The Moon and I

It is 2am and I think I have lost my pride.

Somewhere between fighting for the urge to go back to sleep and inner wars keeping me awake, I have reached a state. A state unknowingly to me, unexplainable and foreign. Yet prompting enough to take me outside, at 2am, with the cicadas. 

I would hardly describe myself as a nocturnal animal, yet here I am. A prisoner of my own mind, unable to escape its demands. As I fill this page with words that feel so empty and unpromising, I begin to search for anything. I cannot help but feel an overwhelming sadness as I look above my head, and I see her. The moon sits so beautifully in the sky, yet seems so lonely. She is illuminating, essential, and selfless. But she is taken for granted and forgotten about by most, every single night. I am one of them. Embedded in my routine of slumber, every night, as I forsake her. She just waits. Waits for a time like this, willing to accept a love so past due. The more I stare at her the more I am confronted with myself. And finally, it all begins to come together. We escape the things that remind us of the troubles we are not ready to face. It is scary, to be alone. It has been a constant in my mind for awhile. I, too like the moon, can stand on my own with content, but in the end we all need love. The single idea of never finding it, haunts me.

But here, somewhere between deliriousness and inner battles, it led me to her. So here I am, stripped of pride and wars -loving and in love at now 4 in the morning. A beautiful exchange between two. Just the moon and I.

Sense and Sensibili….

Your heart, seemingly broken yet so desperate to be loved

I can feel you

Your goodbyes disguised as pleas for people to stay

I can hear you

You paint yourself blue yet crave for someone to brush you a different hue

I can see you

You believe you smell of hopelessness but your stench gives off desire

I can smell you

Your tongue tastes bitter in your mouth as you speak of love

But I can taste you


I can truly taste you

I was left open

to bleed out.

Hurt and in pain,

pained and in hurt.

Vulnerable to anything around me,

you made your way in.

You infected me,

and it felt like love.

You had gentle hands

and an even gentler soul.

I couldn’t see the knife you hid.

I began to heal.

My cut began to close,

And everything around me

finally felt okay again.

And the moment I got comfortable

You took the hands that once held me close to your heart,

wrapped them around your knife,

and you killed me.

You killed me.



There I was.

Naked, and bare thought.

In the middle of the ocean.

I had gotten far enough to not see anyone,

Or anything,

But god and his creation.


Head and body against the waves,

I was at peace.

I was in a state of oblivion.

I rested in the water and let it take me,

As it pleased.

My ears heard nothing.

And my eyes slowly closed,

as black became a comfort.

I was where I wanted to be.

In a place where I couldn’t hear love.

I felt so at home,

That I wished for the sea to take me

Into it’s beautiful arms.


And never return me to love again.

The Longest Ride Home

I drove away with the heaviest heart.

My one foot on the gas while my mind begged me not to hit my breaks.

My mind told me to go as fast as I could and never go back.

Get far, far enough where he can’t reach you.

But my heart, my heart wanted me to stop.

My heart screamed for me to take an exit and turn around.

I couldn’t do it.

Too many times I have listened to my heart and where did it get me?

It got me somewhere between needing to get away from him but never wanting to get too far.

I knew that if I reached home I would never return.

That day I made it the longest ride home.


Late Night Note

Us writers, we pick and choose what we want to put out there. Our works mirror our life, our struggles, our pain, our joy, our love. With every page written there is an exposed truth, a vulnerability. It is terrifying, as an artist, really as anyone, to put yourself out there. So many times I think, “Is this too raw? What will people think? If I let people in, they might see me differently, am I ready for that?”. So, I draw back and coward down a little, only exposing what I think to be acceptable without being “emotionally slutty”. My goal for my blog in 2020 is to let go of that. To learn to be okay with being an expressionist, a bold one. I commend those who have surpassed the point of feeling embarrassed or too open, I know it isn’t easy but I also know it comes with time. Those of you who do so, the brave ones, you inspire the rest of us to be brave as well. So, this is just a note to acknowledge you and your open hearts and to tell you to continue. You shake up the world when it’s too still; too stuck in its ways. The world tells us to be cold, closed off, and un-trusting. But your warmth and openness brings something so groundbreaking to the world, truth. Thank you.