It is the nagging fear at the back of your head

The one tells you that you aren’t good enough

The one that demands so much

But you cannot live up to it


Is this enough?  Why can’t I do?

Why don’t I get this?  Is there something wrong with me?

What can I do to be amazing?

What if I can’t do it?


(Having an ehh kind of day where my head hurts and I feel like I can’t seem to do stuff)

Swing Forward, Swing Back

One moment I am angry

Red tinted vision and grunted monosyllables

Anti social and vivid words, harsh

Abrasive against the soft ache of exhaustion







Sleep begs at the corners of my mouth

As the desire to mingle among the cotton sheets

And lay my head on such plush pillows

Just to sleep and dream and forget about my troubles







The, as suddenly as it was there

The tiredness is gone, warmth and ease replacing anguish

Smiles, chuckles, giggles, and good cheer all around

Dizzy, I’m spinning from the recoil







I swing, momentum creating circles

Dizzying, drugged by hormones, emotions, stress, elation

I just want my swing to still

But I cannot, I cannot stop this swing






A Certain lullaby

Like a familiar tune, it comes in waves

peaceful, perfect, sleep inducing


The semi silent whir of oscillating blades

Starts that melody of my certain lullaby


Rustling of cotton sheets against the freshly cleaned skin

Permeates the whisper of the mechanical AC from down the hall


Turning pages, careless pillow fluffs, and kicks thudding against a downy comforter

bring a strange cadence that weighs heavily on my drooping eye lids


Finally that warm body curls closer to mine and that steady heart beat

Is what finally lulls me under in this certain sleepy lullaby.

She Is

She is the girl who does laundry late at night

And stays up even later so that he has folded pants, and clean socks


She is the girl who sleepily begs for another kiss, another hug

Before he leaves for work, before she succumbs to another hour of sleep


She is the girl who greets him with a smile and warmth at the door

Despite his grouchy post work demeanor and growling stomach


She is the girl who rages at those who do her wrong and who offend her

Yet he knows it’s rage for good things, not for bad


She is the girl who helps out those in need, especially when it’s an emergency

He’ll always find her taking someone to an emergency room or brushing their hair


She is the girl who talks, chatters away to fill the silence when she feels awkward

But she does it because she has no idea what else to do when she worries


She is the girl who has spark in her eyes and fire in her lips

Playing, teasing, tormenting, testing, giving, taking, completing, loving


Most of all she is the girl who loves as much, no, more than anyone he’s known.

She is the girl he loves, for every thing she is

Prepare for a whiny post!

I thought I would warn you all before you start reading that this post will be whiny, rant filled, a little angry in parts and generally bitchy.  Just forewarning in case you don’t want to hear my rant.

So Mayzie la Bird is a friend of mine.  We’re usually on good terms, but as of late she’s been getting on nerves.  This happens yearly.  We have a good phase then we have a phase where every last thing she does and says to me makes me want to rip her face off and show her how stupid/ ignorant/ insane/ judgmental she’s being.  But she doesn’t see it because she’s Mayzie.

A friend from home, we’ll call her Pixie, came to visit this weekend.  She’s having a rough time with her beau and he’s being a jerk.  So she wanted some comfort.  After the week I’ve had, i didn’t quite know if I could comfort her.  I’m pretty much dead right now.  Amy Pond’s circumstances have gotten better, but she’s still not home.  My work load has increased ten fold because my teacher realized she’d left out a major presentation on the syllabus but she wants to keep it in the class anyway.  I also have student teaching forms to file, another student teaching meeting this week, so much due, tests, projects, lesson plans, and just so much.  (be on the look out for poems about how busy I am)

So I’m tense, a little irritable and trying my best to be sociable.  I called up Mayzie’s roommate SteamPunk to ask if we, Pixie and I, could come and get breakfast tomorrow.  Last time I spoke to SteamPunk, I expressed an interest in having her and Pixie meet.  Pixie, with her rough time, could always use a friend and I think they’d be really good friends.  SteamPunk said yes and I was all happy cause we were gonna get breakfast and be happy.

Then Mayzie writes on my facebook wall, for all the internet to see, and I quote “Way to not call me that Pixie was here! And way to scare SteamPunk and I since we thought something was wrong. Way to be.”  (Names have been changed).

Normally, this would have prompted a sorry your highness response and a very snarky commentary.  but after the week I’ve had an the weeks I’m going to have, I just lost my shit.  I was angry and hurt and kept thinking, you could have just texted me.

First off bitch, Pixie came to visit me.  ME.  Not you.  I do not have to alert you every time someone from home visits me.

Second, I get that you care, but a call in the relatively early hours of the evening asking for breakfast is not cause for scare, concern, or worry.  SteamPunk did not freak out, but was just curious as to why I called.  Maybe you were worried.  WHY?  Because I called to ask about breakfast?  so yes, thank you for guilting me too.

Finally, you sound like a goddamn thirteen year old.  Grow up Mayzie.

There… I think I feel better.  I’m just… normally this wouldn’t phase me at all, but I’m so stressed about Amy Pond in the hospital and I’m dealing with a lot of her stuff, mainly family and giving information which I am not great at.  I’ve got so much work and my expenses for the summer are already taking over my bank account because I have to get pool membership so I can take the kids I nanny, there’s an iPad to be bought for classes and such next year, and much more to the list.

Thank god for my boy, he’s gets me through so much.

Thank god for Azure Lights too, she’s been super helpful and an amazing listener the past few days.

There, now I actually feel better.

I’m off to meet up with Pixie and then get to the dining hall for breakfast with SteamPunk and Mayzie.  To top it off, I look fucking fantastic.

Eat your heart out bitch

Cuddling: a syllabic poem


Falls in

Slow, even

Sheets while you

Then I shower, clean

I accompany you

In sheets that are soft and warm

Once there, I squirm and you hold me.

In your arms, I feel safe and at peace

You wash away my worries with a kiss

While you press me closer to your heart

Beating, soothing, lulling, as my

Eyes close and I drift off to

the land of nod where dreams

are full of sunshine

and my heart is

full of love

and you


full of


Where did she go?

He recalls that face, that tan skin

and the freckles across her nose that she hated

along with so many other imperfections

That he couldn’t see on her frightfully lovely body


The brittle nails that snapped, the stomach

That always growled, the shoulders slumped

downward, frail.  She had always been frail,

his winter born friend, his ice girl.


Where did she go?  In the volumes of fabric that

She carefully curved and layered over

The bones in her wrists, the points of her hips

and the breaks between rib bone and rib bone


He searches for the little ice girl, his little ice girl

Frantic amongst all the uneaten food and the sterilized sheets

Is she there?  Where is she?  Panic rises only to quell when

He sees her, a speck among tubes and  blipping machines


There she is, but he isn’t sure if she’s really there

Her cheeks are hallow and the laugh, like winter wind

Is nothing more than a puff of smoke.

Where did she go?


He’ll get his little ice girl back, strong like

Diamonds, he’ll give her his strength to clothe her

His love to feed her and all that he has to watch her

Come back, come back to him.


(Just a quick little update.  I know a lot of my poems are happy and good and just kind of girly.  But I write that way because writing the dark stuff tends to leave me spinning and a little scared.  It’s scary.   I’m sorry not all my poems are deep, but I do my best to write what I can.  I thought this was ok, I think…  Also, I don’t have any sort of eating disorder.  At one point when i was younger, I refused toe at for fear of throwing up.  It was a very bad time for me and that’s kind of where I draw this from.)