there are times

when even an angel’s wings

droop with the weight

of flight.


you have been through

so much—

waded into and through

the turbulent sea

with your eyes forward

and your mouth set

waiting for the release—


and you have always


a hand to guide you.


in these moments

I am honored

to be your beacon;

grasping your fingertips

as they peek from

below the depths

of that murky darkness

and pulling you

into the light-filled air.



f. scott fitzgerald


each first page

of gatsby


“once again, to zelda”

as if

inside each one-pound

bundle of paper

was a hidden scrap

of his troubled heart

that he wanted her

to put



i hope that

when i lie these meager

little words

at your feet,

you’ll find

pieces of yourself

you were blind to


my soulful-eyed,




second date

near-summer rain

trails down my neck

in streams

as you open your arms

and squeeze me tight.


in this moment,

when my toes strain

to lengthen my body

just so i can receive

your embrace,

our hearts

(newly emptied

from the slipping

of tongues

and sharing

of souls)

are beating in perfect


and for once,

i’m part of something

that feels


and right.

five things you should be told every day


when you look at yourself in the mirror,

you shouldn’t  see anything

that doesn’t fall between


and a blessing.


when you find yourself

rubbing your fingers together

in search of your own worth,

remember that your voice

has built fortresses

from demons.

(thank you.)


when your mind

whispers that

you should feel lucky

that you’re okay

or that you could have had it


hear my voice

when it says that

sadness carves shapes

into all of our backs.

each scar is


and tells its own


do not think that mine

bleed any more than yours

just because a man

held the knife.


when you can’t bring yourself

onto your feet

or out of sleep, know

that there are days

when we must bury ourselves

in our own lungs;

when all we can do

is listen to the whirlings

of our hearts beating.

(it is okay just to breathe

for 24 hours)


when you find it hard

to feel the warmth

of my soul reaching

for yours,

understand that

before this all fell into place,

i knew that

i could put my worried heart

into my hands

and show it to you—

but i never thought

that you’d gently slip it

into your palms

and make it beat again.


My poem “home”, also known as 4/17/2013. I added a verse to it (as per instruction by one of my teachers). It’s not quite a slam poem, but I really loved reading the poem and I hope you guys enjoy it!


the sound of clocks ticking

reminds me of hollow bones

clicking together–

the echoes of a final


a predetermined end

in seconds, minutes, hours.


i don’t believe that

the burning of hills

as the sun sets

should make our hands


“until tomorrow”

is in a language

i don’t want to understand


because i want today

to stretch across these landscapes

like a never-ending storm


because our happiness

should not be limited

by a schedule

by 60 ticks

by 12 cuckoo’s chimes

or by anything else man has made

to bind us.



i like this.

i like the way

your voice dips

into a velvety murmur

as you lean toward me,

like the books shouldn’t even

hear us;

i like the jokes

you tell me

like i’m in the front row

of your act and you

want me to get it;

i like the twinge of my

stomach as i try

not to laugh too hard

among the sweepings

of pages and the clickings

of computer mice


i like how you tell me

that you’re glad i came

smirking as you rush

to grab the door

before i do,

walking alongside me

like some boy’s loyal

hunting dog


(i like this

i like this

i like you)