sad · words


Paddling to the top I push
Holding my breath
Anticipating the break through over the muggy waters of addiction
Heart beats
Ripples of my doubts crash into me begging I stay
A phoenix has second chances
Hope Continue reading “Triggers”


Brett Kavanaugh and Bro Culture: Let’s Look in the Mirror

Watching the Wheels

Sept. 28, 2018

Judge Brett Kavanaugh and I are basically the same age. He’s almost a full year younger than me and a lot more bourgeoise. But the summer of 1982, we were probably pretty similar characters. He was hanging out at the country club in Deleware, and I was hanging out in punk rock bars in London. He was drinking a lot of beer at 17 and I was trying to be vegan at 18. But we were both teenage boys surrounded by Rocky images of masculinity and the patriarchal notion that God or the gods put all the world’s women on Earth for us to enjoy.


The difference is that I never tried to rip the clothes off of 15-year-old girls. My warped perception of male entitlement only went as far as envying the shower scene in Porky’s. I was sexually shy that summer, but he seemed…

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Angry · sad · words

In those eyes

Dark and brimming with tumultuous wake

Do you see how they shift fast

Do you see the shadows lurking at the edge of calm

In those eyes

Do you see the loss

Do you see the search for justice

Hidden by the understanding and wisdom of her silence

In those eyes

Do you hear her cries

Do you imagine the fracturing of her spirit as she learned of her son’s murder

Marinated by the strength and courage she exudes still on her two feet

In those eyes

Do you see the rivers that filled until the banks broke

Do you see her resolve bend to near breaking but reshaped every time she regales the tale

Over and over those aged eyes brush past every young face too fast trying to mask her longing

In those eyes

Do you sink into the pool of pain her mind swims in every night

Do you feel the divide bred by prejudice that black is lesser than

Tight and tight the noose goes, lynching the young and breathing in gasps of wailed pleas and dead dreams.

sad · words

Factories of heartbreaks

The clawing chill forces it’s familiarity on me
Lurking in a den where carcases hunt
Behind clamped lips, fears and denials drum like a mantra
The scrape of metal as the slates of beds slide out feel too loud
‘No, not her’

It’s a factory of heartbreaks
Forgotten names and sorrows encased in plastic
They tell no tales of the demise in this vast last cause of abandonment
‘Not her, either’

My clammy skin despite the winters in the room wars with my racing heart
The circle must come full, my panicked mind ventures
The wardens thumping feet forcefully jolt me to the present repeatedly
I wish my quest doesn’t end with a silence in this tomb
‘Lift the plastic higher,’ Continue reading “Factories of heartbreaks”