basically killed her. I could care less they fed off of her. Want to know why? Because we’re vampires. We have the doc government that drink on the daily and clean up our mess, we have predators like me, and then you have pathetic drones like you.”

“Ouch that hurt,” he said indifferently.

“You know it didn’t. And if you drank, maybe it would. You’re just such a lightweight you mutilated your family.”

“That maybe true, but you’re no different than me. You’re a drone now too. Remember that.”

He shut me up and I sat down. They continue with their sharing around the circle. I pretend to ooh and ahh at their war stories but none of it matters when we’re sober. Living in this world is like a junkie being constantly introduced to heroine. I crave it everyday and because of one mistake they cut me off for six months. I was in love with her and I know I would miss her if I shot up, but I can’t think like that.

“Charles, you never mentioned how you were confirmed,” one of the members asks in an apathetic tone.

“During the revolutionary war.”

“From a brit?” they asked in pretend curiousness.

“Yeah,” they all nod in respect.

The originals that took over England didn’t bite me, but it’s still a strong tolerance. A large high, consuming all the feeling and can control it as well as a human, even better than some. One of the reasons I was cut off, because her blood was so good I couldn’t even control it. I need some time away from all the emotions. I had some really pure blood in the past and slipped up, but nothing like hers. I remember when she found out she thought of the stereotypical Dracula, one of our biggest criminals/ blood junkies in vampire history. He took some time off and now has his own hospital with a family. Lucky son of a bitch. Anyway, she thought I was “feeding” off of her like some sparkling freak and when I told her we eat food and drink water like everyone else, she thought I was just a maniac. That I was some deranged step away from being a full Hannibal Lector. Explaining to a mortal that the only reason vamps drink blood to get high off of their blood/ feelings is a little too different from all the movies. I don’t blame her for leaving; I just wish she stayed so I could continue to feel the way I felt with her.

“Charles, you know if you slip up the doctors will find you…just try my reason of thinking,” the leader, John, exclaims like he could feel.

“I know. I’m okay.”

“Good session guys. See you all next week. Remember small crowds or no crowds.”

Poetry, Writing

The Artist

The Artist paints the promises of tomorrow throughout the sky

In a crescendo of peaches, pinks, purples to brilliant blues 

He amazes all that stop and stare at His artwork

However, do they take the time to walk into the gallery and stare at the clouds?

To truly grasp the artwork’s meaning and the promises that lie behind it? 

In literary work, the weather reflects the mood and the foreshadowing of the piece.

When I finally took the time to stare at His masterpiece in the gallery walk,

I saw the foreshadowing of my life. 

The whirl of clouds perfectly blended with tints of blues

From light to dark weaving through the white

The white patches reflecting off of the sun

Causing a sunset orange that gives one a sense of home

A sense of hope

The future holds love, peace, and success in all things when He is painting 

The ice blues and melted yellow paints the eyes of my future husband and family

The brilliant peaches and purples paint the harmony of my future working success 

There are distant clouds that cry and cause disasters

Storms that brew and show the hurricanes, tornadoes, and natural disasters I’m willing to face

As long as He’s holding the brush, I know there’s a reasonable outcome

Although it may not seem fair, The Artist has a purpose

We spend money and time on psychics in trying to pinpoint the future

When all we need to do is look at the sky 

The Artist paints the promises of tomorrow throughout the sky