What would I had done if I lost you? Not that you’re mine. But a piece of your heart still is, right?

How would I have found out? Would I have found out…

I don’t do well with death, with funerals. But, would I have went to yours? I mean, how exactly do you say goodbye to someone you haven’t said hello to in years?

Would you have visited me while I slept? Like so many others have.

Is there anything I would have regretted? Saying, not saying, keeping distance?

Would I have felt like dying too?

Who would I have leaned on for support? Would my lover still comfort me if I am grieving for another man who still had a part of me?

You taught me something that day. You taught me to reach out to people during times that I can’t stop thinking about them. You taught me not to fight with intuition.

And you taught me that you do still matter.

You |


you will ruin me
i know this, and still
i cannot stop myself from
clinging to the edge of your soul
still, I cannot stop myself from
giving you permission to 
use me
however you choose
because even in ruins, and
even in ash
there is glory
even in debris
there is beauty
and, even in chaos
there is sense.


1:42 a.m.

Romeo and Juliet type
love that’s worth all the hype
love that we requite
because we can’t be
and I feel that all up inside of me
like, how I can’t tell you I love you
like, how I can’t tell you I crave you
I fear our end
wading in our future
because you’re too damn perfect
something I can’t explain
giving me something I can’t tame
let’s run away to foreign lands
run away from everything
let’s decide to leave the pain…

…to be continued

The tired soul


*written July 20, 2017

Chester died today. And I would be lying if I said that I was not utterly devastated. I feel as if my heart has been killed. I feel as if a mentor, a brother, a light in my life has died. I don’t understand.

He saved every inch of my little life. Linkin Park, as a collective, saved my life.

Chester healed so many souls, yet, he couldn’t heal his. His music helped so many people survive life, yet his music couldn’t touch him the same way it touched us.

The thing about suicide is that you can always feel it lurking. You can sense it trying to find a place to fit into your life. You can feel the energy of it attempting to feed off of any fuel you give it. And sometimes it’s comforting to have it around. Lurking, watching, waiting for you to slip just enough for it to intrude. And times it’s so overwhelming that you want to leave the door to your soul open so that it can walk through, have a seat, and tell you what to do.

And although we can sense suicide, it’s effects are still horribly heartbreaking when it wins. Horribly heartbreaking.

I am horribly heartbroken

is 33 too late


I’m supposed to get pregnant this year.
I’m strongly reconsidering that plan.
August 8th will be my two year wedding anniversary.
November 6th will be my 32nd year on earth.
My window,
it’s getting shorter and shorter.

The variables. So many variables.

I like my sleep.
I like my money.
I like only having to get myself ready in the morning.
I don’t like getting up early.
I like not being required to cook everyday.
I like being able to get up and go wherever I want, whenever I want.
I like not making plans.
I like traveling light.
I like my home clean.
I like my body as it is.
I like yelling when I’m angry.

But, I want a family. I want a tribe. I want picnics in the park and on rooftops. I want to sit in a circle and teach them Spanish. I want to teach them how to count, how to read, how to write. I want to load up the family car and take trips to the beach. I want to teach them respect by introducing them to cultures around the world. I want them to learn French in France and Thai in Thailand. I want to watch this little person grow and change the world.

I want everything great that comes with children, but I’m still selfish.
I’m still selfish.

page ; 62

| excerpt from my book Sweet Waters. Available now |

so here we are again

confused and tongue tied

your fist through the wall

that we just fixed from the last fight

our words unable to escape our throats

our eyes striking the match

setting ourselves on fire


you were just telling me yesterday

that you wanted to marry me

that you wanted to cut me open

and trace every part of me

so that every time I fold and break

you will always know how to

put me back together


you were just telling me that I was

like the grandmother who raised you

warm, inviting, safe.

now you are looking at me as if I am the father who abandoned you

as if I am the mother who did not love you


what happened

to eyes that filled me up with silent love

and hands that cooked me breakfast every morning.

a woman ; venting


I’m frustrated. I’m annoyed. I’m hungry. I’m starving. I’m losing it. Slowly. I’m lost. I’m confused. I’m sure. I’m aware. I’m frazzled. I’m jaded. I am a woman. Who needs to vent.

Am I supposed to have this wife thing down after two years of marriage? If so, I’m failing.

I am the wife of an entrepreneur, and I swear, I never knew how hard it would be for me.

I wasn’t raised to not have my own goals. My life is not anyone else’s, and nobody else’s life is mine. So how am I supposed to be content with putting my goals on hold for the achievement of someone else’s?

I felt myself losing my mind months ago, but hid it behind glasses of red wine and a long trip to Southeast Asia.

In which, I have not been the same since returning from Asia. I haven’t discovered why things feel weird. They just do. I should try to figure out why.

I don’t expect my husband to fulfill every need that I have as a human. However, shouldn’t I be able to talk to him and vent to him about anything? Or no?

I have four friends. Literally, four friends.

If I wasn’t married, I would be in the Peace Corps or a digital nomad. Away from Baltimore. Because honestly, I’m sick of this hellhole.

I question if I’m ready to become a mother. I feel like I’m still a child. I like my sleep. Some days, I don’t put on clothes. My socks never match. I like spending my money however I wish, and I like being able to argue at the top of my lungs if I want.

I fall in love with so many people, so many souls. It’s a struggle to make sure my husband knows that the love I have for him ain’t like any other love I give to others.

I seem to give the right advice to everyone else except myself. Why can’t I listen to myself?

All of my issues would be absolved if I could figure out how to focus… How the fuck do I focus, ya’ll?