Painted Minds

Painting the walls of my mind like an inspired child. Fingers too small to hold the colors of the world.
The melodies of morning draw curtains on the road. And in this music box a carousel of animals transforms into an ecstasy of blur. And nothing is clearer or more beautiful than the loss of form.
As the sun cascades through eyelashes and let’s innocence push past the stones,
Love floods like a river of freckles on a baby’s nose.
Like the crooked marks that bring life to a page.
Like the walls that become the dreams of our youth.
Like the trees that plant kisses on a soul.
Like the skin that carries the lives of our bones.

And in these moments the heart speaks, fingers grow bigger and crayons give into the gravity of the world. And trying to understand becomes absolute as feeling transforms into a word.
Here we are as lonely souls, hearts outstretched for a hand to hold.
Here I am a child painting on my wall until my voice is earned.
And nothing is clearer or more beautiful than the loss of form. And the ways in which with hopeful eyes we can be anything or anyone.




My eyes could only focus on the curtained view of an elsewhere place as I stared out of your window that day.
Knowing what was beyond the broken, you stitched together the freckles of my back as it breathed with heavy, tear stained songs. Remnants of my youth that trickled beside an ink-ladened parade of scars danced in the day.
And I watched you in parts, as the whole of me diluted in the poison that I made.
The smoke as it evaporated from your teeth.
The strands of your hair that filled with color as the sun gilded you with light.
The lips that never parted but still smiled with sweetness
I wondered how young you were when you lost your laugh and if I was in another mirror wistfully searching for mine to return.
An innocent but insufferable desire to fall so sweetly into a warm, dark place left us wrapped beneath a veil amidst the fragmented; tenderly and beautifully alone.

Fruit and Bright Colors

The girl with cherries on her shirt
Eats donuts,
Inconspicuously wiping frosting off her pants
Covers her mouth as she laughs
And passes by the mirror before she gets a chance
To wash her hands
The girl with cherries on her shirt
Talks to lonely spirits around her bed
Leaves her skirt, worn and un-hemmed
Sits in the library to eat her food
Smiles at a little girl with braids who peeks over the fence, and asks,
“What’s over there?”
The girl with cherries on her shirt
Tries to feel closer to her bones
Hops into cars with strange boys
Wears bright lipstick to match her clothes
Turns up the music, just the way they’d like
The girl with cherries on her shirt
Doesn’t talk when she’s asked
Finds love doesn’t choose easily
Hides behind objects of glass
Let’s the past sleep behind her eyes,
Where it can always be seen
The girl with cherries on her shirt
Sees in black and white
Only wears monochrome to match her eyes
Adds a bit of salt to her showers
Looks at her mother and asks,
“What’s over there?”

A Picture Says……

I love photography. I have decided to unearth this passion of mine recently as an attempt to not only delve back into what makes me happy, but to also understand the importance of a single moment. The Orlando shootings have hit this country so hard, and much of what is left of those who were killed are their smiling faces in their last photos. Time is so precious, but what a photograph can capture, is a moment that may last forever. I pray for and send love to the families and survivors that were affected by this tragic event. To donate to the victims and their families, click the link below:

Here are some photos I have taken over the years that have touched my life.

IMG_0308IMG_0401IMG_2366IMG_2389IMG_2390IMG_2399IMG_2448IMG_2451Screen Shot 2016-06-16 at 11.11.46 AMIMG_2852IMG_2853IMG_2907IMG_3157IMG_3159IMG_3260IMG_2378IMG_2381IMG_0317Screen Shot 2016-06-16 at 11.06.28 AM