What started out as a tug of war between my recollections
has turned into a deathmatch type of aggression
cause I can’t stomach the best of it
so I recall the worst of it
giving in to its upper hand
knowing the good times never stood a chance 
and I try to look away as our earliest memories
succumb to their injuries
knowing you’re the youth I can’t get back
the nostalgia I used to have

The parts of me I now hold at bay
are the ones that used to wait for you to come out to play
but now they’re standing in the dark
losing heart with each passing hour
begging the fates to let you stay
and not grow up and go away

I hated watching you change shape
Our relationship became a punishing game 
How quickly my formative years
became littered with tears 
Now going down memory lane
feels like a walk of shame

You see, I can’t recall the best of it
without being worse for it 
knowing the most I’ll ever be is the summer breeze 
coming through the window as you sleep
the saddest reminder of what used to be
when two chalk lines would always meet
and make some beauty in the street
only to be displaced indefinitely 

Share

You came to chase the geese 
but you stayed for me 
This lone estate, with its imposing gate 
that you slipped right under 
How could you have known that no one comes here anymore 
cause superstition, is a part of the human condition 

And I was sitting on an iron bench, with fog overhead
looking like something, that was already dead 
when you and your winter coat appeared
to find that the flock had already fled
cause every leaf had fallen off 
unburdened the grandest tree
so you were left
in the mist
staring at me 

My internal clock had stopped
I was scared to come to age in this Gothic novel 
to be another Mistress of this Manor
with her ivory silhouette etched 
tied up with a velvet bow around the neck 

Cause all the walls here have eyes
but no one ever seemed to see me

until you… 

I accepted my solitude 
but you treated it like an injury 
like it was a scraped knee, that you could lick
maybe if I was younger, these are things that you could fix 

But all the creatures and beasts here, are stone-faced 
like guardian demons, of the Dark Age 
the absence of touch, had become too much 
Embrace was a snake in the garden, I couldn’t trust 
an illusion, a promise of something better 
here where the harshest thing isn’t the weather 
but how forbidden love can seem 

cause my phantom cries 
always fell on deaf ears
and died

My internal clock had stopped
I was scared to turn the page, to come to age
in this Gothic novel

But these faucet eyes, that always leaked 
started to go weeks without a single drop 
You nuzzled, you loved me with careless abandon 
I never knew what it was like to have a faithful companion 

the beauty of muddy feet
of tracking in a well spent day 
I thought I knew every nook and cranny and secret hiding place
but you found me, tucked away
in the corridors, where love refrained
never to know my name

until you…

Dedicated to my childhood sheep dog, whose capacity to love was unmatched.

Share

They say it's for the best
They say I have to get some rest
They say that you were killing me
 like you were some disease

But I’m still there
hanging on each careless flip of your hair 
you're in every memory
the greater part of my identity 

So come find me here
aging in the dark
Gather close
this is the saddest part
 
You will look for meaning
in things that mean nothing to you
Spend all your time chasing down leads in your head
and forget to go to bed 
You’ll be obsessed with patterns and questions and late night confessions
that never come
I’m sorry but…
It’s a dying art, loving with all your heart 

And if you don’t think you can support the weight of a love that great 
you probably shouldn’t procreate 
Cause looking back
did you think that all I’d ever grow up to be is sad?

That you wouldn’t be able to get me to stop crying
to stop self-crucifying 
That I would trade collecting rocks and pretty thoughts
for speaking in blood decrees
until you almost seem scared of me
Cause I see auburn writing on the wall
but you see nothing at all

So come find me here
somewhere between a manic state and heartbreak
Wilting flowers in my hand
I don’t expect for them to understand 

But like a creature from the deepest depths of despair
crouched up late in my lair
there is nothing that can stop me from writing on the walls 
stewing and brewing until your banishment becomes my own
and I end up alone

Unable to put anything to rest
knowing this could never be for the best 
Cureless, I was in it
but our love was malignant 
It spread to every inch of me
you were my entirety 
So is it any wonder why these sad remains
still call your name? 

A day of remembrance
isn’t only for those who wish to remember  
and this has been the hardest of Septembers 

So come find me here 
where even apart
you’re still capable of breaking my heart 

Yes, it truly is a dying art… 
loving with every ounce of your heart 

A living death

is more than an oxymoron

it’s a grief that feels unjustified

it’s choosing yourself

and simultaneously losing yourself in that choice

it’s an interrogation of loss

and a dereliction of love

Share

A satirical take of my first encounter with the Greek system.

“I did not agree to this!” I protested dragging my feet deliberately.

“I repeat—I do not consent!”

Mandy wasn’t listening. Instead she kept hold of my hand pulling me along.

Students were pooled together joined in loud exchanges. They packed the sidewalk letting their laughter spill out into the street.

The night was starting to pick up and Mandy was determined to beat the human traffic. Meandering was a pet peeve of hers. People always seemed to be in her way, and so she had become skilled at cutting through them. She managed to do it so cleanly, with such precision. She could split a group before anyone knew it was happening and be gone without a trace.

I, on the other hand, would be left tripping over my own feet and everyone else’s for that matter just trying to keep up.

Tonight was no different, I offered hurried apologizes as she dragged me stumbling through drunken crowds.

When we finally made our way through the worst of it, I took a deep breath. My gaze returned to the hodgepodge of houses that lined the street. Some were well-kept with manicured lawns and lacquered signage while others were weathered and paint-chipped.

Now free and unobstructed, Mandy’s pace only quickened. Her eyes were still set in front of her, like a woman on a mission. I remained in her grasp looking around until my attention settled on the largest house at the end of the row.

I could finally see where her “mission” was leading us: to the most prestigious and sought-after of all the fraternities on campus.

Almost instinctively, I dug my heels into the concrete.

Pulling back with all my weight, I managed to yank my hand free of hers.

“Mandy, hold It!”

“What?!?” She snapped whirling around.

I gestured to the mansion ahead of her.

“Lion’s den, Lion’s den?!? To which you said we would never enter.”

Mandy rolled her eyes.

“It’s a colonial full of future financial advisors,” she scoffed. “Somehow, I think we’ll make it out un-mauled.”

“It’s a frat. We don’t do frats remember? I’m pretty sure you’re the one who put it in the mission statement—along with no booty shorts or crop tops.”

“Which…” I added pointedly, “judging by your attire, you also seem to be determined to do away with.”

Mandy grabbed at the cuffs of her shorts, pulling them down angrily.

“These aren’t short shorts! And this isn’t a crop top. It’s not my fault that when your six feet tall everything you put on is essentially doll’s clothes.”

My irritable eyes met hers. Mandy’s hypocrisy never ceased to annoy me. I tugged at my sweater, I was overdressed. And not in the typical admirable way.

“I don’t understand why we’re doing this.”

“I told you, we’re meeting Dana and Kelly.”

“Right. Why though? Cause you don’t like them,” I reminded her. “You called them future victims of their own stupidity.”

Mandy smirked, clearly pleased at her previous judgement.

“Yeah, well… there’s a big difference between us and them.”

I looked at her dubiously.

“What? Three Krav Maga classes?”

“No, sobriety. You and I—quick as a whip.”

“You left a frozen burrito in the microwave for three days.” I deadpanned.

“To thaw.”

“To heat and then you forgot about it.”

Mandy turned back to her intended destination. “Yeah well, I didn’t really want it anyway,” she dismissed. “And at least I’m not the one who stuck a fork in a light socket.”

“I was six,” I hissed, “and it was an experiment to see what would happen.”

“Great well, then that’s what this is…” she said convincingly, “a social experiment.”

I gave her a confounded stare.

“That’s not a selling point to the antisocial.”

“Come onnn,” she droned, her paper-thin patience waning.

“Twenty minutes, and you can death stare all the men you want.”

I was about to remind her that my death stares weren’t expendable, when a group of girls pushed past the two of us almost forcing me off the curb. I caught myself and watched as they proceeded with chattering enthusiasm to the front entrance. A large man dressed in black stepped aside to allow them in.

I couldn’t help but marvel at how routine it all looked. Rehearsed even.

As they disappeared single file, Mandy pressed me once more.

“Mom will be pissed if you let me go in there alone.”

“Mom will be pissed if we go in there at all,” I countered.

“So no win—and we go.”

“No!”

“Yes!”

“I’m going with or without you.”

“Shocking,” I grumbled, rolling my eyes.

“I’m going,” Mandy sang moving down the sidewalk.

I watched as she turned between the boxwood hedges following the same path as the group of girls before us.

I let out an exasperated “Ugrhh…” Then hurried after her.

“Twenty minutes and a lifetime of resentment,” I relented catching up.

Mandy smiled in her self-assured way.

“Add it on to my current tab.”

I wondered if there was anything she couldn’t rope me into. I kinda doubted it.

At least I put up a fight, I thought. Not that it ever mattered.

The man at the door was pleased to see us. I could tell by the look of amusement on his broad face. I never understood why certain frats required security… who exactly were they trying to keep out? Non-member men? Not females, I imagined.

He looked us up and down in an appraising way.

“You girls know somebody inside?”

Mandy nodded, as I mumbled “Not really.”

He cackled at our conflicting responses.

“I’ll let you in anyways,” he said leaning in closer like he was telling a secret. “Don’t tell nobody,” he winked.

“Okay,” I said lowly as we stepped inside the foyer, “we don’t actually know if they are here yet. They could still be pre-gaming somewhere. And I’m pretty sure he was referring to knowing a member here.”

“Which we do.”

“No. We don’t know any Sigmas.”

“Yeah,” Mandy said nodding. “Brett’s Sigma. Which if you think about it makes a lot of sense.”

I felt a sudden pit in my stomach, the kind one gets when they are forced (due to their own good behavior) to sit next to the disruptive boy in class that everyone hates.

“Great,” I breathed. “So the guy you publicly confronted and called a little bitch in front of all of our floormates will be here?? Golly gee, what a way to spend a Thursday night—can we leave please?”

Mandy hardly acknowledged my plea instead she was looking from one piece of perfectly preserved mahogany furniture to the next.

“I’m pretty sure we just entered the governor’s residence,” she hushed.

I surveyed the formal living spaces that flanked both sides of us. Silk curtains, a crystal chandelier, a wood-burning fireplace, oriental rugs, far too many breakables. It was like we were standing in the middle of a historic preservation effort.

“I don’t understand,” I said bringing my attention to the red velvet ropes that lined either side of the walkway from the door to the large staircase directly ahead of us. “So we can only go upstairs?”

“I don’t—“ Mandy began, only to be cut off by a booming voice.

“Don’t block the door,” it commanded.

We both spun around becoming aware for the first time of another security guard standing off to the side.

Puzzled we began walking towards the stairs.

“This is fuckin weird,” Mandy muttered.

“Then why are we here?”

“Well now I’m curious. Aren’t you curious?”

“About the devil’s lair that lies upstairs, no. No I am not.”

“Come on, no backing out now,” Mandy said charging up the stairs.

When we reached the top, we looked left then right. We could hear the music vibrating through the walls but the hallway was empty.

“Why are all the doors closed?”

Mandy shrugged.

“I guess they’re not using those rooms.”

Just then three guys spilled out of the closest door ahead of us. I could see a heavily occupied couch. A strong strain of weed wafted around us before the door slammed shut.

“Well… I don’t think they’re in there,” I half-heartedly surmised.

“Look there’s Brett,” Mandy remarked.

Before I could react she was gone, quickly making her way down the hall towards him.

I followed in a downtrodden manner.

Brett’s eyes lit up with surprise upon seeing Mandy.

“What the fuck? Don’t tell me you’re here to shut us down?” he asked sarcastically.

Mandy smirked.

“No. We’re meeting Dana and Kelly.”

Brett grunted in acknowledgment.

“Haven’t seen em.”

“So is this how these things always are?” Mandy asked aloofly.

“And what’s with the first impression floor?” A sly smile spread across her face. “Will Mommy not let you sit on the good furniture?”

Brett shrugged, he wasn’t about to give her the satisfaction of a reaction.

“I don’t know, they have like legacy meetings down there or some shit.”

He threw a nod in my direction as he opened the door closest to him. Mandy and I followed him in.

The room was small, two beds were shoved into the farthest corners. A blue futon sat to the left of us next to a mini fridge. Two bean bags were strewn about the floor. Liquor bottles, Solo cups, and multiple jewel colored bongs were clustered about on the few table like surfaces. About ten people were formed into little groups, Mandy and Brett joined the nearest one while I took a seat on the futon.

I pulled out my phone.

10:15. The night was just starting.

I looked over at Mandy; she and Brett seemed to be locked in some kind of verbal sparring match. I couldn’t help but feel that Dana and Kelly were nothing more than decoys and Brett was the target. I longed to be back in our dorm room: sweats, Gilmore Girls, burgers and fries from the late night dining hall.

It was never going to just be twenty minutes. That, I knew.

But maybe we’ll only stay an hour, I thought hopefully. It’s not like a lot was going on here. If anything, it seemed completely devoid of the abundance of activity that was radiating from every other frat on the row. It was strange… for a Thursday night.

A few minutes passed, when a large group of guys came bursting through the door. One guy plopped down next to me, while the others crowded close by perching themselves on the sides of the futon. I moved over a bit folding my hands into my lap as if trying to take up less room. Within seconds the door burst open again, this time two girls and an even larger group of guys pushed into the near capacity room.

Two more guys added themselves to the futon, and I instantly started regretting having chosen it.

Now tightly packed together, the guy closest leaned in.

“You’re not drinking,” he said acknowledging my presence for the first time.

Before I could say anything, he shoved a cup into my hands.

“Here, I’ll get another.”

The way he said it made me think that in his drunk mind he was being chivalrous.

I handed it back. “No, thanks.”

His bleary eyes looked at me questioningly.

“Why?” He shook his head. “Your here alone?”

“No,” I pointed to Mandy, though I could barely make her out with all the added people. “My sister.”

“Ohhhh,” he slurred. “What house?”

For a moment, I was confused. House? I don’t know we grew up in the same one—man this guys wasted, I thought. Then it dawned on me that he thought I meant sorority sisters.

“No,” I responded with a little laugh, “actual sisters.”

A smile slowly spread across his face. “That’s crazy.”

“Yeah, crazyyyy…” I said looking off.

Loud music started playing though it was hard to tell where it was originating from, the room seemed to be getting more packed by the minute. I felt the guy inching closer, he was now breathing in my ear.

“You’re practically on my lap,” he laughed.

I offered a polite smile. “Sorry.”

I attempted to scoot over but this only made him move closer. His glassy stare had become fixated on my lips.

My brain began conjuring up exit strategies.

I was trying to find a way to gracefully extract my somewhat pinned body, when he brazenly leaned in.

I jumped up, barely evading his half-parted lips.

“Nope!” I had hit my limit.

I pushed my way through the room, determined to get to Mandy. After nearly five minutes of battling my way through, I made it to her side. Instantly, I could feel the annoyance radiating off of her.

“Where’s Brett?” I asked looking around confused.

“He left,” she muttered.

I looked to the entrance but could no longer see the door. Multiple guys were blocking it as people were attempting to push it open. Yelling erupted from both sides. I couldn’t make out what was happening but there seemed to be some war over entry.

“He got out?” I couldn’t figure out how.

Suddenly, the lights went out. People started yelling dramatically. Everyone started shoving into each other. In mere seconds the lights came back on but the room was now brimming with anxiety.

I grabbed Mandy’s arm. “Can we be done now?”

Mandy nodded looking anxiously towards the human barricaded door. It wasn’t like her to be on edge, but I could see her confidence in the situation waning.

“Yeah, we’re done.” She affirmed grabbing my hand.

She began trying to navigate us through to the door, but not even Mandy could break through the swell of bodies. If anything, it felt like we were getting pushed farther back. It was getting harder to breathe.

I heard what sounded like loud coughing behind me. Something splashed against my leg. I looked down and saw the back of my motorcycle boot covered in some liquid. I heard the coughing again and turned to see a guy leaning over gagging. People around him were attempting to push him towards the door while yelling: “Someone’s sick!” and “Let him out!”

Being thrown up on was not on my bingo card for the night, though maybe it should have been.

I couldn’t contain my anger any longer.

I began yelling with Mandy and the rest to “OPEN THE DOOR!!”

We managed to position ourselves behind the sick guy following closely as he was thrusted towards the door. The two guys guarding the entrance/exit were no longer preoccupied with keeping people out. Instead, they seemed to now be focused on keeping people in. It wasn’t until they witnessed the gagging themselves that they reluctantly opened the door. They shoved him out and quickly pulled it shut again.

No one was even trying to get in at the moment, I didn’t understand what the hell was going on.

Mandy grabbed for the doorknob but one of the guys stepped in front blocking it.

Enough was enough, Mandy began screaming.

“LET US OUT!!”

The guy tried ignoring her but I only joined in:

“MOVE!!”

Overwhelmed by both of our yelling, he relented after a minute or two and stepped aside. Mandy and I burst through the door without looking back.

I heard it loudly slam behind us as we swiftly retreated down the hall.

“What the actual fuck?!?” Mandy was raging.

I had all but forgotten about the puke on my boot by the time we reached the stairs. But as we descended, the slickness of the wood floors and the recent wet addition made for a dangerous combination. My right leg went first quickly followed by my left. I landed on my butt sliding down about eight steps before catching myself.

Mandy grabbed my hand yanking me up. “Jesus, what is it with you and stairs.”

Admittedly, it was hardly my first time falling down some.

The security guard below stared up at us in an unamused way, like he had seen this scene before. Just two drunk girls trying (unsuccessfully) to manage the simplest of feats. I could feel the judgment even before we reached the bottom.

As we made our way to him, he didn’t move from the door. Instead, he remained looming in the doorframe.

“You gotta use the back exit,” he said in an official manner.

Mandy looked at him like he had lost his mind.

“What back exit?”

“Upstairs,” he replied nodding in the direction of the ill-fated steps.

“There’s an exit up there?” I looked at Mandy who was equally confused.

“Why can’t we just go out this way?”

“You have to use the back exit,” he repeated firmly crossing his arms in front of him.

At this point, the level of absurdity was enough to make me want to both laugh and scream.

All we wanted to do was LEAVE. And here was the second man of the night blocking our escape.

It wasn’t like we were going the wrong way on a one-lane highway; we just wanted to leave how we came. No one was even coming in the door.

“We just want to leave, can you please move?” I asked, but he refused.

If anything, it looked like he was starting to get annoyed.

Mandy got in his face.

“We’re leaving, MOVE!” She demanded.

He didn’t budge instead he stared her down.

This wasn’t some nepo baby Mandy could berate into submission. This man was hired to secure the door and nothing and no one was going to get in the way of that.

“Let’s just go,” I insisted heading back towards the stairs. Mandy begrudgingly followed stomping her way up them like a teenager being sent to her room.

As I reached the top something came over me and I spun around.

“And I’m not drunk!” I shouted down at the guard defiantly.

This, I’m sure, did nothing to help my case. If anything, it probably incriminated me. After all, drunk people tended to insist that they weren’t drunk.

Still, the sentiment remained.

Over the next ten minutes, Mandy and I made our way up and down both sides of the corridor attempting to find the exit. Each side had a series of smaller hallways attached leading to a maze of rooms that were either locked or human blocked. It was dead end after dead end with no exit in sight. We were at a loss. We tried to ask some guys passing by at one point but they pretended not to hear us and kept walking.

We were about to give up and return down the stairs in desperation when we stumbled upon a small room we hadn’t noticed before. A little living space right before you hit the end of the hall. It had two couches, a chair, and an entertainment center in the corner. In the very back of the dark room, I could make out a door.

“That’s gotta be it, right?” I said making my way to it.

I was relieved when it opened. We found ourselves on a balcony overlooking a small backyard.

“There!” Mandy pointed to a small flight of stairs leading to the lawn below.

We made our way down. An eight-foot paneled fence lined the perimeter. A few Edison bulb lights were strung about but they did little to illuminate the whole yard.

Mandy pulled out her phone to use as a flashlight as we searched for a break in the fencing.

As we made it to the last unchecked section, we heard what sounded like whimpering.

We both looked at each other.

“What is that?”

Mandy shined her flashlight in the direction of the noise.

We both jumped a little as it landed on the face of a guy standing in a cluster of rose bushes.

He kept falling in and out of them in a dramatic and rather comedic fashion.

“What the hell??” Mandy said drawing back.

“Why’s he in the rose bush?”

I stared in shock, shaking my head in disbelief.

“Why is he NAKED?!?”

This, to me, seemed to be the more pressing question.

I looked around for his clothing thinking they must be somewhere nearby but saw nothing except for wet grass.

Mandy couldn’t be bothered. She had returned to searching for a way out.

“And here we thought we were having a rough night.” I muttered.

A second later, I heard a metal latch being flipped.

“Oh thank god!”

I turned to see Mandy shoving open the gate door. We couldn’t get out fast enough.

We stumbled out onto the sidewalk like two people emerging from some kind of Halloween house of horrors. Worse for the wear and left to mentally replay every jump scare.

More than anything, I just had questions.

Like who designed this deathtrap of a house?

How were they allowed to keep people from leaving?

Was every frat like this?

And where, for the love of all that is holy, was that man’s clothing?

Regaining my composure, I looked at Mandy resentfully.

“Sooo… let’s never do that again.” I said with every bit of sarcasm I could muster.

Mandy was glaring at the house like she wanted to burn it to the ground.

“Those—THOSE are the future leaders of tomorrow!” She gestured angrily. “This country’s fucked.”

I sat down on the nearby curb, sighing defeatedly.

Financial advisors my ass, I thought. Why was everything worse than what she sold me on.

I looked back at the deceptively noble looking structure.

“If you were drunk how would you ever find your way out of there?”

“You wouldn’t.” Mandy stated matter-of-factly.

“That’s the point.”

I stared down at my soiled boot.

I wondered if I should even bother to mention the obvious. As if it ever mattered.

I looked up at Mandy.

Then choosing my own spite, I remarked:

“We never found Dana and Kelly.”

Poetic Epilogue

They found me shaking on a campus lawn

Some officer with a flashlight asking me what’s wrong

“How much have you had to drink?”

They don’t believe me

when I say “nothing”

Cause we were all supposed to adopt this fad

of high school good girls gone bad

in our short shorts and bra tops

that would horrify our dads

They said there are some places we should never go

Stay away from fraternity row

But I was stone cold sober

and my childhood dog was dead

It was time to grow up

and leave my innocence in a stranger’s bed

This piece is meant to act as a commentary on the balancing act women are often forced to do between situational pressures and societal restrictions that have been ingrained from an early age.

The places we shouldn’t go

The types of clothing we shouldn’t wear

The drinks we shouldn’t have

The safety we are taught to “earn” through our actions or inactions is nothing more than an illusion.

And a distorted one at that.

Share

You’re in over your head
She’s dressed in red, like a demigoddess
All these things that you can’t explain 
are rattling around in your brain like loose change 

It feels out of your hands
Like some grand plan that’s unfolding
before you even knew where it was going

Now she’s your intended 
and all of her intentions keep making their way to center stage
upending what once was in their place 

And I find myself where I’ve always been 
like some kind of narrator who’s too close to her subject 

There’s all of these sentimental things swirling around in my brain 
that make me want to refrain
But the word still gets out, only to be met with doubt 
Wrapped up in my quilt of guilt 
All of these patches are tattered and once warned 
of the dangers of letting her keep you warm 

I’m a Misfortune Teller
who hates to have to tell on her
To bring dishonor to her name
because she doesn’t honor anything 
not promises, not love, and especially not us 

And I know this is not what you want to hear
but something brought you here, to my tent and my ominous globe of truths untold 
and if you think it will be different for you, it won’t 

Cause I know all the lies we tell ourselves for the people that we love 
are never quite enough…

They’ll never be enough, to make up for all the broken trust 
or to sweep away the things, that nag at you day after day 

You’re never going to get the best of this
Trust me, I can attest to this
Cause this quilt of guilt is heavy on my shoulders 
with tattered patches that once believed they mattered

I’m a Misfortune Teller
who hates to have to tell on her
To bring dishonor to her name
because she doesn’t honor anything 
not promises, not love, and especially not us 

And I wish these loose lips could sink relationships
because it’s getting so old telling of truths untold 
And she’s driven me out with all of their doubts
to this spectator’s seat of retreat, in my tent under a decrepit tree
Where at the Enchantress’s decree, I can never be freed from our storied history 

No, you never noticed how my crystallized tears hang from her ears
Cause the devil works harder, but she works smarter 
And I don’t want to victim blame, especially since I’ve been in your place
but you’re not indebted, only willingly embedded into this patched up scheme
Don’t you see, you can be ripped from the seams?

I’m a Misfortune Teller 
who hates to have to tell on her
To bring dishonor to her name
because she doesn’t honor anything 
not promises, not love, and especially not us 

And it's gotten so old
but these are my truths, now told 
And if you think it will be different for you… it won’t 

When being the bearer of bad news starts to feel like a job title.

…

How often deception finds its footing in perception.

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This piece is darker and explores heavy themes, ones I struggled to accurately put into words. Writing for me is a way of making sense of the world and the people who inhabit it. But not everything we experience is subject to reason, this is one of them.

Split decisions in the desert 
jokes that you can’t weather 
You’re a thief of the highest degree
pilfering the sands of time
each grain collected inside a glass infinity sign 

I wouldn’t trust you not to steal the last breath… 
right out of my chest 

Somethings never sit right, that’s been your whole life 
Predators that only come out at night, just don’t know how to hide in plain sight 
Save more lives than you take/what a twisted way to overcompensate 
If you’ve got mercy on your mind… why do you steal precious time? 

A carousel of faces in high and low places that never leave 
Do you hear their haunted melody? 
How do you even begin to justify… cutting short another goodbye? 
I don’t think I’ll ever understand the internal workings of a depraved man 
You’ve become desensitized to your darker side 
But like the Grim Reaper, all that you sow is eternal 

This will sit on your chest... 
when you draw your last breath 

If you eased the suffering, did the humane thing... 
why is your body writhing in pain like it can’t help but give you away?
Skin kissed by death, marked and keloid scarred 
It’s amazing what the mind can do, when guilt grips ahold of you 
caught red-handed like a rash covered bandit 

You talked ‘em down
put ‘em in the ground 
It’s eleven and the shift is changing now 
I see your shadow on the wall 
In case of emergency, who do you call?

Somethings just don’t sit right…
I’ve been up ever since 
feeling like I’ve been let in on a horrible secret 
Cause all that you do is eternal 

The sands of time trapped inside a glass infinity sign
sitting on your desk 
Who was the very first one? 
Where did the first grain come from?

Is he still in the desert with all those jokes you can’t weather?
long gone, and yet he still plagues you 
like the constant ticking of the grandfather clock, it will never stop 
Cause all that you do is eternal 

All that you do… Is Eternal 

A job title doesn’t make you a hero

It’s what you do with the vulnerable lives placed in your hands

that determines that...

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She was born during a thunderstorm 
her cries matching that of the skies
In these modern times, she comes into the world by candlelight 
greeted by the torrid rain on the window pane

Her eyes like jade beads that roll back and forth 
reading my face, learning this place 
I never heard ballads in my mind, till she came into my life 

And I don’t need to be told that her soul is old 
I can feel that it traveled through time 
It must have found the portal for the part of us that’s immortal 
and by its way, she arrived here today

She’s the greatest of life’s mysteries
scattered clues throughout her unknown history 
How soon will she forget what came before? 
She’s just an infant but there’s so much more 

Cause when I hold her I can feel the weight of all her past mistakes 
all the things she can’t yet say, still have a presence on her face

And it’s not lost on me that every birthmark looks like a faded tattoo
a remnant of scar tissue 
a flame that touched her skin
physical evidence of somewhere she’s clearly been 

So maybe I was raised to believe that there’s here and now and nothing else 
but then she came and made room for something else 
and as she grows, so does all I was taught to know

She’s the greatest of life’s mysteries
scattered clues throughout her unknown history 
How soon will she forget what came before? 
She’s just a child but there’s so much more 

Cause I don’t know why she refuses to wear shoes
Why she stays up late and howls to the moon 
She’s cut every bow from her clothes
and there’s books with endings that she already knows 

I don’t need her to assimilate
to be prim and proper and sit up straight 
I can share her with the past/ cherish the part of her that’s made to last 

I’ll take all of her immortal
forever grateful to the portal… that brought her to me 

Cause she’s the greatest of life’s mysteries 
I only aim to know her history 
to hold up all that came before
cause she’s here now, but there’s so much more 

And there’s no greater sight than her in candlelight 
A little traveler of time with jaded eyes that have the power to divide 
I don’t hear those that call them cryptic
My Anima, like you, they’re intriguingly mystic 

Cause from that very first night you were a flash in a pan that I held in my hands
Something I couldn’t explain, but the very reason I’ll never look at life the same 
You put ballads in my mind, made me worship the rain on the window pane 

You’re a mystery, I’ll never put down
a soul lost, and a daughter found 

My mother was three years old playing in the living room on a rainy day when her father looked up from his crossword and asked how to spell a particularly difficult word. The question had been for his wife, who was preparing lunch in the nearby kitchen.

But to my grandfather’s surprise, it wasn’t my grandmother who ended up answering him.

Instead, my mother stood up from her toys and spelled the word letter by letter perfectly.

Needless to say, both of her parents were in shock. My grandfather was a highly educated man, a professor. And yet, there was his three year old daughter spelling something that even he couldn’t spell.

Bewildered, they asked her how she knew how to spell such a difficult word?

Unperturbed by their confusion, she just smiled.

“Cause when I used to live, I was a school teacher.” She replied back matter-of-factly.

And just like that, she went back to playing with her toys like she had just offered the most ordinary explanation in the world.

The retelling of this exchange traveled through the years. It was one of my grandparent’s favorites stories to share. They commonly told it at social gatherings with pride in their eyes. No matter how old they grew, it still amazed them as much as it did on the day that it happened.

This poem grew out of that anything but ordinary moment.

It begs the question of what we bring into the world with us… and how we explain the pieces that remain unaccounted for.

Each line runs through me like my mother’s blood

Finding itself and slowly growing overtime.

An ode to the things we can’t explain, and to the eternalness of true love.

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Not long after my grandfather died, I had an incredibly vivid and surreal dream where he spoke to me from his favorite chair. Everything else was blurred out, but there he was.

While I’ve had realistic dreams before, I had never experienced something so inexplicably powerful, transfixing, and emotional. He spoke the words I so desperately needed to hear and understood in ways he wasn’t able to when he was alive. I woke up in tears feeling more peaceful than I had in years. I know some people refer to this occurrence as a visitation dream and up until experiencing it myself I had wondered if such a thing was even possible.

In the coming days, I wrote this piece inspired by that moment of profound connection and comfort.

So Papa, this one is for you

Thank you for coming through

when I needed you to

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Save the date/ tears on lace
I force-fed your wedded bliss
till I made myself sick
and wished on a dried starfish it wouldn’t come to this

Here in this coastal cove but still so exposed
I’m sorry I always cry in front of questioning eyes
that when I sing your praises they’re out of tune
I’m a mess and no one knows why
I struggle to present a lie in a way that everyone else will buy

Gray eyes and a pearl sky, my god you’re such a beautiful bride
I wish my doubts didn’t follow you down the aisle 
like a mother worrying over her child 
But I’m just another made-up face feeling out of place next to the one that I love 
hoping that every sentimental touch I added was enough 

So that on your crowning night, you might finally see that light 
That given the chance you’ll finally start to do what’s right 
Because to you it’s all the clashing of the tides, but to me there’s no way all of this survives

So if marrying him is what you need 
I’ll be abiding/ I’ll try to get better at lying 

I will do anything to keep you
 
Now I’m following you from vignette to vignette, hoping nobody makes you upset 
Running interference under this marquee tent 
Attempting to calm you to the soothing sounds of a string quartet 

But all my brokenhearted defiance is no match for your senseless violence 
You keep acting like this is how we relate, to find things in others to hate 
Even on your wedding day no one is really ever safe 

So while they buy you gifts, I’ll buy us time
It’s the most we can hope for with devotion not blind

And I’ll stand on the side while he believes your lies, knowing I believed them first 
While he wears a smile, all I can wear is hurt 

I will do anything to keep you

Cause I love you in a way that no man could ever touch
but I know for you that’s not enough
and now I see… that nor is he

Can we just give this a moment to breathe?

in and out like the sea
just repeat after me…
my better judgement screams

(don’t you dare make a scene)

I’m splitting myself in two
trying to reprimand and compliment you 
failing each day to get through 

Can’t you see, I’m doing all I can to keep you

(But how do I accept that she doesn’t want to see the light…
That given the choice she’ll never do what’s right
All the times I laid there at her feet while she brought the world down upon me)

How can I look at this joyous thing and feel anything but pain… 
knowing you’ve been my anchor, my stay, keeping me from drifting away 
but pulling me down all the same

I needed to know you could change 

Not just into a reception dress 
but into someone I could be with
find moments of peace with 

I needed to know I could keep you 

But now as I hold your lace veil, I can feel you slipping away 
I know, deep down, we're not going to be okay 

That at the end of the day
no matter what its beautiful pictures might say…

I was never going to be able to keep you

Old patterns and resentments come to a head on the “happiest day” of someone’s life.

Ultimately, the beginning of one thing—marks the end of another.

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This article is meant as a think piece. I am not an expert on parenting styles. I have zero kids to speak of. I only write from my own personal experience in hopes of adding to a larger conversation on a sensitive topic.

I was sixteen when I first discussed the concept of spanking with a partner.

We were sitting cross legged on his bed debating the use of spanking in its least sexy and, perhaps, most controversial form.

Both he and I had grown up being spanked by our parents.

We were hardly alone in that regard. Most of my friends had also grown up being spanked by their parents. It was an accepted practice in our small town. Passed down from generation to generation seemingly on par with putting a child on a timeout or temporarily withholding a favorite toy. No one batted an eye or thought twice. It was just an everyday reality you hoped to avoid. A behave or else, with a stinging reminder.

Yet despite this commonality, he and I were deeply divided on the subject.

He saw spanking as beneficial and something he intended to use as a means to punish his (future) kids.

I did not.

“You wouldn’t be okay with me spanking our kids?” He had asked hypothetically, after seeing that I was in no way agreeing with his stance.

There was no biting my tongue, or sugar coating it. The words rushed out of me before I could mentally review them.

“If you ever laid a hand on our kids, I would divorce you the next day.”

I have to admit that my vehemence surprised even me. It was a weird instinctual reaction that I couldn’t fully explain in the moment.

All I knew was that I meant it.

He looked stunned. But I didn’t back down. Instead, I questioned why you would want to hit your child?

“It’s not hitting,” he insisted. “It’s spanking.”

To him, there was a clear distinction between the two. But to me, the action was the same. You were wielding your hand back and connecting it in a striking motion against a part of someone’s body (it just happened to be their butt that was absorbing it.)

“But don’t you find it weird that if you were to strike them on any other part of their body besides their butt it would be seen as abuse?”

“Think about it... a few inches up—on the back, a few inches down—on the legs. Those areas would be deemed causes for concern, socially unacceptable. CPS worthy even.”

He shook his head.

“No cause it’s not the same thing…”

Maybe it was because my spanking had not been a light slap but a burning crisp wack over and over, that I struggled to see the difference. It wasn’t like I couldn’t understand why he held this view. Spanking was common and seen as a more acceptable form of corporal punishment. It was, at best, a gray area. After all, there were plenty of good loving parents that used spanking; it wasn’t necessarily indicative of an abusive parent.

Still, I reasoned that there were better ways of disciplining a child which did not involve the use of violence or physical intimidation.

“But at its core, it makes no sense,” I argued.

I pointed out how we teach kids to avoid violence, that it should never be used as a way to solve their problems. But then we use it to solve the problem of a misbehaving kid.

“How can we teach kids that these behaviors are unacceptable and then repeatedly demonstrate one of them in the name of discipline?”

“The punishable offense becomes the means of punishing in some hypocritical loop. I mean how can you expect to teach a child not to hit by hitting them… or more precisely, spanking them? It just reinforces that when someone upsets you, frustrates you, or doesn’t do what they are supposed to that physically ‘reprimanding’ them is a suitable course of action.”

My boyfriend’s eyes grew wide.

I don’t think that up to this point he had ever seen me this worked up, this adamant about something.

Gone was the easy agreeable girl and in her place was a yet-to-be mother ready to fiercely defend her nonexistent young.

He looked perplexed by my passion, my need to drive home a point.

“I mean, some kids need it,” he laughed. “It’s like the only thing that gets through to them.”

He shrugged, in a depleted way and I felt the conversation slipping away like it did anytime anything serious reared its head. It was like he was immune to disagreements and so I did my best to avoid them.

I felt the pointlessness emanating from him, so I did what I always did and let it go. It was, I reasoned at the time, a weird hill to die on since we weren’t exactly in the throes of parenthood.

But that night back at home, laying in my own bed. I had one continuous thought:

I could never have a child with him.

The craziest part was that I didn’t even know if I wanted a child (I still don’t), but I remember how that thought had permeated my mind with such conviction. It was like he had failed some kind of test that wasn’t even a test to begin with.

Somethings manage to find a stronghold that won’t let go. This was one of those things.

All these years later, the majority of my teenage “convictions” have drowned in their own disillusionment. They’ve soften, become tired and worn out. Some wouldn’t even recognize themselves in the mirror. And yet, one of the few holdovers that has remained undiluted by time is my stance on spanking. It remains untouched unlike the act itself.

I still find it confusing at best and infuriating at worst. It’s still prevalent… if not slightly, out of fashion.

— Researchers estimate that up to forty percent of kids living in the U.S. are spanked by their families.

Children may outgrow the punishment but the memory stays and is carried into adulthood. I think of the frustration and resentment it bred in me, the helplessness and embarrassment I felt. The tears that flowed each time and the sense of betrayal I felt towards my mother for sanctioning it. I know better than to blame her now. Its use had been instilled in her from childhood. Her father (my papa) had spanked her as his parents had spanked him. And by all accounts, they were some of the kindest and gentlest people you would ever be lucky enough to meet. It wasn’t done out of malice or anger but out of some misguided belief that it was the best way to teach a child that there were consequences for their actions.

My father, on the other hand… well spanking would have been a kindness compared to the kind of disciplining he received. In his mind as long as he wasn’t beating us, then there wasn’t a problem.

They were opposite ends of the spectrum but still meeting in the same place.

My mother now regrets it, but I highly doubt my father ever would. Split, divided. One growing with the times the other clinging to the past.

But the effects still remain regardless. They show up in bursts of misplaced anger, in the distrust of a man’s hand, in moments of self-punishment where hurting myself feels like the obvious solution.

In recent years, there has been an untick in research being done on the use of spanking and its lasting effects on children. More awareness and deeper conversations about its usage have started to find their footing.

— A 2025 World Health Organization (WHO) study found that children who have been spanked are at a higher risk for developing anxiety, depression, low self-esteem, and emotional instability. All of which, can lead to increase rates of substance abuse and suicidal thoughts and actions in adulthood.

— In fact countless studies have found the same thing: Not only does spanking not work, but it can have negative long-term effects on children.

We are taught not to hit back but to grin and bear it. To let it be a teaching moment. But what are we really learning? What are we truly being taught? If we hit another child on the playground, we rightfully get punished. As an adult hitting someone could bring with it jail time. Even the use of spanking in sexual situations involves two consenting adults, two willing participants. But a child being bent over a knee has no freedom of choice. And the goal we are hoping to achieve might on the surface appear to be giving us the desired result but underneath the damage is often greater than the temporary reward.

There are many other ways of punishing a child that can ultimately add to a child’s patience, self-regulation, and ability to reflect. But spanking has been proved not to be one of them.

They are sayings we know by heart. Little reminders aimed at protecting ourselves and others. They are in place for the benefit of the whole.

For example, we all know:

Stop, Drop, and Roll.

But maybe… just maybe, there’s a future where we also come to know:

Stop, Think, and Don’t Spank.

The Bronfenbrenner Center for Translational Research. “What Really Happens When Parents Spank Their Kids.” Psychology Today, 25 February 2025, https://www.psychologytoday.com/us/blog/evidence-based-living/202602/what-happens-when-parents-spank-their-kids

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He’s over there yellin, 
wishing he could shoot through the phone
She’s over there cryin, 
saying: “Daddy, I wanna go home”
“Why can’t we go home?”

Disturbances of the peace are all he’ll ever be 
to the little girl who sits in his passenger seat
He knows no shame, but for her it's not the same 

And all the townsfolk said it best 
When they whispered under their breath:

“Poor Lily Beth is scared to death” “a fragile soul” “so vulnerable” 
“Sweet Lily Beth in her checkered dress” “so well-behaved” “she’ll be okay”

He’s getting louder and louder
She’s hiding behind the checkered counter
It’s everyday
and she no longer prays
Sitting there silently
letting pages repeat in her diary
Other kids want for things 
But all she longs for is another day before he comes home
for her mother to hang up the phone 

And the townsfolk gawk and like to talk 
But no one comes to her mother’s aid 
No one does anything when she seems afraid 

Instead they say:

“Poor Lily Beth is scared to death” “a fragile soul” “so vulnerable” 
“Sweet Lily Beth in her checkered dress” “so well-behaved” “she’ll be okay”

But after all these days 
the words have stayed 
and never, aged beside her 
And it’s only in the disquiet 
when they ever seem to find her 

When they only come to remind her:

Poor Lily Beth was scared to death "a fragile soul" "so vulnerable" 
"Sweet Lily Beth in her checkered dress" was well-behaved...  but not okay

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Please just wait for me
I’m in another time and nothing’s going right
Our aforementioned plans, didn’t go as planned 
I chased you out to sea, and it never brought you back to me

I trace your silhouette and sign my name to it
Does it look like me? I’m not sure what I’m supposed to see
You were a swing set high, against the harvest sky 
and when it came back down, you were nowhere to be found 

I’m sorry mom, I think I lost her
I know that I was supposed to watch her
I tried to hold her hand, but she turned and ran
This isn’t who she used to be before she was delirious with grief 
Now she can’t even trust me, or anything we used to be

Across the strand’s long reach, down by the foreshore’s meet
I had a dream this is where she’d be 
Maybe I can convince her to reunite with me 
Not one worry will be spared, while waiting for her to reappear
You know I’m a girl who hates to fly, but I’ll make an offer to the sky
There’s no spiritual ritual or prayer circle I wouldn’t try

Collecting stones here in the sand
There came a man, who said: “no fires on this beach” 
So I told him what it was supposed to be
At first he didn’t speak, but then he got down on his knees
In a moment he could of denied me, he prayed beside me

I’m sorry god, I think I lost her 
I know that I was supposed to watch her
There nothing here to burn, all I want is her safe return
She wasn’t mine to lose, and she doesn’t yet belong to you
You might have a bird's-eye view, but no one knows her like I do 

So here’s an ocean’s worth of holy water, I’ll do anything to save her daughter
What does it feel like when a part of you comes back?
How do you reconcile all of that? 

Please don’t bother with the doctor/ he won’t be able to save your daughter
Cause only she can see what’s really wrong with me 
So I’ll follow from heaven to hell, wherever she fell
Just to hold her hand, just to tell her how sorry I am 

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Let me settle into this anger

Let me bathe in your indifference

And go to bed with all my clothes on

Lately, you’ve been changing your tune

and I don’t know what to do

if it’s not love songs, anymore

Cause what does it mean

if your staring at your phone more than you stare at me

Didn’t you know that if I couldn’t hold your gaze

I would lose my way

start traveling down these tunnels of doubt

and never, make my way back out

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This week, I’m breaking it up a little by adding in a new style of writing. I really enjoyed dipping my toe into something unfamiliar and I’m anxious to see what you all think! Please know, this is in no way a hit piece. It is written in a tongue-in-cheek manner. If I can find humor in all of it, I’m hoping you can too.

My mother is first and foremost: “a reminder.” It’s her duty, her purpose to remind. But unlike an app on your phone, her reminders aren’t just for things like dentists appointments or get-togethers. No her’s are far more colorful, full of terrifying scenarios one might end up in if not properly warned/reminded about.

On any given day, you could inhale too many fumes from cleaning supplies or experience severe dehydration from forgetting to grab a water bottle or even maim yourself while using a recently sharpened knife.

Normally, these little “reminders” elicit an eyeroll or an “I know,” an in one ear and out the other sort of response. You love her, you understand it’s her job to say these things but it feels… what’s the word, oh yes—excessive. It never feels all that warranted except, except, when it comes to one area of your life: DATING.

Before you date you learn from those who came before. For most, including myself, that knowledge came from the woman who birthed them. Mine raised me to know the realities of dating, not just the romantic fantasy, but the actual risks involved with meeting virtual strangers and hoping they will treat you with kindness and respect.

She, like many women, had her fair share of eye-opening experiences turned cautionary tales. Unsurprisingly, her southern girl roots did not mesh well with dating in New York in the 80’s. Each perfectly innocent night out with a man grew into something much more unsettling by the time she eventually made it home.

One man even got arrested on their second date… though I have to admit that the worst part of that story was that she eventually married him (my father ladies and gentlemen).

It was just for an outstanding fishing fine he had never paid. But still, she could have saved herself twenty plus years of misery by refusing to bail him out.

Needless to say, these anecdotes were not just “reminders” but acted as a sort of road map on what to expect when dating in a big city. So when I moved to L.A. for college, I thought I was relatively prepared.

Boy, was I wrong.

Of course it didn’t help that the school I was at was full of overachievers using the greek system to finally cut loose. Still, I foolishly believed I was the right mix of hopeful but cautious.

Turns out, there were not enough motherly “reminders” in the world to prepare me for what was to come. Below is a list of first date occurrences that more or less sum up my dating experiences since moving to the “City of Stars.”

(And yes, I know many women have experienced far worse.)

The guy who said his job involved selling “coffin cars” (none of which were a hearse)

The guy who had to go back to his apartment mid date to smoke more weed (he was already stoned out of his mind)

The guy who said: “I thought all women liked to be choked.” (he also thought women wanted to be sex slaves)

The guy who ignored the world’s cutest dog (it was a Pomsky and he looked openly annoyed when I stopped to pet it)

The guy who complained for two hours about how his whole family had disowned him (their reasoning seemed solid)

The guy who bragged about having sex in front of his friends and called it “a bonding experience” that he would “do again”

The guy who said his ex “wasn’t a bad person” then spent the next three hours questioning her character and openly mocking her

The SoundCloud Rapper who made every text sound like he was writing a sexual sonnet (and yes, he texted me while we were on the date… TOGETHER)

The guy who couldn’t hold my hand without getting a hard-on (his honesty about it was actually kind of refreshing)

And to every guy who felt the need to repeatedly try and stick their tongue down my throat on a first date. A nice kiss at the end of the night is one thing but eating a lady’s face is another.

I’m not even on the apps ya’ll.

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I’ve sacrificed so much for peace of mind, I still can’t find

I’ve spun backwards logic, until I thought that it made sense

I’ve run up against things, with no defense

Swore I could make it right each time


I drank your poison last night, and soon my ears will bleed

Even then when I ask, you’ll never look at me


You’re just skimming chapters, while I painstakingly reread

I look for meaning in each line

I know we’re running out of time


Cause I’m a pack animal by nature

But were always in danger…


You’ve become a wildfire, I cannot contain

All the animals failed to break the gate

Tried to save them, but I couldn’t even save myself

And now your winner’s glow, is all I know


Is this on me?

Did I cut too many branches from my family tree?

Cause now I can’t get down

I’m just hanging there, thirty feet from the ground


Why can’t I find any safety in us?

How can the scariest of unknowns come from claiming my own?


Cause for so long, it looked perfect on the surface

looked like we’d never hurt this

But we were just fighting hand in hand for the upper ground

and it was always me, that was going down


And if I didn’t say it, I’m sorry a million times

I’ll scream it to the moon on the atrium roof while letting the air pass through me…

hating that you use me


And I know that life’s not fair

But did it have to be you and me…

proving just how unfair it can be?


Cause now my backyard doubles as a graveyard, for every effort that has died of exhaustion

And I’ve been wondering lately, how many fights you have to lose on the outside—to finally lose your fight on the inside

I have a feeling that I’m getting close…

Like the former “me” is going to be nothing but a ghost, by the time we’ve finally run our perilous course


Don’t you see there will be no dark horse to come from behind and save us this time?


So please just look at me

I know you can see me bleeding

You know I’m a pack animal by nature

But we shouldn’t always be in danger…

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but I have loved you every second since we were young

from baby steps

to leaps of faith

to all those storms we braced together, then from each other

I have never not loved you

and I still feel you here in every room

cause I grew up learning how to share them with you

My emotions pile on

like those clothes on the floor that you chose to ignore

cause you always knew

I’d hang them up

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Share the Exhausted mind.

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You taught me what it means
not to love your child best

You’re not a family man, though you like to pretend
Hometown hero thinks the rules don’t apply to him
You volunteer for field trips, you work the student fair
And to the outside world
I’m sure it seems you truly care

Oh family man
you are our cross to bear

I learn to fight my demons
They look a lot like you
I’d never pick up something
that would tie me to the things you do

My mother takes on burdens
She’s like a monarch in the rain
It’s heavy
but she keeps on going anyway

Oh you volunteer for field trips
you work the student fair
keeping up appearances, like you truly care
All the while, you put my hope to rest
teaching me what it means
not to love your child best

Family man, I won’t dance up on your feet
It won’t be me at the door that you greet
It’s not a perfect ending, but I’ll plant my own trees
and when I swing from them
it’s not for you that I’ll reach

You let me down the greatest
You are the cross that I bear
Family man
Oh Family Man
You never really cared

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