I believe in love
not a bickering of the broken heart
I believe in love
with the tangled emotions overwhelming me
I believe in love
though there is someone who can see a cynic in me

I’m beautiful
not to the masses
I’m beautiful
to the ones I choose to show this trait in me
I’m beautiful
to those who choose to see this trait in me

I’m a poet
not by writing rhyming verses
I’m a poet
with the numbness, dullness of the poetic verses in me
I’m a poet
by being the person that is me

but she didn't know
I loved everything e v e r y t h i n g

her beautiful eyes,
disposed to look at other people
through the love she owned
to herself

her beautiful neck
and the way she feels all the love
passing from my fingers
to her veins

her beautiful hair
which moves graciously
along the air
she dances with

her beautiful chest
so warm,
you could take a nap
inside her

her beautiful lips
and the way she moved them
every time she was thinking
about her first love

her beautiful knees
and her infinite femur
which held her so long
even when she didn't want to

her beautiful clavicles
and how they stand there
waiting for the breeze
of an incoming morning

her beautiful nose
and how it keeps breathing
every time she fails
to convince herself to

her beautiful hands

oh God

I love her hands so much

and the way she moved them

and the way she touched her face

and the way she brushed her hair

and the way she did her makeup

and the way she listened to my voice

and the way she opens her heart

and the way she claims herself a mermaid

and the way she smiles like a little kitten

and the way she

oh, believe me,

I really really love how she

*tries to love herself

Lips like bloodlines,
Carmilla kisses her mirror
and calls herself dangerous

Naming myself for dead things,
for ruinous things;
fire,
the ash that drank Pompei,
the ivy that made your walls cave,

Was Lady Macbeth sweeping her hair in braids
to nest her crown?
Or Nefertiti painted gold to reclaim God?

I’m asking for the lavender girls
See, we do these things to be holy
to be myths in our skin

Tying feathers to our shoulders
and glitter to our tongues,
thinking
I can be gold if I want to
I can be thorn-tipped ugly

In pink fur, black lace, we kiss the toes
of Courtney Love and Venus in one breath

Cut back
to my blood-laced lips on the mirror
as though saying Narcissus is my idol
my skin placed above heaven
and I wish to love myself so much
I’d choke for it

Often, perfection is a reflection
And you are looking into a mirror
You might need to see clearer
To realize you are staring
At a glaring projection of you
And not someone in front of you.
Now you have something to do.
You get to see if illusion
Causes so much confusion
You don’t know who is who
And who is they and who is you.
Sometimes, it’s not fun to do
Because new doesn’t always mean
Best, or wonderful or fun.

It reminds of the a certain elf
Who fell in love with himself
But he was looking in a mirror.
A lady elf called to him, but
He couldn’t hear her.
He was listening to poetry
Of love and praise of beauty
And felt it was his duty
To listen in total rapture
Not realizing he was captured
By the words he heard.
He felt he had no choice.
But it was his own voice.
He was listening to himself.
Silly elf.

So, if you work in Santa’s home
And look rather like a gnome
You might be excused
When you get accused
Of falling for your reflection.
This is just a suggestion,
But it seems it never misses,
Just remember old Narcissus
And don’t follow this whim.
Don’t be like him and the lake
Loving this reflection so thoroughly
You lose touch with reality
And make a conscious decision
To fall for a warped vision.

Learn to love the flaws,

And just take a look and pause,

For your body is beauty,

Even if only you see.



You may not see it now,

But you must take a bow,

For your body is music,

And you play it acoustic.



Run you hands across your thighs,

And listen to the sighs,

For your body is a work of art,

And you know it by heart.



Take the breaths you need,

For self-hate is just the seed.

Let go of the doubt you feel,

So  you can finally heal.

At first you were shy.
But I kept talking to you because your almond eyes had this way of speaking, without your sweet chocolate strawberry dipped lips from opening.
I wanted to taste those too.
But you didn't want to feed me too much.
No worries though, because slowly you became fruitful
and I tasted berries that I never knew existed.
Yet, at times you wouldn't give me water when I was thirsty
because you were afraid of a drought.
And I promised you that I would never let you run dry.
But lately, it seems like we've both been going on a little diet.
The milk was good but we let it sit there for too long and now it's expired.
One of us threw it out, I'm not sure who.
But I'd be willing to make some almond milk
if you speak with your eye's again.

Hello Love I'm breaking up with you
tired of all the little things you do
and I'm telling you now cause I'm feeling blue.
You might return, but I don't think so
can't believe what you choose to show
not that you say what I already know.
Forget you loved me
time moves on you'll soon see
that some love isn't meant to be.
Goodbye my inner demon so divine
hey Pauline I won't let you shine
I'm taking this broken reflection as my sign.

darling, I know the voices in your head
can go on for hours each day
about just how insufficient you are.
but I'd scream from the top of my lungs
just so you could hear the truth:
you are enough.

you have always been more than enough.

I’m a freckled 5'5'' solider.
I like wrestling with my dogs so that my jeans retain a layer of fur -
even if they were my favorite pair, I will wear the hair with pride.
...but I wear make-up to make up for the way I lose my face
looking in mirrors, measuring my stomach by fingertip lengths,
wondering how the 5th grade girl who’s lungs wanted too much air
would care about the way I carry my chest now:
like a treasure that’s been too long held under the sea
If that girl could see me, she’d write an entry in her Lisa Frank diary
about hope, instead of fear, rejection, fear of rejection and God -
I remember praying God would change me and I’m so glad he didn’t.
I’m glad that I got the chance to do this one on my own.
I have grown into a person, with a weird shaped head and too small feet,
with a spotted heart that finds ways to beat.
For those who call me damaged, including myself (mostly myself) -
like hell.
I’m still as completely as valid as a function as I was
as a small purple infant with light blonde fuzz
I was what I was and I am what I’ll be:
a freckled 5’5’’ ocean tide, shifting into me.

People took pictures of each other
Just to prove that they loved one another
Just to prove that they really existed

People take pictures of themselves
Just to prove that they’re happy with themselves
Just to prove that they’re really existing

So they filter their faults, like their Instagram photos
And they summarize all that is good in a sentence or two
And they practice their smiles as if it is worthwhile
To try to like life just to get a few likes

And the only thing that is left to be real
Are the things that are real and that people feel
They shouldn’t be sharing, thinking it’s scary
To actually share what they feel is too real