kismet: a writer never quits

When the sun wakes up, shadows don’t fade
they’re lurking in corners, seeped deep into pavement cracks.
When your shoe snags you trip you see your own shadow:
your choice not to see where you were headed.

Patterns cannot be broken without an epiphany aspired by the mundane repetition translating into a perpetuating cycle that can heave anxiety into the humblest.

Under the surging wet white thicket, I was blind in the darkness left by the power outage. Deadlines not met, roads divided by electric lines, distanced from love, the ember of my inadequacy sparked once more. Old fashioned I returned to pen to paper, relearning my qualms are my birthmarks.

Chronicled: why is my cat throwing up is she dying/ I can’t lose power not me I have lesson plans to make/ I just moved out now I have to move back in with my parents?!/ great curfew again am I too old to be sneaking out/ how can I grow up if they can’t even trust me/ please never leave me cat I love you/ need to meet all deadlines!/ hold me my love.

compact cotton candy into a pebble
the appeal to savor fluff dried up to
reach sugar high capacity is a dare dismissed

ten commands given, none followed
my chest cavity ached, hollow and cracking inwardly
the torch of joy crisped when I stopped
looking at myself in the mirror

So I wrote my way home.


are you a poet? decipher this

the skirt of a creative mind
snags on the clasp of a hook
to close, zips up the teeth of
colors with figurative language
too explicit it’s a neckline plunging
no, a modest A line tempts intellects
only some can pull off
wearing a dress

you’re the same if you walk away

daughter of the waves
she collects shells, broken
whole, the sand jealous scratches
but she claps back the dirt
drags the debris down depths
of no discernment, graveyard of baubles

daughter of the waves
buoy admiration, she bobs up
wherever the foam takes her
under the pull of light
her temperamental full display
none can touch her
without the fear of drowning

The No Break-Up Clause

Nope, we’re not breaking up. Nope, you don’t know what you want. Oh senioritis got you wondering? You want the college experience? Here it is: people live by themselves, people go to class, they get food with friends and hang out at parties or game or watch movies together. It’s freeing, yes, because you can do it when you want to do it.
But me? You can only choose me now.
Not tomorrow because I’m not going to waste my time not being appreciated. I am not some girl to taste in an array of cuisine. No I’m the full meal: my coquettish giggle the appetizer, my intellectual conversation about passions the three-course meal and if you’re lucky – and only then – the depths of my heart for dessert.
So you’ll choose me today because I am the best damn woman you have in your life.
We’re not breaking up.

That’s what I wish I said. Instead I begged for another chance like a dirty dishtowel desperate to clean the last crummy plate. I never wanted to stop, didn’t want to start over, too afraid to never find a flame again.

now i see clearly

when I saw her castle I was jealous
fancy tools to perfect towers and windows
I could not reach her dig depth for wet sand
adamant I collected underwater grains
soaked I set a foundation on a dry hill
decorated with protection layers of shells
in a dampening mood, the tides surged forward
her rotundas fell inward swimming in their
self-created moat while mine withstood
but pride was unsatisfactory when her
company danced on the mounds of prime
beach architecture gaily and I was left with
mermaid toenails

the winning rule

sixty four squares of alternating
light and dark, your journey will
not cross all of them, stand
your ground, obstacles will find you
be swift, but the number of the
fallen will pale if there is no
strategy to make the kingdom
yours, grit is not measured by
outliving but rather
persistent patience in evaluation
deliberation and action