getting by

the written word of my chaotic mind

Turning the page 

When you turn the page in your book, you can only title it after you have lived in that chapter. For me, for the past three years, that chapter was titled “Luke”. I had never known what a loving relationship meant until I had one with him, and after ending it on a Thursday night after work I wasn’t sure what was going to happen to me or if I would survive ending the only thing I’ve ever known since high school. I know I will be okay, I know I’ll go on and live my life as an independent person with a successful life. Sometimes you change and you grow and sometimes love just isn’t enough to keep it going. I’ve learned that now, and that’s okay. I feel more enlightened on the realities of life than ever before, good and bad. 


Please let me one day to have a library filled to the brim with poetry and prose and tales of love and loss. Let it be my sanctuary when life has been bustling for far too long and let it be my escape. I want to sit on the floor with something on my lap, surrounded by rows and stacks of books; where I’ll feel most at home. 

1:43 am: a late night thought 

Sometimes artists truly make me cringe at the sight of their overly-cliche attempts at certain things to be frank, but I have to take note that I have unbelievable respect for those artists who are absolutely unapologetic about spreading love and showing the world that hateful acts will never go unrecognized. Seeing the way Ariana Grande responded to the terror attacks at her show in Manchester (regardless of if I listen to her music or not), made me compare it to the anti-war movement of the 60s and 70s. How Bob Dylan, Jimi Hendrix, Country Joe and the Fish and so many others stood up against war and hate of the time. I’m noticing how history truly repeats itself in many forms and music has been one of the most inspiring. It doesn’t matter how I’ll end up making in impact, but I damn sure hope I do in one way or another. 


I look at him and know that like the earthy dirt trail were walking on, he is real. Divine, exquisite, celestial.

Glass Assailant

Staring into the mouth of the beast

the enemy

the paranormal evil

the non-existing existence

I see me.

A mere piece of glass glaring


contorting my body.

Suddenly I am 40 pounds heavier

my thighs bulge from my favorite denim shorts

the hair on my arms grow thick and black.

My nose becomes large resting on my face

my gut grows

my fine blonde hair recedes upon my forehead.

“Ugly, ugly, ugly!”

the mirror howls in an unforgiving tone.

When I pass by it lures me and lures me again

“closer, closer. Check your face, check your hair. Fix your shirt, cover yourself.”

I listen, like a obediant dog.

But the mirror lies on the other side

stuck behind a wall

unknowing of life, unknowing of love, unknowing of acceptance.

The mirror is a jealous fool

tauntingly unsound, false.

Don’t listen

don’t listen

don’t listen.

Note to Self

Take some time to yourself today. Meditate. Stay calm. Don’t open your mouth to speak words that are only fueled but the insecurities of your mind, of panic. Slow down and wait.  


nature mimics language,

rivers like run-on sentences

flowing below a bridge like a preposition.

winding willow tree trunks

mimic ampersand.

leaves and petals in the wind lie

in the past and present tenses.

bell flowers suspend like apostrophe.

both the sun and moon an oxymoron

and a possessive phrase all at once

over the sky.


beautiful perception does not tantamount

to beautiful sentiment.

a world that breeds diversity in flowers, developments, and suburban family homes

also breeds a singular color: white.

a town that stands up for disability, veterans, and spending 9 million on the local high school’s front lawn, a staple of beauty and pride.

but plants itself quietly into the seat in the back of the room, not once to raise its hand, when someone paints their face black to ask a girl to prom.

a town that stays quite in times of hate and the presence of *insert-here*-phobia.

welcome to your lovely home

jewel of the bay

where racism “doesn’t exist”,

where body-shaming isn’t something we would ever teach our children.

where nobody has to fight for the right to use the public restroom, god no.

where we don’t acknowledge or discuss

our white privilege, the real issues with our society,

welcome to your home.

Living, Two-Fold

I swear on all my days

i’ll never take this for granted,

my opportunities.

But sometimes living


exhausts me

i’ll take my world in color

not in black and white.

i’ll take my coffee with cream

not shadowy and unnerving.

one, not both



Organized Chaos

I’ve immersed myself in a lot of reflection lately; that is a reflection of myself. I keep finding myself asking where I’m going to end up, if one day I’ll become a successful novelist, if I’ll ever learn to truly love my body and be confident in my outward appearance. But almost all at once, I have the happiest days. A day at work where everyone’s in a great mood, customers seem to be extra friendly (which is rare since the butt of most bad moods end up at a baristas feet); I am reminded of how lucky I am to keep an amazing job. Those extra-special three days I get to spend with Luke every week. Despite daunting task of going class when I’m staying with him, his presence makes everything feel calm again. A full weekend being able to spend days with my best friend, smoking the occasional joint out on her front porch, a porch that has the most spectacular, bright green view. Going to Santa Cruz, listening to Jimi Hendrix and talking about everything important but in accents of any and all kinds. I’m happy. I’m lucky. I’m stressed as all hell, but I am PRIVILEGED to have this life.