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

random sexy poem

Pushed against the wall

Brick digging into shoulder blades

Pull my hair, light my fire

But be warned

I’m not the only one

Who is going to get Burned


Follow me down the path

Where roses bleed heat

And ivory skin is scarred by thorns

Moans and groans scent the air

The perfume of desire

Has never smelled so sweet


Now don’t turn me away

Or I’ll shackle those thoughts

Unburden that mouth

Until you achieve pliancy

Melting, morphing

Into this stunning nymph



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)

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

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.)