Wouldn’t it be nice
if we were just people
Not black or white
just people
Not girl or guy
just people
Not straight or gay
just people
Not right or wrong
just people
Not good or bad
just people
Not better or worse
just human
Wouldn’t it be nice
if we were just people


The Ongoing Storm.

She wears a nervous expression
as she screams in my face.

Her frail body and tender skin
deceives the minds of others

Her weakness is an illusion

Her grip is strong
as are the memories where
she swallows my head
He has the footsteps of an elephant
with each step comes a roaring boom.

enormous and brooding is his shadow
with long, outstretched, rotten fingers.

His presence is large

as is the dread
for the moments where
he embraces me whole

The Draw

For some, it’s a thick fog;
a white haze;
a dark corridor closing in on them.

For me, it’s a wave.
An ocean of negative emotions
and paralyzing thoughts.

When the ocean vomits me up,
the shore isn’t even a sanctuary anymore.
The sand is so hot, it burns me alive.

My life raft is so small,
so thin
you can see the desperate marks I leave
as bruises in the plastic.

I just want the sea to take me back
even though I know
It will devour me
again and

The Monster

Yes, I am a monster.


Of darkness and shadow and such blinding lights with demons and things that invade my personal space,

who laugh when I’m awake. Of creative inspiration and ingenuity, adventurous wit, hope and peace and love.

Of timepieces and calenders that have never been used. Of diaries and princes long forgotten.

Of family times and friendly moments. Of new worlds and old photographs.

Of warm fires and cool winds. Of bleeding screams and hushed whimpers.

Of forevers and new beginnings.


Yes, I am a monster of these things.