The Man in the Moon taught her that there are scarier places than the dark. He taught her to live freely and wildly and never to stay too long. 

He taught her to wax and to wane was not a sin; that she could change her phase as much as she needed without feeling shame. 

New Moon she became invisible, hid her light and tried to gain solace from the indigo skies.

She’s a cresent now, trying to peek out and realizing she needn’t bathe in starry lies.

The Man in the Moon taught her to raise and to glow. That you can love the Sun and not be a monster for having to go. 

That its okay to leave when you are being burned. It’s okay to ache when the sky gets cold. It’s okay to change and move, is what she has learned. 

To miss the sun and finally know you cannot be an “us”… to stay would send the world into chaos. 

To be like the Moon and leave your lover to the day…well, it’s earth shattering but the Moon has taught me that it’s not the end of the sky if I don’t stay.


She planted seeds all around.

Wishful whispers deep in the ground. 

Hopeful breaths that took the form of a violet. A forget-me-not. A sunflower. That took the form she was afraid the darkness would devour.

Darkness has a funny way of getting in. Pulling curtains. Closing doors. Staying too attached to him. 

She leaves the good bits scattered along the ground. Waters them and sings to them. Plants the light in corners all around.

Blow out cobwebs that grow more quickly than her flowers do. Sweep off dust that gathers thicker each time she plants anew. Keeps on weeding while searching for the blue. 

Planting light inside the dark she hopes it will soon overgrow her shadowed heart. 

Plant the seed and coax the growth. She tries to live where the flowers go.

Never there. 

As you try to chip away everything that was me, don’t forget to chip away the parts of you that you don’t want to see. 

Days like today I have to remember why I need to forget. Days like today I musn’t waste tomorrow knowing I wasn’t a thought for you yesterday. Or when we were together. I’ve never been a reason for you to pick me and days like today, I must remember to be better. 

You didn’t show up when I needed you. You didn’t call when I was broken because of you. You’ve never shown up and days like today only prove that it is true. 

Rip off the photos you have taped in your head. Delete my number and swear to yourself I’ll have to call you instead. But days like today test my will. You never showed up for me and I know you never will. I want to call you to remind you of how I smell and feel. I want to call and tell you that you never deserved me or my even keel. 

Days like today when I miss you with all the strength my pieces can bear, I must remember that whenever I need you, when you had me, you were never there.

The Man.

I’ve recently fallen in love with Olivia Gatewood, who does some amazing “slam poetry.” I hate that it’s called “slam” because it insinuates that speaking your feelings is a slam on someone when it, in fact, is just how you feel. It got me inspired and here is my first stab at it. Interpret how you wish. The Man knows.


The Man tells me that I’m too opinionated. As if by having thoughts that I put into words I take the air that fuels his very own brain. As if by thinking out loud I’m clamping my painted fingers around his fragile windpipe and I’m cutting off his life.

The Man tells me he can’t talk to me until I calm down. Until I’m submissive, he means. The Man doesn’t answer the phone in fear of my lipsticked words that don’t cry for help but grow thunder clouds with their moisture. He’s afraid of them as if they are rain that will drown the weeds he planted and that my air sucking opinions will halt the growth of what will never grow. But they will never grow. 

The Man doesn’t want to give me sentences because my mascara coated lashes make me mean. My perfectly working ovaries are intimidating and The Man knows they will tear apart his sentences until they are just pieces of phonics that can’t be fertilized. 

The Man tells me I’m crazy when I have feelings that can’t be dressed in nude skin and an apron. That my feelings are some enraged bear that claws at honey combs with ferocity at my tiny bear brain but what he fails to see is that the honey comb is something sweet and he is something rotten.

 The Man tells me feelings belong in a bathroom in a bar with inky eyeliner running down my face and a tight dress askew from the man that groped me. The Man tells me he loves me. He loves me and all I can see is the Beast who confuses Beauty while he terrifies her into submission. 

The Man is a beast. 

What we do.

The Cosmos are offended by your choices. You have rivers and oceans inside of you. Galaxies swirling inside your reeling brain. You always stay quiet and act like you’re perfectly sane. 

It’s insulting, the topical moments you choose. The Cosmos and I know there are world’s forming inside of you. You break my heart but fill it, too. 

What is holding you back, none of us know. The petty waste of air won’t help any of your plants grow. 

We swirl inside each other. We are one and we are two. We share galaxies and we split them, fracture them, it’s just what we do. Sometimes we build bridges over them, too.

I am you north star and finding each other is just what we do. 

The Mistress.

It doesn’t go away and it always comes in waves. The missing you.

It laps on the shores or it is calm and ripples slowly. It either drowns me or I float. Waters of how he doesn’t care so wholly.

Apathy was always his first and truest love. She is plain enough she can be obtained. Cool enough she doesn’t threaten how he feels about his station. She is perfect. 

She is dry winds on a hot day that don’t cool you down. You appreciate what it is but you miss those summer shores of where cooler winds are found.

She is “come back” when you locked her out. She is the perfect mistress they all talk about. Apathy holds him like I never could. Apathy doesn’t say the things I wish She would.

Today I’m treading water in the waves of missing him. I’m replaying the moments and trying to spit out that water that will drown me from within. 

Today I wish Apathy would come seduce me the way she does to him. She could undress me and use me, have every inch of my skin. 

I’m waiting on Her orange floating ring to drag me out of this pool. Today I’m just keeping afloat and hoping Apathy keeps me from being his fool. 

1 vs 1.

You either move on or you don’t. You try to forgive or you won’t. Layers upon layers of “I’m sorrys” never swayed your back. I know you, and I’m so sorry for that.

The silent killer is silence. Stab her in the gut or face her like a man… I’m so sorry I hurt you, I’m doing all I can. 

The murder is quiet in the ink of night. It turns a leary eye upon its prey. A glimmer of recognition before it devours and slays. 

You either kill me or leave me. None of the inbetween. My fire is gasping without your air to fuel it. I’m trying to hold my breath while you watch it fade out in ruin. 

I was wrong and you were right…but you have to either kill me… or fight. 

Red Wrangler.

We howled at the moon, loud, long, and pure. Called upon our inner beasts who are always sure. We howled until our voices cracked, until something else cracked. 
You drove fast without a roof or doors. Everything cracked and we held on to each other more fiercely than we have ever before. The night splayed before us while the moon hummed like our medication. Drive fast; drive out any trepidation.

Your green eyes only look wilder the more they look into mine. We howl at the moon; two kids outrunning time; two caged animals escaping. 

Hold my hand and laugh at how we own he world. Drive fast and run wild with this girl.


Moments pass just like storms. Cleared up skies don’t let you remember much of the thunder. You’re left happy and dry and don’t remember the rage you were under. 

I think that’s why I love the after-storm. It leaves you electrified and ready for more. You’ve forgotten the wreckage you had to clean. Water falls down and I can barely remember the anger in me. 

I think I have a universe inside me. Black holes that eat the thunder and lightening. I think I have consellations inside me that are so big they are frightening. The cosmos swirl above me and inside me. They patched up the holes for me to better see. I don’t feed off what I don’t need.

I don’t need to not be needed. I don’t need now to remember then. I’m perfectly capable of loosely holding onto memories of them. 

I think the universe inside of me has aged me like the earth. It’s just steady inside and I think he wants me to quake like the grounds sometimes do. I think he wants me to hurt like him and I wish he didn’t have to.

I have this warm front creeping in. I just let in the light, now, at the small cost of holding on to all my sins.

I get to keep both. The storm and the calm. I don’t get rattled like I used to. That frightened girl is gone.

Because I am a universe now, I don’t need the nows to enjoy the thens. There is so much light and dark  inside me that I’m more balanced than I’ve ever been.