The Storm


All the time I feel the air.
Breezing by, everywhere.
Can it feel me? Does it notice me?
Does anyone, anywhere really care to see?
Everywhere I go, there’s no feeling of space.
Free from the toxins that impale this place.
Gone are the times of solitude and innocence.
Here is the now, the age of dissonance.
I walk among the reckless and the recluse.
Just those who are already stuck in the noose.
Kindly floating by, observing society.
Listening to the lack of sincere propriety.
Missing their voice, which got caught in the wind.
Nothing’s right, we’re trying too hard to blend.
Only to discover it’s us who are the plague- blurring among the faces, all too vague.
People who fall to greed and lust,
Quiver so slightly in the air like dust.
Rising through the storm are the few.
Sickness has settled on us all like dew.
Trying to win this fight-
Useless among both the bright and the blight.
Vehemently stretching with no success,
Will never supply us with happiness.
X’ing through our heart’s true desires
Yearning for something behind the fires.
Zoning ourselves far, far away- seems much safer when you have too much to say.

Photo Credit:



The blood pumping
through my veins
or the thoughts
that can’t escape my brain.
-What is it
that makes me believe
that the world around me
isn’t all that it seems?

I look beyond
what’s plain to see
and open my eyes
to what could be.

So many others
hold their eyes closed
and to what I know,
they’ll never be exposed.

Keeping their vision
planted too firmly in reality
restrains their growth
and erases their morality.

For all they see
is all the cruelty,
what’s real, set in concrete-
instead of all the possibilities.

Image credit:

Washing the Dishes


I hold the glass in my left hand
and the rag in my right.
The water running-
Scolding hot.
I watch the steam rise from the sink
as I dip the dish in once more,
mildly burning my skin.
My hands-
Red, wrinkled
from the uncomfortable exposure.
The plate-
clean, clear
from the soapy water.

This fragile piece
of decorated glass
can withstand the heat
pouring from the faucet
as my rough skin
of hard work and labor
aches in the process.

I’m taking a poetry class next semester and I glanced through the prompt list in the textbook, and one was to write about an every day activity. This is my first attempt at writing poetry about something non-abstract, but I still have a little metaphor going on. Let me know if you catch it 🙂

What are We?


Is it jealousy and envy’s rage
that set the stage
for relentless pain,
and tear stained eyes?
Or is it this world
morphing us all
into hateful humans
who are careless
to when others fall.
In fact-
we celebrate their demise
so that we can take pride
in our victory and prizes,
seemingly gifted to us
by the hands of hate,
but are always taken away by fate.
Life is changing.
We are changing.
Belonging to the world,
instead of owning our life.
What has unfurled
in front of our very eyes?
We’ve grown into a society
detached from one another.
We march on through-
into the war zone,
leaving others to fight alone.
We’re selfish,
with things beyond ourselves.
Why have we become so hardened
and divided from everyone else?

The Wrecked


Those who truly care
are locked out of sight.
The rest are emotionless, bare-
Only faking polite.

Their manners have diminished,
their compassion is frayed.
We are all unfinished,
our colors all fade.

But those who act
like what they are not-
their hearts are cracked,
their throats, tied in knots.

The rest who provide
humanity and respect
should feel pride
for not becoming wrecked.

Collapsing Faith


If only the world wouldn’t wait
to finally face its formidable fate.
As people begin to worship the sin,
we will end before our time.
As everyone is at a loss for their sane state of mind.

The collapsing faith
and the public’s malicious face
are corrupting the land-
as the waters are dissipating
and the ground is disintegrating,
people are growing out of hand.

Communication has ceased,
thoughts have vanished.
All that’s left are the hearts that have been tarnished.
Tarnished by the stain of negligent acts.
and covered in cracks
created by our twisted tactics.

We no longer breathe as we once did.
Air cannot fill these lungs.
We gasp for breath
and plead for blood to again course through our veins.
Though all we are
are our remains-
as our souls were trapped by death.

We can’t believe in the light-
As we’re buried in the darkness,
broken down by the weight of the earth
and sealed away from the rest of the world.

I usually don’t post very controversial stuff, but this is what I think: If this offends you, then maybe you should read it again.



In the looking glass-
a portrait stained.
As time passes,
all that remains
is a tattered heart
with a fading face
torn apart
and out of place.

in this reflective lens.
Not showing
what lives within.

Age is defined
by the crevices and cracks
created by time’s cruel hand.
Not by the fractures
embedded by man.

How can glass
tell the tale of time
when the true story
lies in souls and minds?

The Flood- A Flash Fiction Narrative


Some days, you just feel it. You feel your whole life slipping away. It doesn’t flash by, it doesn’t instantaneously vanish. It slowly dissolves like paper in water. Your entire story is written on that piece of paper, yet a strong downpour is beginning.

That day was today. I felt the flood deepening. I felt the threat of the end. But what can I do? Wait it out? No. Fight through it? I have no choice.

It was coming. I don’t know who -or what- it was. But it was coming. I braced and I contested. But finally, I drowned.

Who We Love To Hate – Interactive Poetry

Viera Reign ( gave me the words fear, love, like, and irony for my interactive poetry.

A lot of people claim to hate a person or group because of something they are or believe in, but what does that hatred stem from? Many times, it’s not the hatred of the person, but of their bravery for standing up for something that the other person is too afraid to accept about themselves.

Sometimes the iron
in the irony hits hard.
It’s no longer funny-
you’ve gone too far.

You take someone
you have never met
and laugh them away
like they don’t matter a bit.

You say that they’re weird,
stupid, and dumb
but you don’t know
where they’re coming from.

This indifference felt
by the people who judge
aren’t really that much different
there’s a reason for that grudge.

Sometimes the people
we love to hate
mirror our fears
of our own fate.



What is bravery?
Can any of us truly define
this word-
so vague,
so diverse,
so different in everyone’s mind.

Whether it’s fighting a battle
that’s so often lost
or finally being yourself
no matter the cost.

To each-
their own
we may live together
but we’re ourselves alone.

No one is to say
what is brave to another.
Because for you it may be easy,
but for them, the road is much rougher.

Bravery is doing something-
anything at all
that causes you to rise up
after you fall.