Please don’t take my mind away

Like you did once before

Please don’t put it back on the scale

And mark down the score

Please don’t take my soul away

Because I need that too

Please give me guidance otherwise

Because I don’t know what to do

I hear about the kids like me

Lined up and ready to test

I hear about kids like me

Breaking their hearts for bests

Please don’t take their minds away

Because you took half of mine

Standard education precedes memory

Yet has also put me behind

So when I hear about the latest test

And I feel the tears begin to start

Know that you are taking a child’s soul

And hurting a piece of my heart

Please don’t take their souls away

Because that life is such a beautiful thing

Please don’t make us go through this again

But I’ll see you in the spring


I dislike current public education. It started out as a wonderful theory, much like communism, capitalism, movies based off SNL skits, and Chuck E. Cheese, but like everything mentioned above, it eventually warped. I recently went to a meeting where we spoke about standardized tests and their institution. I felt like I was in fourth grade again, trying desperately to get a good score because I believe the SBAC meant everything to my future. Now, there are kids experiencing the same emotions, the same memories. Please don’t take their minds away, and even if you do, never quantify that life.


Imagine It

I can see it

I can imagine it, at least

I can imagine walking up to you and telling you the truth

I can imagine saying I’ve noticed you for three years

I’m too scared to say the word “like”

I’m even more terrified of the word “love”

I can feel my stomach knot just writing this

Just thinking about it

I can imagine trying to start with a smile

Then remembering that if you say no

If you walk away

There will be nothing to smile about after that point

I can imagine stuttering over my words

Trying to conjure a reason for talking to you

When there’s nothing I’ve wanted to do but that

I try to tell you a joke

But the delivery comes out a little wrong

And it turns out you don’t like jokes anyway

And we sit in silence before I finally just blurt out what I’m thinking

“I’ve liked you for three years

And there’s been a lot of searching in between that

And part of that searching is finding out that I’m not the person you thought I was

And I know that this means nothing to you

Because you don’t want to know anyway

But here I am”

It’s a lame finish

And you walk away

And I just stand there

Wondering what went wrong.

Was it the joke?

The delivery of my messages always comes out a little wrong

Sometimes I don’t think I deserve love

And my brain reminds me exactly of what rejection looks like

And I am so terrified of that rejection

And so I picture you walking away

And I picture watching my tears fall

I can feel my tears fall just writing this

Wondering what went wrong

And how I went wrong

And the worst part is that sometimes my brain allows you to stay

And you just look at me and smile

And I smile back

And I know this is such a hopeless fantasy

But I can’t help imagining it

I can see it.

And that terrifies me.


I meant to post this sooner but I couldn’t think of a fitting afterword. I still can’t think of one. Perhaps, just a thought then; I wholeheartedly believe that people do not feel their full range of emotion until they want something. Or in this case, someone.


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 and 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.



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.