Creative Pursuits

Here is where I play with words, some original poetry/prose, please enjoy.

shattering — slowly

no, all at once

on the floor of a bathroom in a house that is not mine in a city I do not know

cold tiles against my skin, my flimsy flesh struggling to hold together my tangled mess of insides

 I looked in the mirror. Lifeless. Like someone had drained the life out of me with a syringe.

purple shadows lingering under my eyes, those aren’t my eyes are they? 

that way we hide our problems in public, that internal pull that tries to avoid attention being drawn to ourselves, that was gone. 

a glazed-over gaze. lifting each foot in front of the other requiring an effort like that of carrying a large pack uphill.

I didn’t realize how therapeutic breathing was until breathing was all I could do. Until it took all I had to simply oxygenate my body enough to perform it’s vital functions.

I wondered when my own eyes would return, the eyes that were blue skies and glimmering hope.

awaiting the day when I would catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror and proclaim: “Oh, there you are, I lost you for a minute but it’s nice to have you back.”

an awesome wave. 

that album in its entirety, specifically the vinyl version, sends a warm rush of nostalgia through my brain.

on the second story of a creaky old house where the wind whistled through the windows.

outside the snow was coming down heavily but inside the yellow light shown upon three children painting on one canvas from three different angles.

I remember skipping through the streets earlier, past the state house and taking a ride in a space ship where you guided me back to our home.

wearing colorful socks and shoes with cats on them and a yellow turtleneck sweater.

you held my hand as I opened up my mind and hugged me through the unravelling of my heart.

in the bathroom of that museum where I couldn’t tell where art ended and utilitarian creations began.

triangles – three points where three lines meet.

our points will always be connected, no matter how far.


the state of great comfort and extravagant living.

and if I really think about it, gas station coffee is a luxury to me.

for it reminds me of going places, some of my most treasured memories

it reminds of sleepy eyes and dark roads and deep conversations

conversations about what really matters

it reminds me of unknowns and in-betweens

of the internal spark that is ignited when discovering new lands and skies

of friendship, of being held and holding others

it reminds me of the power I feel when escaping, temporary but needed

of messy cars and dirty hair and the infrequent midnight cigarette

it reminds me of my favorite feeling, a feeling often searched for in all of the wrong places

a feeling that is…I don’t want to be anywhere but right here, right now in this moment.

secret pedestal. 

I like watching you sleep

more entertaining to me than tv is the way your eyelids flutter when you’re in your dreamland

when your hair is pushed to one side and you’re completely unaware of this show you put on for me at night

I like watching your chest rise

up and down

sometimes you’ll move your limbs

I just lie here analyzing the shape of your jawline

and the curvature of your skeleton

I deeply inhale to grasp your scent

hold it in my lungs like I can’t hold you