The impulsive change is its own verse—

reveals more than than I ever intended.

With the children, my words are terse,

but they’ve found that I am defenseless.

A child, like them, in so many ways,

curling my hair and fixating on the mirror.

They know the dread in each day

the message louder and clearer.

I let the heater blow on my face,

run the tub and put off work.

They know that happiness is just a race,

run just as fast by a checkout clerk.

That, I’ve yet to learn, and I bury my head,

I hand out my tests and surveys,

In five years, they say, they’ll be dead.


The fucking, the candle,

me pushing for more,

putting on his sandals

and walking out the door.

I came onto set,

ended up in his bedroom.

Alone with a cigarette

thinking I’ll see my love soon.

I know how this happened—

because I’m weak.

I need to wash this off and have this end,

He and I were at our peak.

I’m perverted and sick,

forgot how to care.

Nothing ever sticks,

and I made myself a dare.

Each someone’s son,

not to be chased after.

I don’t dream of anyone.

I dream of disaster.

Being treated like a queen,

like a doll with strong morals,

but I’ll replay this scene

’til the bright becomes dull.

My record was clean before I lost control.

I ran around and lost myself,

just to keep from getting cold.

Canceled Flights

When you’re clean-shaven and have the world in your hand,

I’ll still be here, 5 steps behind.

When your next flight to New York lands,

I’ll have cancelled mine.

Time passes quickly not under your arm

not independent, but passing the days,

I wake up each day and ignore my alarm,

functional when I need someone to stay.

You asked if you could spend a weekend,

and I know my bed is the shelter you need.

You’d hold me and tell me it’s ok if it ends

if today it gives us love and gives us peace.

I told you I couldn’t,

apologized for the pain,

You said you knew it,

and you’re moving away.


I’m lying in bed on a Saturday,

life on hold again for another man,

thinking of how fulfilled I’d be if it were ever worth anything.


These men can all be alone,

taking the company of another for fun.

I always ache. I always want more.


When I draw, when I write, when my mind is idle,

a loop begins in my head.

I’m depressed. I’m depressed. I’m so depressed.


I’m too warm in bed and dehydrated.

Clothes need to be washed, floors swept,

but I’m paralyzed in wait.


Waiting for validation,

waiting for a meaningful life,

waiting for things that will never come.


I can only see myself unhappy.

I can only see myself insecure.

I can only see myself alone.




Accompanied… Not

Her eyes are heavy from alcohol and drugs.

She looks over her shoulder and smiles at me,

knows I’ll be gone, both of us cold again soon.


The lace covering her body is a perk.

New Orleans ladies have outdone it again,

Climbing me, moaning. Shaking from cold, pleasure.


More time in December, February, March.

Holding her hand, not afraid to let it go.

It’s all the same to me. Accompanied… not.



A Peach

But then, all that he seemed was awe-inspir’ng—

eyes unimaginable, curly brown hair.

Now loneliness replaced with longing, pining.


How do I manage to relinquish my time

so fearlessly to new coy lovers each month?

After all the aching, always fall in line.


These old boys, these young men, remember just each

feeling of pulling up skirt, lifting my shirt.

Masturbating to a memory, a peach.


Nicholas makes me want to be more, is more.

House clean, skin smooth, my mind wandering to him.

Eyes dim with sickness, my inner thighs still sore.