Late Appreciation of Hopeless Fountain Kingdom

thread fingers so easily,
fill in blank spaces
I didn’t knew existed
all with the touch of your palm against mine.

always asking for heat
watching the way
each knuckle bends
until the warmth spreads from
your hand
through me

and though we are in an ice rink,
I stop shivering.

It has been months now
and it only occurs to me,
listening to a Halsey album
of all things,
that you will never stop
being a fantasy.

That the thought of us
will always be synonymous
for what I believe love
could(’ve) be(en).
I think loving you is something
that has to outgrow me.

Until then,
it’ll be my hand
knowing yours
in the dark,
playing with your hair
just to have you mess it up,
you rocking in time with me
every time we hug,
our last goodbye

a broken promise.



You swallow
and I hear the crack

of waves breaking against rocks,
of lightning splitting trees,
of all my resolve splintering into
a million

You swallow
and my mouth is dry

like sandstorm in Sahara,
like shelter in monsoon season,
like heat unfurling through
every limb,
every sinew,
every cell.

You swallow
and I am so, so thirsty.

You swallow
and I wish I was
tasting you.

Gretel Gone Rogue

I am 21 and trying to find
the way to love you:
picking apart
pieces of myself like
bread crumbs,
leaving a trail.

I am 22 and
find myself knocking on
the witch’s door;
folding myself into the oven,
confusing love with warmth.

I am 23
and all that’s left of that house
is smoke.
All the bread crumbs—
devoured by animal
or in storm.

I was 21, trying to find
a way toward
loving you.

But I am 23 now,
and know that I
am the damn road.


From then til now and moving forward


To whoever still reads or follows this blog, thank you. Thank you for coming in to check on my posts, to read the poems, to relate to the feelings.

As I’ve stated several times before, writing was a way for me to cope with things, for me to express everything I was feeling on the inside and put on the page so that the pain, the heartache, the confusion would somehow leave my body and be left behind. Sometimes it would; sometimes it wouldn’t. However, through it all, I was growing, as a poet, as a person.

I write to you today to say I know I haven’t been active as much. To say that life got in the way. That I had to learn to deal with things outside of the fantasy escapism that is writing and be able to stand up for myself and deal with consequences in the real world. Heal in the real world, if you will.

There have been good things: graduation, leaving my retail job, and for a short time, learning a new career. There have also been bad/sad things: resigning a job, losing my grandma, and plenty of heartbreaks, from friends and love interests. But through it all, I’m learning to be present, to take each moment as it comes and learn from it, be better because of it.

Yes, this blog might not be active as much, but I still have poems for you (a lot from the vault). Yes, I might deal with things better through writing, but I’m not afraid to face them in real life now. As the new year approaches, I realize all the writing I’ve done, whether it was applicable then or still seems applicable now, it is all part of this process we call living. It’s all a part of who I was, am, and will be.

I’m thankful for this blog even if it’s not my main focus anymore because it got me to create a habit that I plan to continue for the rest of my years. I’m happy to have this place where I can post the poems that may not make it in the real world, but describe a time in my life where they were bandages and expressions of bigger moods.

I’m thankful that whatever I posted here did reach some of you and for 2019, I just wanted you all to know, it might not be the same, but it’s not over. I’m keeping this blog as a way to post the poems that I need to get off my chest. As a way to bring my writing to the world, even if it’s not my best.

This all being said, I also want to announce that I’m working on a blog for all my published work as well. For the poems and articles that did make it and got featured. I’m moving forward in my life and it’s because I started this blog, what I learned from it, that I’m allowed to go on to create and to continue writing, hopefully professionally. 

Because that’s the dream, ya’ll, to continue writing, both crappy poetry and published things.

Coping Still

And if I had stayed,
I’m not entirely sure where I’d be coming
home to.
If your lap would become rest stop
for my head,
would your fingers travel through my hair
a map made by tangles, the way they did
the first night I kissed you?

Were we really like that once?

And if I had stayed,
would that home be welcoming?
Would I not miss you the way I do now,
except be physically closer?
Would you leave the sound of lasers and
boss levels to stay with me until I slept?

But I didn’t stay.
And lately I miss you more than less.
But I don’t regret leaving,
because in the process,
I reclaimed myself.

So I’ll stay lonely.
And the questions can remain unanswered.
It hurts, but it’s truly for the best.

Animal Instinct

Every boy who has
kissed me first
has also left me.
And maybe that says something about
how my mouth is bear trap,
whereas ankles are normally trapped
my lips work as snare,
confine others’ because
it’s the only way I know how to beg,
it’s the only way I can convey “stay”.

I want but
never ask first.
One never does when the question leads
to abandonment;
why even bother the claws to break skin?

When you don’t have a chance of holding
what’s meant to leave you.
When mouths meeting are a different kind of speaking,
a “goodbye” tasted, instead of said.