Sunday, April 12, 2015

Notebook

I am the back
pages of a notebook
smeared with meaningless 
doodles and scribbles
of things you really 
don't give a shit about. 

Saturday, April 11, 2015

Lessons

My father taught me
to only say I love you
if you are yelling it
through tears
boiling against your skin.
No one must know 
how blistered I am.
It is like matches scraped
all over my bones. 

Sunday, April 5, 2015

River

Watch for the current
of my rage while 
you burn this bridge;
make sure
you are a damn
good swimmer.