Turn upside down, do your worst, take away my dream job and keep us from moving.

Take my belongings across the country without me, a living room I will never get to see. Take it all. Because you can’t take him from me.

When the world screams for needles from men with agendas. When states tell us our molecules can’t come in. You can’t come for me; I’ve got him.

Rome made pillars modeled after this man’s soul. They wrote laws gleaned from everything he knows.

From the same part of the Universe we are sewn. I cannot be parted from what was made to be from the get go.

New Majority.

Don’t pick me for your team because you see the ethnicity you can’t quite place.

Don’t call my name to bolster a side that chooses not to practice but expects to win the game.

I am not my hardships, the set backs, the situations that I knowingly chose to be.

My immigrant father, a prime example, that changing your own stars is more than a possibility.

We are seen the way we want to be seen. You can’t hold resentment if you portray what you want to be.

Wear your colors, own your flags, be you to your core. We aren’t the same and thank the Universe for that, how else are we supposed to learn? To want to be less, to be more?

Don’t peddle your wares hoping I’ll purchase your polished trash. You choose who you are, you choose what you have. What you lack.

It’s okay to disagree with anyone who does or doesn’t look like you.

Luckily we are who we choose.


Every sheep needs a shepherd. Every shepherd needs the sheep.

Keep them warm, keep them fed, even let them bleat.

They’ll circle fences where parts have fallen to disrepair. Broken out posts blend in as if the fences are all securely there.

They will give up freedom if it means they don’t have to wonder what is on the other side of that decrepit fence.

They will happily graze within the confines of simple phrases that seemingly make sense.

Sheep aren’t meant to think, aren’t meant to herd, aren’t meant to be heard.

Shepherds can’t take stampedes to slaughter; they need them calm, they need them to be lured.

It takes one to make the other. Always clever shepherds and simple grazing sheep.

Don’t think they aren’t carefully allowing you to feel free simply because they let you bleat.

Don’t You Hear the Gun Click?

How do you grow if you only look for solutions that you favor?

How can you scream with conviction from a soap box made from someone else you disregard.

A sign in your yard that says what you “think” but have been programmed to say. A sign that says some words that your actions do nothing to convey.

It’s not the message, it’s the lack of thought. The lack of knowledge that isn’t truly ever sought.

The masses like a headline. They don’t like having to read.

A conflicting idea? They will spit in your face, burn you at the stake, but they will not look any further into thoughts they don’t want to scoop on their spoon to feed.

They look at witches but not those that lit a match and set flesh to burn.

They will scream for equality but whisper, shifty eyed, as if asking questions is a dirty word.

A “conspiracy theorist” discredits anyone who has questions who are trying desperately to find piece of a puzzle; merely trying to learn.

Condem others for critical thinking, asking questions, just like you, they are unsure of what is truth.

Do you want to keep quoting headlines of articles you don’t read or follow up with who owns whom? Written by men who are owned by the men who want nothing but to own you? Trigger words are the only ammunition they seem to need.

We all like a headline that makes our morals feel right. We like to think we are too clever to be tricked.

Don’t you hear the gun click?


We emit frequencies into the world. The Universe.

It doesn’t hear us, It feels, It learns.

What we are comes rushing back. Forceful, strong, in tune with everything we are and everything we lack.

Your heart is cruel, you receive hurt that keeps you trapped in your cage.

You are kind and poetry will be penciled across your page.

We are a mirror and the Universe can most assuredly hear.

I’ve changed my vibrations over the past year and here I am, swimming in all the things I hold dear.

Home base.

Home base is the safe place to lay your sweaty childhood hands.

Screaming and running, laughing and weaving, just trying to make it to the safe place to land.

It’s a post, a wall, a tree no one can refute when your pudgy hands land on the strength growing from those old gnarled roots.

This city has always been my home base. Parents, roads, jobs, friends that are family that I can run to and lay my hand on a safe place.

As I pack up all the things I’ve been collecting throughout my years, I smile through the nerves of excited, anxious, happy tears.

Home base has quickly become a man that embodies that tree I used to run to. The side of a fort I wove in and out of bushes to get to. Home base is now one single man and everyone else has fallen to number two.

I’ve never in my 32 years thought home base would be a “you.”

When I run laughing through trees or come crawling, crying, dusting off my scraped knees, it is you that I seek. Home base has taken on the most gentle, strong, and assured face.

2,729 miles is the game we are about to play. Playing tag together across some ten states. A new life together, a new and far off place.

I don’t have any doubts while I hold hands with my home base.


We were all once wild little girls

Laughing with our messy hair and belly rolls

At one point, we didn’t think about how we looked when we sat or that one day we would be considered “too old.”

We get heckled, sometimes loudly, sometimes in whispers and glances that don’t glance off.

Most of us get lost in trying so desperately to always be found.

We forget what it feels like to love as wildly as we once owned being loud.

Somehow, I fell in love, all over again, with me. I needed someone who coaxed out the loud to simply remind me of who I missed being.

Little girls inside your grown and over thinking heads, I see you, leave the silence for when you are cold and dead.

Firey sisters, take back what has always been rightfully yours.

Feral friends, we don’t need to worry about what they think anymore.

Let go.

As all my future dreams came crashing all around

Told to give up my body to a career that wasn’t meant to be

He tells me I am strong

He tells me to choose right for me

He loves me safely

When the world is turning backwards

And history keeps proving right

When what I’ve always dreamed of turned into an internal fight

He tells me I am strong

He always holds me safely

Never makes my feelings feel wrong

When I decide to let go of a dream I always thought was for me

I’m not pressured into choosing him

Or what I want to be

He always tells me I am strong

Holds me close

Letting go is safe now that I’m where I belong


There is something telling about holding eye contact.

It wasn’t a happenstance glance across the room or the light catching your gaze.

It is specific eyes that are sought.

Something earth shattering in sitting through fluorescent light, dusty haze.

A fleeting look turned to thick cement. Carefully laid.

A kind of power brewing in the static between the locked brown eyed stare.

A glance is a lovely flutter but a holding look? It is everything that is and isn’t there.