I’m tired of being fucking reasonable
Of having to be calm, cool, collected
I want to be angry. I want to be mad.
I want to claim my birthright.
It has been calling to me for the longest
Through the ages from mitochondrial eve
Adam probably called her a bitch too.

I’m tired of having to smile. I’m tired of saying sorry
for things I didn’t do. I’m tired of everything.
I’m angry and I’m not allowed to be.
I must be the voice of reason.
The fucking mediator. A role I’ve taken since birth
Between two witches and a boar.

Medusa Smile

laughing babies laugh insane

when they see their mother’s pain

thy father wanes

laughing babies will never be

the same

This poem was written in response to the prompt for a family portrait poem. The picture I immediately thought of when getting to write was a picture of my mother and I. I am laughing and she is smiling, but her smile looks forced. I always find myself wondering why my father wasn’t in the picture especially in light of the recent information I gained from my mother that they were together at the time and until I was five years old. I have no memories of my father from this time.


XXV picture

*Author’s Note: Poem originally appeared on AllPoetry.com


Penny for your thoughts

Quarter for your crisis

No, my daughter wasn’t kidnapped by ISIS


She’s insane you see

She’s lost her memory

She won’t get help

She fucking hates me


She thinks I took her baby

What left of it there was

She thinks I made her abort it

In the tub


Now she thinks that

The doctor is telling a tale

She won’t stay off that damn



So what should we do doc

Pray tell?

She’s had an epiphany

We’ll just tell her

She’s going to hell

Sweet Sixteen

sweet sixteen picture


*Author’s Note: Poem originally appeared in the Spring 2015 issue of Spectra, the literary magazine of Louisiana State University at Shreveport

Sweet sixteen

What a fucking



That slimy

pink cake being

stuffed down my



One for

the money. Two

for the show.



more breath and

I’ll choke.


into the

frosting don’t let



 Your life is not

your own. Too

much sugar means

you’re too sweet.


Not enough

and you’re not

good enough to eat.


Just the right

Amount and it’s

all good.


will be another

slice. But not

nearly as good.


Starry Night by Vincent Van Gogh
Starry Night by Vincent Van Gogh

I worshipped the light
I burned for him
The fire in me bright

What is the night
What is it, but the


I ran from the night
I cowered and ran
Towards the light

What is the light?
But the fire burning