i will not swallow you, guilt.

i will not take your bruising banter.

i will look out for my heart and soul

and continue to grow.

i will be kind to myself,


until i wake up without the aftertaste of regret.



once i realized i couldn’t be

you or you

or you or you,

i was left with me,

a type of lonely i wasn’t acquainted with,

a type of alone i had to learn to love.

i despised it at first,

my jealous eyes scavaged the sea

for something i could replicate

in order to feel whole.

but each time i sent the line out,

i reeled it back to find my hands empty.


that is what i felt,

when i had to be by myself.

but soon,

almost painfully,

i accepted my own solitude,

and soon,

not so painfully,

i embraced who i found.

my ever growing garden

i don’t know who you thought i was

but sadly you are mistaken.

take your dirt from my palms

and create weeds in your own garden.

i am planted firmly in my dwelling

even if some days i weep and let the wind tear the leafs from my stems.

sure enough, my bark is striped with lessons from childhood

and red stained adolescents.

the sky licks and grooms my budding flowers

and sends them winds of relief from the overbearing heat at noon



you are not allowed into this sacred place.

your thorns and bent knees that only praise glory and never pain

could never understand the spines of my past that have twisted and turned

to form the heart shaped petals that have wilted

and grown,

wilted and


wilted and grown

and remained.

my canvas


i am unsure of who i am.

i paint the canvas of my life with light brush strokes and careful detail.


i become coarse with the paintbrush or give up on the picture altogether

and toss the messy canvas to the side.

i am trying to figure it all out

but until then i am allowed to make mistakes, i am allowed to paint with or without purpose,

i am allowed to get frustrated with my canvas.