Quieting Ease

There is a quieted silence

an easy weight on my shoulders

As I wake up, feed the cats

who scuttle beneath my feet.


Although I could return

to those soft sheets, still warm

I stay up, make something to eat

Pull out things to do


Creating a list of things

to do, dishes, litter, nails

I stop to pause, listening

to that quiet of summer in my house


Heat beaten back by air conditioning

Bugs fluttering away at windows

Meows of a lonely cat

An easy moment amongst my days

The little things

She delights in the little things during her brief respite

Between academic courses and arduous hours of work


Like cream dispersing into coffee, swirling, marbled

And letting her body wake, not to the sound of an alarm


Folding laundry, warm and heady from the dryer

Late night interludes with her loud mouth cat


Fixing dinner for herself, crafting, creating and dining

The quiet laughter of a group of friends, together and apart


She loves the feeling of her extended showers,  steamed perfection

And the pages of silken books that slip through her fingers


There’s the tender kiss of her boyfriend’s mouth to her’s

As well as his sleeping search for her, to cuddle, to hold


She delights in the little things during her brief respite

Between academic courses and arduous hours of work

Things to be looking forward to (a list poem)

  • the summer, that sunlight, the freedom
  • Firefly, the music festival
  • Seeing those two boys who bring joy to my life
  • No more work to plague me, to keep me up
  • Friends all in one place
  • Late nights with the boy, punctuated by kisses
  • Driving no where, any where
  • Paying jobs to lift my excpeptionally underweight bank account
  • days dedicated to swimming in the pool
  • Sun burns, beach trips, swim suits
  • Summer time


She sits in the corner of the coffee shop

Fingers tapping against matte black keys

She wears kiten heels with little black bows

And sips at a pale cup of creamy coffee


The liquid that falls between her lips

Distracts him from a conversation, turning

focusing his attention on the girl with the

Blue dress and even bluer eyes


He wonders if the gloss on her lips would be sticky

When he presses his mouth against hers, or if

the pink peach color would imprint on his lips

Letting the world know that he had kissed her


Is she wearing stocking with that dress?  Or is

All the silky skin of legs on display for everyone to see?

would goosebumps appear on that skin,

When his hand slid from ankle to calf to thigh?


Shaking his head, ridding thoughts of this girl

He grabs his own coffee order and disperses quickly from the shop

As so he does not act on this fantasy

Or even bother to ask for her name.


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

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.)