To the Loneliest of Authors

Beautiful words enchant the brain in every lovely way vocabulary can make.

Sweet melodies play along my tongue as I read aloud to myself in the quietest of midnight hours, the poems you breathe in digital ink.

The one who writes of love so intelligently, inquisitivly, longing in such a high altitude it’s grasping me.

Could I ever be as much as he in making others feel so deeply with the words I echo in my own ink.

How different could he be from me, as we are but two poets in a sea of similar selves, lost in heated heartfelt daydreams of love everlasting.

Even so, I find myself at the end of every sonnet you sing in a state of pause, in a pondering, and think, “Who is this Lonely Author who’s writing captivates me…”


A Lovers Fantasy

Chocolatey brown hair as sweet and rich as the sins my mind plays with you.

Eyes that hold me with strong evergreen take my breath to unknown places my lungs cannot inhale.

How I wished my winter skin could mix the perfect mocha as yours of almond brushed against.

Blue Morpho butterflies dance around inside me, give my feelings such rarity and beauty that only you awaken.

Lost in buttermilk daydreams, so delicately delicious, I trace my lips with fingertips with hopes that your own will find me.

I feel utterly defeated as I wonder these winding blue valentine halls of a yurning lovers fantasy.

If I reach out in longing will my heart lose this race or is it a secret that you want me just the same…


Shadows deepen her footsteps stride as she wonders into her life’s abyss aimlessly, like night time monsters.

Noise echoed around in silent yells like the voices that hunted in her head.

Her mind a graveyard of dead memories past with visions of fleeting familiar ghost of complete strangers she thought she had once knew.

Their porcelain masks cracked with decay, tarnished and discolored with the beautifully crafted lies they fed her, spoonfuls of broken promises that poisoned her very existence.

Her once pure heart that pulsed strong and radiant now withered and weakened as the soul fevered with melancholy with each crippling step.

What beat vibrant and red now blackened and stricken with emotional death.

To break free was her plea that shattered the stars…

I think that I’ve strayed for to long, too far.

Search. People. Click.

Do you ever just keep fighting to move on emotionally? You know that you should and that you have to because it’s unhealthy not to…

Do you ever get so frustrated at yourself because your head isn’t as strong as your heart…even when you’ve practiced getting your mind straight…

What pulls us back… keeps us boomeranging back to where we started… where you were dropped on your ass.

What keeps the dropper moving on forward with their life while I’m stagnant…unmoving, stuck in this sick destructive cycle of “You CAN move on… You WILL move on. Take a step forward. You got this. You’re Ready. It’s at your fingertips! REACH!”

Reach…and fall short to their facebook page. No…wait… that’s too much… check their ex first. That’s the source. Detective mode activated.

What was their name again? Can only remember the first… that’s okay… you know where they are from… tap tap click… there are 20 matches to this name and or near location…

Your finger start tapping and scrolling. No not that one… the next… no..
I need to stop… why aren’t my fingers stopping… why is there a black pit building bubbling in my stomach. No not her… no she isn’t wearing glasses.

In a relationship with… no engaged to… no…. Married to…NO!

Scroll, tap…. it’s her… She looks happy, an indicating wide smile that stretches ear to ear plays on her lips. Her arms are wrapped tightly around a muscular forearm… my eyes reluctantly move upward to his face…. it’s NOT him… I relax.

But a wait creeps into play… then who if there is a who…I need to know if there is a who! tap tap tap… his name magically appears… there is only one him.. Why is my heart racing… why is my breathe short and heavy… I dare click it… his homepage is loading… carefully I search not to accidentally tap an indication that I am here in the land that I swore I’d never roam again.

Him at a concert… him and his friends… him and his guitar…. him and his family. I’m limited to a private page…

I scroll back up to a button that reads “MORE ABOUT…HIM”

I hold my breath… tap it… my fingers shake as the page moves upwards…

Name, birthday, favorites, interests, veiws…. relationship status…it reads a relieving Single…

My stomach settles… I delete my search history…

I settle in bed and tell myself..You can move on… you have to…

The Session

“How does that make you feel?”, He asks. Professionalism intact.

I lay there thinking about the past years. My thumbs twirl around each other. I breathe out heavily, look his direction.

“How long have we been doing this John?”, I question.

“A while now. About four years.”

I hold my hand up in front of my face examining it as though I haven’t millions of times in my twenty-six years.

He continues, “It’s been that long and I still have to pry into you on your feelings.” He pauses, “I don’t understand why you can be open about everything else except how you feel.”

I turn my head studying him as he writes his secrets about me in a note pad. “It’s been months since you took her to see him.”

“What if it’s because I feel nothing.”, I exclaimed.

He sits back,”Care to explain further?”

I nod, “It makes me feel nothing when I’m not present with him. I’m only living my life for her. So I’m too busy to feel anything but motivated. But time stands still that placehe he is kept….and then I feel something like sadness and resentment mixing together. A hurricane that is based on hurt…but not just for me… but for her and his mother and all the ones he has left behind. Even him. He’s left homself behind as well you know. Other than those emotionally woken hours do I feel nothing…and see nothing but her. I breathe for that little girl.”

I stop my features are hard but also soft with her thought.

His face is deep in his notebook, his hand scribbling.

Without looking up he asks, “And what are you planning to do Cynthia?”

“Oh… anything and everything doctor, that I have to do to asure her future and give her the life that I never had.”

A Conversation Between Two

Michelle, “God only gives you what you can handle.”

I look at her puzzled.

“Yeah… I’ll tell that to all the people who committed suicide because God gave them what he thought they could handle.”, I scoffed.

Everything fell silent.

I breath in slow and deep, “Sometimes I feel like God doesn’t really care….”

Michelle glances her eyes hesitant.

I continued, “Because he just throws shit at you to see if you will survive it or not…. like I’ll just be one less person he’ll have to look after.”

I clinch my fist tightly.

” Weren’t we suppose to be his beautiful masterpiece… but then again we’ve only twisted ourselves into something ugly and not worth anything and so he must be disgusted with us by now.”

She reaches consolingly for me but pauses, a sad look apon her face.

I look up with sorrow, “If God and Lucifer were really in a game of Good versus Evil… Who do you think we are giving this world to?”

“It’s all about free choice.”, She grips her coffee with both hands. They wrapped around the cup like a blanket.

“People usually choose evil because it’s easier. It’s difficult to be good and do right. And it’s easy just to do whatever the hell you want.”

She takes a careful sip.

I sit there trying to remember the good and bad that I’ve done. Does my good out weight my sins? Are my sins small enough to be annulled by God? Is my soul to tainted with the blackness of my sins to be forgiven?

Swirling the spoon around I bite my bottom lip, “I mean…. most of the time I look around and just see and hear nothing but bad or evil deeds being done… and I honestly don’t believe that our souls are worth fighting for anymore.”

My thoughts form a picture of a little girl. She has grey eyes and sun kissed skin. Her smile is accompanied with dimples inbeded in her small round cheeks.

“But I look at Elly and I know she’s still worth saving. I mean that’s why we poured holy water over her right?… to help save her.”

A sigh escapes, “I don’t want to be the start of a bad path that corrupts her soul.

Michelles gaze is soft with the mention of her granddaughter.

“I’m worried about fucking that up the most you know.”, I stopped.

“It’s my job to help shape her veiws and values right now and I hope that when she is older she stays on a good path that I hopefully have helped set.”

A tear escapes falling to the table. The absence of sound making it echo as it hits.

“But what if it’s too late? Did our past generations ruin it for all of us? Did I help ruin us? We can only be forgiven so many times. Have we maxed out our forgivable sins?”

The room falls into a cold contemplating silence as we both looked down at our cups.

A Silent Sorry (not a poem.)

I’m really sick to my stomach that everything got ruin… that a once in a life time chance was taken away from you… That all of me and Kats hardwork in planning was for nothing…. that you’re let down…. I’m let down with you mum…

This was suppose to be your special moment… This was suppose to be our “thank you” for everything you’ve ever done for us…. and will do for us in the future…

This was our “sorry” because words were never enough when we lost our father this feburary but you lost your soulmate.

Love you.