Untouched Love

When I think of love, I do not think of lips

I do not think of touching hands

Or brushing knees

Or exploring lands

Just you and me

I think of my best friend’s voice

And how they apologized for its sound

I think of the girl I met at a slumber party

Who buried her feelings deep down

And yes, I still think of the boy

Who walked away with a piece of my heart

And yes, I still mourn its absence

But celebrate that it happened from the start

My love is universal and limitless and vast

Not just limited to kissing or hugging tight

My love is immaterial and light and bound

Only by my skin’s restrictive right

Although, I do regret my passion for others

Because it only comes when I see their tears

I don’t know if I find them beautiful

Or if it’s their sob story I need to hear

But I still hold that my love is great

Stronger than yours, if you will

Because my love requires no contact, no touch, no hold

To send my heart into a piccolo trill

I could be a million miles away

And still give you a part of my soul

I can still place my heart in your mind

Until our relationship turns pure gold

But even that spoils my adoration

Because gold is solid and can be touched

But I still believe that seeing your sad, sad smile

Would bring me such a lovely rush


I’m not sure about the origins of this poem; whether I wrote it as a late-night confession or a bittersweet ballad. I don’t even know if I truly hold to it, but its idea sounds right. Written about a month ago (goodness we’re already almost done with November), I still wonder who I was when I wrote it. In any case, a new poem, a new story, a new message to tell.


The Monologue

I love you.

Maybe you don’t believe this. Maybe this is something you will overlook or fly past or scoff at but I don’t care because I absolutely adore you. Your hair your eyes your smile your laugh is so contagious that even thinking of it makes me smile an yes you it is you who makes me grin! It is you who allows me to get up in the morning. You are the reason I pull back my covers you are the reason I sing! Poorly, but you still make me want to sing and dance and laugh because I love you. I love you so much that I want to thrust my arms out and enveloped the world. I want to take on the world and show everyone I’ve ever met your face so that they too may know true happiness. And yes, I can’t touch you. I can’t touch you because it makes my skin crawl. My own skin makes me crawl sometimes. I cannot rest my head against your shoulder, I cannot hug you tight and whisper all the reasons I love you into your ear, I cannot kiss your face. Hell, I can’t even hold your hand! But that is OK. That is OK because I will show you my love through this infinite, vast, endless sonnet of demote devotion. I will hold out my arms and bask in your warmth and let you know that you are the reason I am happy today. You are the reason I got up today. And today, you are the reason that I feel and I know that I am OK and not touching you is OK and my lack of want for societally shown physical intimacy is OK. And today, I love you.


Written in the wee small hours of the morning, high on lack of sleep and love for a dear friend. This is one of my favorite pieces, neither traditional poem nor short story, but a strange mix of both. I couldn’t think of a fitting title, so I just called it what it was: the monologue. One of my only platonic pieces, but one of my best I think.



I once told everyone that I wanted to be untouchable

That I wanted to reach for the skies

And brush fingers with the stars

But now

Standing in a room where everyone is touching

Brushing shoulders



And lips

I begin to wonder

Was it worth it?

Were the hours of effort

And tears

And toil worth this prestige?

Is it even prestige if I need a paper to prove it?

Is it honor if a number negates my process

Is it dignity if I don’t want it?

Because I know that if I try to brush fingers

I will flex my hands until the feeling of my skin against someone else’s goes away

I will lay wide awake at night and wonder

Why I can’t touch other people

Why I can’t get my body to take that next step

Why skin feels like rubbing a snake the wrong way

Not remembering closeness and intimacy

But I can remember everything I did to get myself here

I can remember shaving my head

And cutting my nails

And scarring my hands

And wearing a frown

And in this room full of people

I still wonder

If untouchable means unapproachable


Or unlovable


I have had several revelations in the past couple of months; one of which being the discovery of touch aversion. In a society where touch is everything in a relationship, this epiphany has brought me to a conflict as well. The poem itself is Part 2 to Untouchable, yet the focus shifts slightly. From ambition to connection. I don’t know what I will do with this discovery yet, but I do hope it’s for the better.


Tap Shoes

Tap shoes are a second skin

One that I know I always fit in

As soon as I get the laces tied

I feel a smile on my face

I’m fine

I stand up

Put my hands up

And start a number

Four, five, six, seven, eight

Do a slide

A riff then wait

Drawback times two

A triplet kick through

And then I feel myself levitate

I’m on the tips of my shoes

With nothing to lose

For a moment, the music slips away

And I can feel the night turn to day

Metal and wood breaking dismay

I hear the click and I flap into a rift

And once the song ends

With a double pullback

Ankles bend

I flip out for a wing

Jump then swing

Into a Maxi ford finish

That would make Astaire proud

I have the technique of Bojangles

And Ginger Roger’s sound

Now I take off my shoes

And ignore the pain in my toes

Life puts back her woes

Because for now, I walk down the street

A song in my feet

Still tapping out the moves in my heart

As my heart drums to the beat


I’ve danced for about a decade now, and I have always favored tap. I’ve done several workshops and classes in different studios and states, all with different teachers and different dance styles, but nothing quite beats metal shoes. This is a tribute to one of the only styles of dance where your steps add to the music, not just visually but audibly as well.



I’m sorry I can’t look at you

Because you remind me of somebody I knew

Whose eyes weren’t blue as the ocean yet held the same depth

And with every breath in that moment I lost a little more life

I’m sorry I can’t meet your stare

Because it reminds me of a time where I started to care

A little too much about people who didn’t care back

And it kept me on a brutal track

And I’m sorry that I know you’re pretty

Because I don’t think it’s truly you I think about

And I know that’s shitty

So please don’t think too much about my gaze

Or the tears you might see

Because all you see is an accumulation of years

Where a snapshot was everything to me


I’ve been haunted by memories recently; well, for the last year I think. Unfortunately, through no fault of their own, someone has brought one of those up merely by existing. I despite it, but at the same time, there’s a strange, wistful part of me that remembers the good. I digress; apologies to the unwilling mirror of my memories.



Sometimes I want to be untouchable

I want the night sky to be my summer home

So I can befriend the stars

And be the best acquaintance they ever had

At the same time, I want to touch the heart of everyone I’ve ever met

I want to place my hand on their chest and heal wounds they never thought they had

I want to write the name of everyone I’ve ever met in a leather-bound book

So that for generations to come, people may still see the names of every person I ever loved

And wanted to love me back

However, if one hand touched the stars and the other touched the earth

My arms would grow too long to handle

Or worse, they would remain their length and never do either

Sometimes I feel like I don’t have the luxury of stagnancy

That my life is a circle with no corners for rest

I want my life to be a triangle

Or a square

Or an octagon

Just to have a moment to sit on the ledge and take a second to appreciate how far I’ve come

I want to stop to see my handprint on the sternum of every adult, child, and teen I have touched

I want to wave to the stars because I know I’ll see them next summer

Yet, for now, my arms won’t lengthen to do either

And my life continues to run

Never waiting for me when I want to rest


I wrote this recently after a brainstorming session with friends, and it’s one of my favorite poems to date. Times of strong emotion allow for strong writing, and I hope that this is not only strong writing but good writing.


Get Up

Warning: profanity

Get up Alice

Get up and wake up

At a reasonable time

Make up that bed

And ugly face

A face that has no place with such a wide mouth

Stop letting stuff just spurt out

Think about what you say

And think about it again

No wonder you don’t have many friends

Do you think that this speech is a cry for help

It’s a cry for attention

Pay attention, Alice

Pay attention to what I say

Pay attention to the way I want this done

Do it exactly how I want it done

Why do you never have fun?

Lighten up, Alice

Take a joke

You do not hold the world on your shoulders

You do not shoulder substantial burden

Learn and know that more people have it worse than you

Stop acting like everything is just so blue

Do it with a smile

And a happy one at that

Then again, every smile you’ve given looks like you just spat

Stop looking so pained

Stop being so drained

And for God’s sake, stop pretending that you’re so busy

Everything you do should be easy

But you can’t do that if you don’t get up

Get up

Get the fuck up

Wake the fuck up

You don’t have time to be lounging about

You were supposed to send three emails out

And I don’t want to see you pout

I set an alarm for six in the morning

That’s not an alarm, it’s a warning

If you don’t wake up now you’ll never wake up

And get up

And make your breakfast

And make yourself workout

And make up yourself

Because you don’t have time to be sad

You don’t have time to say how you feel

You don’t have time to call your feelings real

Because you need to get up


I apologize; this piece is angry and violent and probably one of the best things I’ve written. Heavily inspired by spoken word poet Maia Mayor’s “Perfect”, this poem draws from the element of internalized perfectionism, with a dash of content. I pieced it together in my mind through these last few months, but the entire thing came to fruition quite recently. Perhaps it wasn’t meant to be shared. But if it was, and there are people like me who understand this poem to its core, be glad that you’re not alone.



The rain falls on an outside world

As hues of gray begin to swirl

I find that the soul likes to unfurl

On a windowpane of glass

And as technology hums its song

Telling me to move right along

I find myself feeling wrong

For sitting in this same spot

Maybe it’s a set back

Maybe I’m off track

Funny, because this is as mundane as I can be

This new normal feels normal to me

But I miss the rain

And the cold, icy snow

Just as I’ll miss the colors

And the flowers that start to grow

I wish I could stop time’s sway

And be stuck in just this one day

But right now, I’m in the middle of a fray

And the rain continues to linger


This poem plays a lot with different rhyming schemes and speed. I hope I did the transitions between AAAB and ABAB justice. Time and thoughts are always themes within my poetry, and this one is not unlike the others. I forget where I wrote this, but I can still feel it in my heart. And on rainy days.



I can feel the sand beneath my feet

And I know this must be a dream

For I haven’t felt this way in a long time

And time doesn’t feel so mean

I can hear the ocean and the sound

Of the crying seagulls

I can hear the bristle of the trees

And the absence of technology’s lulls

However, all good dreams must end

And I can feel life pulling me awake

But I’ll never forget the ocean and sky

And when time slowed for my sake


A small, tranquil poem written in a moment of passing time. I think about the ocean a lot, more than I think I should. Maybe one day I’ll find a home, big enough for one, and retire by the water’s edge. However, that might just be a dream.



Sometimes my anger scares me.

It sits like an unwanted joke

And reminds me everyday of what I can do

What I did

How I risked hurting myself over others

And still have the scars from that time

I love living life like a fire but sometimes I worry that the fire will consume me

That I am not enough to hold it at bay

That I am not enough

However, what I fear more than anything is my fire turning into ash

Or water

And being choked by that instead


I apologize for my impromptu hiatus; much has jumbled with my creativity. This poem was written awhile ago, yet I still recall the first line quite often. Emotions should never reign supreme, but sometimes they become too much to handle. That is when we turn to creative outlets, and I hope this poem did that for me. Turned my fire into a candle into a flicker.