Do you remember her?

She used to dream so freely

Grasping for joy and comfort

In the spaces where there was no room

For hate


She colored outside of the lines so well

And her ears heard nothing but melodies

Her eyes saw nothing but beautiful things

She used to believe that everyone was pure-hearted

And she could laugh and smile in her own way

Without second-guessing her appearance


Remember when she sat on her mother’s lap

And thought the world was perfect,

Just the way it was?

She used to lie at night, unburdened

Her thoughts light, her mind at ease

Do you remember her, the little girl you used to be?


Happy National Poetry Month

Funny — to be a Century —
And see the People — going by —
I — should die of the Oddity
But then — I’m not so staid — as He

He keeps His Secrets safely — very
Were He to tell — extremely sorry
This Bashful Globe of Ours would be
So dainty of Publicity

Emily Dickinson


Beneath the layers

You construct

Deep down where no one

Knows you, as you pretend

To know yourself,

In the fabric of

Your fabricated lies and

Your woven untruths—

There is a part of you

That you have long since

Buried, the forgotten remains

Of happier beginnings.

She crouches in a corner of

A fragmented mind, rocking

Back and forth, teetering

On the edge of something new.

She reaches for the outside world,

Where you have learned to hide

In plain sight. But you push

Her down, into the depths of a

Miserable non-existence.

She is the only one who will fight

You, but you have long since

Given up the fight


In my dreams I see the part of my self that wants to get to know 

My self 

I close my eyes and I know my soul without seeing it, without feeling it 

I straddle my own mind, looking in from the outside and occupying the inside when I’ve been 

Shut out

The rest, somehow seems to work for its

Selfish of me to try and pretend that I’m the only one who can 

Play this game. I picture three versions of me and I see them

Through a kaleidoscope so that there’s really 

A thousand of me sitting in the dark, around a poker table, illuminated by one Thought 

And betting on which one of us (me? Them? Her?) 

Is real 

And it’s really not that hard to guess

Not when I (she? They?) 

We look at each other and wait for one 

To make a mistake 

It’s roulette with my own mind as the target 

No matter who I choose I will eliminate 

At least a small part of my self

* * *

In my dreams I sleep with my eyes open 

So that I can catch the sign that will lead me to the next non-reality

I imagine my-self in a labyrinth that is as big as space allows 

And right now, if I can call it now, because of course I am outside the binding hands of time 

This is a maze and 

I’m running through hedges  trying to find the Sphinx who will ask me 

The riddle but 

All I find are mirrors, and in this broken glass 

In this carnival where I’m the only one 

Shooting at plastic toys 

Trying to win-something

In the remains of mirrors I see nothing 

No thing appears above, below, behind, beside or in front of… 

Me?  Can I say me if I don’t see me? 

But I can hear the laughter of the rest of me 

I/they/she/we have/has reached the outside of this cage 

And I/it/she/we

Some fragment of m-e

And who I am/was/will be

Is left standing in the middle 

In this sphere of a labyrinth with no exits, no ends and beginnings it just… 


I lie awake in my dream that isn’t in fact a dream and if I look closely enough I can 

Just make out 

The reflections of two thousand eyes 

Blinking from the depths of shards 

Of broken realities 



They traipse around their glass

And crystal, mimicking the dance

Of duels fought long ago

Their stance is the same, meant

To inspire fear, but neither

Remembers that with fear comes

A certain price. It manifests

Itself in the imported furniture,

On the chairs they never sit in

And the tables gleaming with the

Jagged reality of their reflections

It is in the potted plants

And the gentle swinging of

Their chandeliers. The pristine

Whiteness of their sins surrounds

Them as they dance forever around

Each other, never once daring

To meet in the middle. Around them

The white-washed walls feed on the

Remnants of their fragile hearts

And in their cold-blooded lust for

The glamorous, they forget they are

Only flesh



If I were a sunset, I would

Rest myself on the bed that is

The world’s anger

I would offer myself as a

Soothing presence, letting the

Glow of my heartfelt emotions

Calm the waters that have been shed

From the eyes of all mankind

I would descend from the highest sky

To carry their burdens, to take away

The toils of their day

I would come down not to watch my reflection

But to color the faces of those who realize

That time is cyclical, and that their

Tears are shed for naught

And as the oranges and yellows and rosy

Amethyst hues begin to turn them

Into shadows of who they once were, I will know

That they have experienced looking

Into the waters, that they understand

Every day begins and ends the same

And they can witness the dusk

Just as they have come to expect the dawn

What is Beauty, Anyway?

“They that have power to hurt, and will do none,
That do not do the thing they most do show,
Who, moving others, are themselves as stone,
Unmoved, cold, and to temptation slow;
They rightly do inherit heaven’s graces,
And husband nature’s riches from expense;
They are the lords and owners of their faces,
Others, but stewards of their excellence.
The summer’s flower is to the summer sweet,
Though to itself, it only live and die…”

William Shakespeare
“Sonnet 94”