My Portfolio

Poetry

Firm Believer

 

Should we love

like yarn

and unravel?

 

Trace the nape of your neck

or write you

into morning prayer.

 

Chasing each other,

cat and its laser,

all victims of believing.

 

Hands shake

holding running water.

I squeeze and you slip through the cracks.

 

Firm believers

That everything can be made into a knot.

Instead, we keep unraveling.

We Die Still Breathing

 

I console my friend

about a loved one passing,

but does that seem fair?

 

I am not parched yet.

Grief is a detonator-

Soon is beckoning

 

My first loss was shown

to me by tears from my dad.

He knows what loss is.

 

Must someone have died

for me to grieve their absence?

I think death to be

 

a contingency.

I will miss you while you’re here.     

So, I don’t have to

 

grieve your empty chair

when you leave me, and I will

not cry like my dad.

My Poetry Collection

"The reason none of the scars on V’s body ever healed is because all she does is pick at the scabs. There is no part of her that can resist picking and prodding away at the skin until it was worse than how it started, blood streaking down making a mess of the small scab that existed beforehand. This is why six months later V returned to her old apartment. She would call this leave getting clean of her surroundings, but an addict is prone to relapse."

Short Stories Collection