There is a hollow in my chest,
I can feel my breath echo against my ribs,
stinging on impact.

My humanity is being pulled as if by magnet,
north toward the graveyard,
aching from a long cumbersome journey,
to mourn.

My heart, and soul are heavy,
like two limbs that have fallen asleep,
not wanting to budge.

If I follow my humanity,
I fear I’ll wither and die,
a flower plucked.

If I follow my heart and soul,
will I feel absence?
Will I flourish by choking out the other plants?

I crave the two factions to meld,
I need an emulsifier,
because they are repellent forces,

…tearing me apart.

Ode to ‘Fuck’

(This poem is originally from my book: Everything I’ve Got)


Noun, Verb, Adjective, Adverb;
Fuck in many forms.
Carlin opened my eyes, and showed its full potential.
A word so perfect, like a master key,
able to fit in anywhere.

     ‘Fuck Yeah!’
Verbalized adrenaline coursing out our mouths.
Heart pounding, pumping like a piston.

          ‘Fuck You!’
Venom spat from hate filled lips.
All but the target turns to white before your eyes.

     ‘We’re Fucked!’
The cry of the desperate falling off their tongues.
Realization. Defiance.

‘Fuck This!’
Throwing out another crumpled piece of paper.
Exhausted. Defeated.

          ‘Fuck Me!’
Passion exclaimed from shortened breaths.
Lips and limbs entangled.

Mind blank and simultaneously filled to the brim.
Nothing else to say.  Nothing else will do.

‘…Fucked Up!’
Did we? Or are we?
Often both.

          ‘What The Fuck?!’
Furrowed brow, red faced.

‘Fucking Great!’
No it’s not.



Some fucked up quotes…

     “Those who mind don’t [fuck], and those who [fuck] don’t mind.”

     “[Fucking] is doing the same thing, over and over again, but expecting different results.”

     “That which does not [fuck] us makes us stronger.”


Not like the “N”-word, the “C”-word, or that other “F”-word.
Beautiful like a crimson sunset.
Vile as a maggot ridden corpse.
Flexible like an acrobat.
Strong like a steel beam.
So… ‘Fuck off!’


My twelve-year-old hands tremble,
and sweat,
I pass slide the note in the vent of the locker,
as it disappears, my heart slams against my ribs in panic.
After lunch, she walks up to me,
her group waiting a few feet behind staring,
“Um… Mike, thanks but I think we should just be friends.”
I nod, my throat dry as sandpaper,
I turn and walk to class, my stomach threatening to burst me.

She walks up to the window of my mom’s car,
severely arched eyebrows poking from behind aviators.
“Show me the hand signals,” she demands.
I show her—correctly— and ask “Is that right?”
“You should know,” she says coldly.
She hands me a sheet that says I failed.
Tears rush from my eyes, snot from my nose,
my mom rubs my back,
“I didn’t even get to the driving part!”

I wait for months, checking the mailbox every day.
I need a decision, I need to know,
My home is gone, my job is gone, I need to know if I will have school.
I have to make a decision before knowing,
my brain is a fog from all the uncertainty.
“Let’s move!” I decide, either way I want to be down there,
The letter comes, and I pause before opening it.
“We can not offer you admission at this time.”
I stare at the words, no tears, no stomach ache, hollow.

When does this stop sucking?

I Haul

The door squeaks open,
I grab the handle above my head, and climb in.

The key has an oversized plastic placard attached,
I slide it into the ignition and turn,
the engine strains for a moment and turns over.

I pull the bar down the column, and release my foot off the break,
as press down on the gas,
and sluggishly begin to move forward,

I look down on everyone I pass,
little Civics like my own,
I feel out of control,

My brain empties out as,
the engine growls loudly,
drowning out the country music on the radio,

The lower side mirrors help me stay navigate the lines,
I drive directly toward the snowcapped mountains,
looking fuzzy like a painting in the distance.

Before Yours

How many eyes did I look into before yours?
Some were greener,
sparkling emeralds encased in perfect white cloth.
Others were blue,
brighter than a robin’s egg, in a nest made of cloud.
There were even a couple that were brown,
rich chocolate drops, dabbed on white packaging.

How many lips did I dream of kissing before yours?
There were pairs that were glossy,
promising to taste as sweet as icing.
So many were ruby red,
precious jewels made to smile.
The light pink ones were tantalizing,
like yours, more natural but no less tempting.

But then I saw your eyes,
I felt the gravity in them, and they pulled me in,
and then I kissed your lips,
I felt the release within them.  I knew I never wanted the last one to come.

I still don’t.