If you elect to judge me by my breasts-
 I will cover them. 

If you harass me because I have legs- 
I will screen them. 

But know this.
Just because you have touched me-
Does not mean you have won me. 

I may be covered.
But my heart I do wear bare.
Undeterred by your terror-
I still wave my long hair 

Why do you think you may disrespect me?
Do you know not about your Genesis?
How God made all us fair?

Why do you think I am more Christian 
If I were to donate all my lace?

Donate all your leather 
Man, stop getting in my space!

You may think I’m easy 
To use and cast aside. 
Because just like a child, 
I still wear glitter on my eyes. 

You treat me ever different 
When a skirt or dress I wear. 

It matters not to me. 
That your obsessed with chastity. 
but unclean at the core. 
I know my heart’s identity 
is not determined by 
the dress I leave when I walk out this door!  

Version 2 
 If You Elect To Judge These Breasts
 We Will Cover Them. 
 If You Harass These Legs- 
 We May Screen Them. 
 Covered Skin And Also Covered Hearts
 Undeterred By Your Terror
 Bare Not Our Waving Hair 
 Leather, Lace Lack Chastity? 
 Know This.
 You May Think We’re Easy:
 To Use And Cast Aside. 
 Because Just Like A Child. 
 Girls Are Easy Easy 
 We May Wear Glitter On Our Eyes. 
 Differential Treatment Based On Her Length Of Skirt 
 It Matters Not To Us. 
 That Your Obsessed With Chastity. 
 But Unclean At The Core. 
 We Know Our Hearts’ Identities
 Is Not Determined By 
 The Dress We Leave In When We Walk Out This Door.  


Engaged! Encaged! i am becoming engaged!
my body and heart 
Are my Husbands, 
i’m His!

i am His!
For Him, only i’ll bear. 
The weight of His fears 
His body 
His heir
i am His. 

i am resigned to His company, His time 
i have vowed to Him, my soul eternal 
But what of my God? 
my first Love? 
Till time and time again 
Death does not part.

Engaged, encaged, 
i'm His 
but He  . . . 
is not mine 
Where is my say? 

Education Does Not Matter

those in power say
but we still hear your voice
at the end of the light of day.

Education Does Not Matter
 Let Your Talents Go To Waste
 We’ll Fill Up The White Space
 With Others—
 We Think More Great!

 Education Does Not Matter
 When You Can’t Speak Your Mind
 Nor Profess Your Truths In Your Ancestral Scrib'd Rhyme
Education Does Not Matter . .
 In A World That Only Looks
 At Those Who Speak Their Grammar Good.
 It's Here We Mitigate Our Impact 
 With Theory Intent On Someday Doing, 

Education Does Matter
It’s where we speak our mind
It’s where we learn
to put our humanity into this scrib'd rhyme

Education is how we have a voice. . . 
In a world that only looks
At those who speak the grammar good.
It's here we develop the gifts given to us for good 

Everyone has a piece of the truth
A teacher said to me
But it’s how we speak it
Then that gives credit
So people might believe.

But I don't need a fancy title

Right here.
I am of service


I am full of song

Right here.
I can make a difference
For those who are not strong.

This is my Truthful Protest

This Is My Truthful Protest
I Will Not Live A Life Undone
I Will Not Live My Life Un lived
I Will not Live It by their Rules
The Price Is Too Much High To Pay

I Will Not Live A Life Undone
I Will Not With Work
Put Knife And Gun
To My Weary Soul

I Shall Sit Within The Silence
I Shall Still See The Rain
I Shall Smell The Roses
Incense, Oil, Rain

I Refuse To Play The Winners Game
No I Will Not Work For You
The Price Is Quite To Much
 A Life Without Love and Artistry 
That is not a life for me

Dear Singular Person

Dear singular person
This is for us
A song for the hurting
For those who don't trust

Dear singular person
These poems are for you
Dear singular person
I think often of you

Dear similar person this is for you!
Do you know that we love you?
So, much
Yes we do!

Dear singular person,
I promised to help!
I promised to God
To leave something cleaner
To help you get through!
Dear singular person I pray often for you

For this world is dying
Impregnated with pain. . .
Impermanent and seeking 
 Most often ill gotten gain.

Dear singular person.
Or plentiful two
I hope these poems help you!
I pray this.
Yes, I do!
I sing, and I write and I dance and look to the skies. 
Try it!
It will you 
It will help you get through! 
Dear singular person 
Or plentiful two
I pray these words help you 
To love you 
Yes I do!
Yes I do!

If you ever read this. If you’re ever in pain. I hope these words help you get through any and all pain. For me creative expression is holistic healing. Everything that has brought me joy has always had some form of artistry in it. Love, friendship, prayer, these all have art and magic in them too. I hope that when reading these poems—– I hope everyone who reads these— may gain some inspiration, peace, or joy from them. Sometimes they are a little silly and a little naive! I write like a child sometimes . . I know this. Yet the child is the ultimate rebel. A child is creative and imaginative in a world that no longer values this so ten my poems are sickeningly,sweet,sometimes cutesy just know that is my rebellion in a world that no longer always sees honesty and innocence as essential virtues.

Razor Eyes

Be Careful How You Judge Yourself 
 For With That Razor Eye  
 That Sanguine Glass  
 From Which You See This World Become Clouded,
 By And By.
 Be Kind To Yourself 
 For Those Hands Can Harm 
 More A Hurting World 
 If Lacking Healing In Their Tendons And Their Guise. 
 Be Sweet To Your Soul
 For You Need A Strong Heart 
 To Help Those Without Hope
 Be Good To Yourself 
 So That You Will Have Lighter Hands
 Free-Er To Hold

How you see yourself determines how you interact with your world and the realities around you. When you are chronically self-critical, overly judgmental of your own body image, grades, work, relationships— you project this onto the people around you. If you hate yourself, you must learn to walk and talk with your shadows. Otherwise, you will project unkindness into the corner of the world that you reside in.


God . . . 


I’ve forgiven. So then why aren’t I free?

Are you still resenting?

Yes and?

You're charging penance:
With interest, with dimes. 

You’re charging penance:
For worth 
Already replaced 
For time 
Already vested 
For value 
For which I’ve made my trade.  

You’re charged interest
For the hurt that you've felt.
You’re charging interest 
On crimes that you've dwelt 

Forgiveness is freedom from debt. 
Of which, you do not collect 

But Lord!
How can I ignore stolen years!
Stolen goods!
Stolen worth! 
Stolen parts?
Stolen hearts?

You're charging interest,
And forgiveness is free.
Leave it alone 
This money is no good to me

But God! 

Do not charge interest. 
Ask instead for whom you may pray. 
Tithe your love 
Tithe your time  
Stop trying to charge 
I’ve forgiven all crimes 
Instead say:
Yes, God
Pray an’
Pay me your mind
In the kindness of loving 
In the life that you lead 
If there is a debt-
It is a debt that from you, I’ve freed

If there is a debt  . . .
let it be a debt of you to be loving 
For you to be good 
For you to show sunlight to your neighbors and woods. 

And the Crow Cries

When the leaves began to change to autumnal colors of crimson,
And in the spring when the flowers bloom’d and the grass grew lush and the junipers blue  
When the sun set on the pueblos 
And the haunt of the blushing mountain foretold not her passion
The crow cried. 

In the brush of the wind 
Nothing gave sign-
But a crow in a conifer keen. 

The crow that quietly cried
At the sect of sleep and sleepless not 
Only the sigh of the weight of the tree 
The wind that blew this banging door 
This palpitating heart alone on a porch

Only these signs were given:
The cry of a crow 
And the sigh of a heart 
That sees beyond the realm 
That is not yet extant. 

The crow cried a year 
To a stucco house 
Up in an empty nest
For an empty tree 
At the dawn of day 
At the dusk and break 
At the tide of the moon 
The crow did cray 
And only this sign was given 

Swept away are the troubles of yesterday
Swept away the ‘morrow   
And swept away the people
And only the crow still cries for me 

At the crack of dawn 
At the break of day 

Of all that shall pass 
She, lone,in her wisdom, treacherous cries!
If only they’d listen 
To her desolate whines! 
On crumpled leaves, 
She rests. 
Laden with sorrows and prayers to the ethers 
Incommunicable sighs. 

Forever she cries  
To those whom unbeknownst stroll 
Upon the fickle fleeting lanes 
They decipher not her omen 
They heed not her boding
For know est not her tongue tied cries 
She weeps for those whom go est 
She, yoked with sorrows 
Sees forth them roam 
Their brevid lives 

Oh, thee phantasmal spirit!
Thee haunt of portent! 
Take your tragic decree 
And flee from me!

Thee, heavy hung 
With heavy doom 
And dire song 
And laments true 
Flee from thy barren sterile trees! 
Flee from this fallow ground!
Flee from my mind a go from me 
And take thy news of plagal creed  
Away with thee! 
Wings of raven,
Depart from me!
Bewail not, these lands of fortitude 
Of steel intransigence
Bemoan not concrete passages 
Nor wail within this province!

Flee thee
Herald of Hadees 
Emblem of Thanatos 
Your very voice is venom 
Your very voice a horrid ghost. 

Blight of our humanity 
Cry not 
Cry not 
Your truth to me!
Flee thee lone crow out of these terrestrial bounds 
Tell not your tales of misery!
Tell not your profane plaint! 

Thou, clamor of the underworld 
Spectacle of hate! 
Messenger of necrosis 
Flee ever far from thee 

Cares not for your monodic melodies 
Heed not their folly not their fate 
Sing not your requiem!

Still the crow cries in the autumnal leaves 
While we forget the sight of thee 
And the crow cries for calamity 
Into oblivion 

Despise’d plumes of pestilence 
Cry not 
Cry not to me  

Reek not to me
Your wretched plea
Creature of portent and cacophony
Born on a still blood lunar eve,
The sound, the cackle, the cry of thee! 
Thy curs’d creature 
Harbinger of fatality 
Hail not thy cries nor heed thy static tones 
Din of decimation! 

Flee- from thy tree and summer zephyrs
Leave with the draft of dusk 
Return not nor ever hail respite 
Fly from thy nest of vacancy 
Cast only into vagrancy 

Cry to the firmaments of Elohim 
But cry not to us, humanity.
We shall not bear the sight of thee 
We shall not heed the sighs of thee 
Flee from humanity 
And the crow cries still to me. 


 Thine name est me
I wake and sing with reverie 
Amongst the bees and humming birds
Nightingale, thine call me 
Slumber not within thine lunar veil 
And grow’th eerie ivory-pale 

Absent infantile creature 
They dismiss mine weary voice 
Alone I call to higher order 
Alone I call and silence
Thou sees not this awful wail 

In the quiet crepus’ creeping- 
I gather thornéd twigs and leaves 
To mine nested bode 
And while all are still a’sleeping 
I gather and I wail 

When the dawn comes, still I gather.
The others, dreamy,
stir from their crystal wonder 
I, wake, an’ return and sing my rightful tunes of day 

Restless while they slumber 
I am still awake
Turning twigs, and leaves, and blunders
While they dream off to some flights a once they gazed

Restless whilst they slumber 
I gather and they thunder
their torrential cantor to the glory rays.
I gather now amidst the dawn time  
I gather as the jaded moon look’d on 
And for a moment, falltst to slumber . . .
But then quickly, do I wake. 

For gather, I 
And gather more 
But to my nest, these twigs refuse to stay! 
And thrice I build and thrice it falls 
And I remember not from whence I came
Starry eyed and pondering 
Wing by wing, I fly away 
Gather more and gather I 
But thrice mine leaves do blow astray 
And hence do I remember not where last the remnants of the leaves or twigs I raked  
Scattered lay and collect I not 
The corps’d silk of arboreal bygone May  
Hither I, a moment, in mine triumph of the day 
To solace in the darkness 
Before soon I do make haste 

Gather I, sole nightingale 
Whilst freckled finch, lark, and robin gay do hailst their aerie tours  
Gather I and gather more 
And still to mine nest 
Hold not mine soars of moonshine sowing  
Sow that keep’th me a’lorn 
My soul and wing’d psalms 
Sow plentiful and reap est not 
Do I,  
From dawn to dusk to dawn!

This is a poem I wrote about what it feels like to have severe ADHD. Often the intensity of work that we output does not show forth onto others, and that pain is also invisible to outward eyes as well. Though people may see the beauty that we possess (our creativity, our unique voices, our ethic) they don’t see nor hear the inner ‘wail’ that is incessantly calling us. Despite the nightingale’s ability to fly, the expectations of society keep her grounded. She seems to be almost a creature of the land, an agrarian laborer (e.g. the concept of sewing and reaping juxtaposed against her companions aerial tours). If you also suffer with ADHD, please know that your ethic of work and character do show forth. Our ‘nests’, our production value is not what defines us. Sometimes the beauty of a person is in how they face a struggle. I truly believe that those things that we most struggle with . . .our also the things in which we find our greatest strength. Vices can be virtues. A tragic flaw is also a heroic trait. The difference between a comedy, an epic, or a tragedy is how you perceive and respond to this unique area of yourself. Also, if you’re a faithful . . . or not! . . . know that God takes the weak and makes them strong. If you feel that you can not take another step in your journey forward and that you don’t have the strength to accomplish your calling. He will vitalize you, he will supply you with all that you need to overcome!

Isaiah 40:29-31
29 He gives strength to the weary
and increases the power of the weak.
30 Even youths grow tired and weary,
and young men stumble and fall;
31 but those who hope in the Lord
will renew their strength.
They will soar on wings like eagles;
they will run and not grow weary,
they will walk and not be faint.

Write your own story

I Rode A Train To Union State
On A Warm Midsummer Day
And As I Rode A Friend, I Made
Of Sweet And Kindly Grace

She Was 53 Or More
Had Hiked Around The World And More
Lusting, Listening, Heart Alight
She Spoke Four Hours Of Her Flights!

Her Rhythm Broke
She Stared At Me, Hard, As She Spoke-
What Have You Done Thus Far Young Girl?
You Have But One Life In This World!
Write Your Own Story!
Sing Your Own Songs!
Lest You Forever Hum Along
To Pass The Roses By The Glen
Your Words Mundane And Life Unpenned!

Will I Take Her Words To Heart?
Or By The Steel’d Tracks Depart?

Write Your Own Story
Sing Your Own Songs
Or Forever, Gaily, Hum Along . . .


Look at the love that grew-
Within the cemented crevices of streets untrodden by!
Look at all the lovely things-
That came from ugly tears!

God takes everything
And reforms it
By the passage of the years.
He too will take your suffering. 
Then, look at all the lovely things 
That come from ugly tears 
Look at how He changes things 
Through the passage of these bygone years!

Infernal Instrument

This body is an instrument
Rusty, broken, snapped
An out of tune guitar
Or a tuba without brass
These souls' strings are sound'n silently
Whisper'd breathy nodes
The music is inside me
But somewhere between these toes

Rotted base
And Lead loom'd frets
Wretched riddled rent
Through much use and pressure
Yet, oh, so little breath
Chaotic crashing dissonance
Produce not thy weary tones. 


Forget it all.
Free to crack and bend and break
Breathe on through thine brazen bones
Through thine curdled nose
And through this ache

Let it slide
And let it shake
Sounds, not to be restrained

Let it rumble
Let it rasp
Let it sound 
Be it good or sad. 

Sing on through streams of salty seas
Beat on through broken breasts and obscured memories
Have faith in this, 
thine instrument.
Infernal, not to thy firmament
Only to thee thorn'd eyes
Sound again 
 Mine weary instrument 
Rise up and sing again. 

It’s not about singing

It's not about singing
Or the way that I feel
When the notes kiss the air
And I fly on these heels
It's not about singing
Nor having a voice
It's about them being heard
It’s about them having a choice.

Heard by the silent
By those that we mourn
It's about staying strong
Through the solace of song
It's not about singing
Or wanting to be heard
In a whisper or in a chorus of glorious chords
It's not about singing
It's about wanting to heal
It's about giving a gift
It's about starting to feel
With a sonorous sigh
Singers take the pain and joys of another inside
And for a moment may give those laden heavy

It's not only about singing
It's about a method of thought
It’s about learning to love
Through polyphonic talk
It’s not only singing
It’s not only my heart
It’s how I find meaning
It’s how I do my part
It’s about our community
It's about bringing them joy

It’s the tears that have gathered in my grandmother’s clouded eyes
As her memories fades
When suddenly an old melody plays
Her eyes that ran dewy, awaken
An' now turn alight
As these harmonies flicker
And she remembers a promise
From some hymnal tune
No longer in fear
No longer in gloom
She praises her Father
She leaves the pain with the room
It's the pain of my sister
That has been their with me
When nothing could bring her to peace nor to sleep
But the music she held to her spine
I hold within mine
And I know she is strengthen’d
By the rhythms and poems
I know it will quiet the hell in her bones

It's my way of healing
And healing those around me
It's not about singing
It's about loving and easing
The suffering of another through its sweet symphonious leanings

It isn’t my voice
Only a message I have
That if set to pitch
May pause their world for a stitch
And make hers or his pain less

It's not about singing
Nor these vibrations I feel
When I sing with these souls in this common time sphere

It's not about singing
The chromatic gestures that press
Nor the collisions I feel inside my innermost breast
It’s not about singing, it's about the impact it has

It’s not only singing
It's the light that it brings
It’s poetry put too wings
It’s not only singing
It’s my purpose
It’s me
It’s all about singing
And the kindness it springs.

I sing and it’s not beautiful

I sing and it’s not beautiful.
I sing because of solace
I sing because of space
Because of how it’s sacred
Alters these senses with her grace
Because of the peace she gives me
Because she lends faith and hope and love
I sing
Because it heals me
I sing to my God above

I sing,
And it’s not, yet, beautiful
It's raw and unrefined.
I sing knowing it's not beautiful
Sowing seeds, knowing someday
It will be,

Someday this soul will heal
Someday this voice will tell her loveliness
Someday she shall sound, withheld not by sullen fears

Creative expression!
Joy, voicing her presence!
I believe someday her love will show
She shall soon shine out
I sing knowing it's still not beautiful
But someday she will be!

Version Two (communal/depersonalized)

Sing Unbeautifully!
Dance Ungracefully
Rhyme Arrhythmically
Sing Unbeautifully

Because Of How It Brings Solace, Space And Sanctity
Because It Alters The Senses With Grace
Because Of How It Lends Faith An’ Hope An’ Place

Sing Unbeautifully
Raw And Unrefined.
Sing Knowing It's Not Beautiful
Sing And Sow Your Seeds!
Knowing Someday The Sound May Be Unbounded,
Beautiful And Sweet!