Memory of depression

You met me in my dreams

Your hallmark tears, dry saltbeds upon

Cheeks rosy with fear

You thought I forgot you

Futures unhappened

That marriage

Those lives

Those possibilities

That trauma

You came to me in my dreams,


My jaw locked

Screaming through gritted teeth

And pursed lips

“Don’t forget me!”

I haven’t cried like this in months

In mourning

In fear

In hope

You are in my bones

Excreted by ever cell

In the creak and pop of every joint

In every trepidatious step

The future

I hold my past

A breadcrumb trail

How far I’ve come

And should I need to go back

healing isn’t forgetting you

Nor are you silent or unwelcome

We are one

But you no longer lead the way

Something with which you should find peace

I have.

The little house

a tiny house was built

Grounds made hallow

A good foundation, a good heart

The earliest visitors were kind and gentle

Though after a time

Pox marks and bruises showed

Sometimes on the facade

Sometimes in the walls, unseen

The house took on the demeanor of those visitors

Spurned and lamenting

Evolved its very own poltergeist

Destroying before it could be harmed

It survived, for a time, this way

Until people wanted to appreciate the house

Windows big that let all the light in

Often were shuttered

Though the door was always unlocked

And the house did not know what to do

Still the poltergeist guards the house

The house has put them on an exorcise plan

And while the poltergeist loathes it,

They just peddle harder

Cycling in place

The house wants someone to move in

It is quite spacious you know

Lots of room in which to grow

Because the house wants to be open concept

It tells visitors of the poltergeist

They leave.

The house closes up for a time.


Do they tell the visitors?

Or let them find out?

Which is crueler?

Is it crueler to those visiting,

Or to the house?

Self portrait

I wonder what you see, when you look at me.

If I close my eyes and look into my mirror…

I see a person, tall and slender

Carrying the might of all the heavens and hells behind them

Like a cape, flitting in the wind

Their hair flows, shoulder length

Glinting silver in the light

You can tell it is from the stressors of life

Not Elvin beauty

Their eyes strike emerald and steel

Deep in hues that cut like diamonds

The shoulders are all at once

Tight with sinew

Tender with bruises

From carrying pasts long meant to be untethered

Their chest transparent

You can see their heart beat


In its glass house

Teasing, see me, but do not touch

A belly showing mirth and merriment

Once dwelled here

Arms made of shields and love

To protect others from the rigors of life

Even if only for 10 seconds

Legs crafted from the genes of beasts

Apex predators and their prey alike

Give form to these legs

Meant for running away from problems

Tucked behind one leg, hidden in the folds of the cape

There is another

A young person

Bleeding from a wound in their chest

An old wound not yet healed

Though they pick at the scabs

And paint their face with blood

I see three people staring back at me in the mirror

The hyper-vigilant guardian

Protecting the wounded child

Who has not learned to speak

And myself, the puppeteer

Painting masks and faces and moods

Claiming, “I know my wounds, so I am healed”

While the words land like a morning star

On those that would love me


Backwards in Neutral

Too long now, have you been begging to be healed

Unwilling to look into your darkness

the Void has already looked back at you

Weeping, tired of the prison you created for it

high upon a pedestal called Identity

The fancy lacework of bandages you call healing are failing

Blood stains the people you touch

You, desperately begging they be baptized by your wounds

To wear your crimson battle crest of scars

To love you deeply, to clean and mend the wound

When that whole life should be amputated

Phantom future syndrome 

Feeling all that could yet still be

From a choice made in haste long ago

A roadmap of miscalculations and shortcomings so deeply etched into the mind

Attempts at new roads fall victim to yesterday’s topography

The anti-hero hell-bent on changing the past to change the future

Instead of allowing the future to happen


I try to write words that adequately describe how I feel about you.

How I feel about you.

Maybe the issue is I don’t yet speak the languages of flowers and stars, to understand how I feel about you.

Feelings that span dimensions and healthy boundaries, choked into a heart bursting with feelings without names.

There is a constellation that knows how I feel about you, somewhere between Libra and Aquarius.

To find balance between breath is to speak, and we did not.

Not in languages we spoke fluently.

I still feel the whispers of your hands holding mine, when we tried to speak to each other. I could hear what you were feeling when I watched you dance. I felt what you were saying with each song you dedicated.

So much lost in translation. Hello stranger. We’ve got the power. Stand by me.

I thought it meant you were in love. I think you meant you were afraid of love and were trying to warn me.

Maybe we don’t know our own tongues yet. We tried when we kissed.

I will always look for the words that reach across the stars and reach you.

I can say, maybe you will understand, you were the first time my smile reached my eyes, and to my soul.

Vision Board

Every song played

a silent Incantation

Hummed through a throat choked

On remorse

And love

They are the same language now

Challenging the moon

And her dark side

As I always have

To bring you home to me

To break the rules for me

If I could break the tides

In your summoning circle drawn with

Lines of cocaine

I place pot

Funky socks

Hair dye

The spotlight

I never remember the final ingredient

As you are white lightning in snow

Drifting on the next inhale

Was it abandonment issues?

Regret in choices?

Was it compassion and love?

That’s the problem with my spell

I spent so much time trying to name you

Now looking to the window of the past

For a keyhole to a future

I can no longer ask

I stopped asking your name


I smile

You can’t hear the choke in my voice

And you ignore the water in my eyes

I tell you it’s rabies, or a stroke

Because I am ashamed

Are you tired of my sickness?

The 3:00 a.m. howling of night terrors

Demons raping the broken bits

Of an already destroyed soul

That one singularity that kept me together

That collapsed me

That hope of a future

I am a poorly rendered image

Of corrupted data

The projection of what

Who this 12 year old boy was supposed to be

Such headaches, focused into my temporal lobes

Trying to break spacetime

All I need is a flux capacitor and 1.21 Gigawatts

Or to succumb to the madness

I was born into this world fighting

Feet first I said i wasn’t ready

Anxiety festered for nine months

My twin, a monster

I ate my twin

They ripped me from the womb

Like that dude that could kill MacBeth

I still don’t want to be now

I could be before, or then

But not now. Not now.

The definition of insanity is ofttimes quoted

As doing the same thing

Expecting different results

I keep living

Expecting to like it.

I don’t.