My Writing

I write. It's what I do.

It comes like breathing and most days serves a more important reason.

So I've given my writing a new home-- the dotcom serves a large purpose, it houses all my writing, everything from the layman to the poetry to the novellas.

So this segue is an extension of all of those pieces,

here I will hold hostage the writing that is more than my simple blog post,

more than a breath of thoughts.

Here, I'll write. Here, you read.

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The Things I Didn't Say
Circa January 2011

I didn’t say I loved you. I didn’t say I cared. I didn’t say that my heart of hearts really did wish you were there. I didn’t say I’m sorry, I didn’t tell you it wasn’t fair, instead I watched them take you somewhere when I just couldn’t bear. I didn’t raise my hand, didn’t make a toast, didn’t do much of anything, nothing worth a boast. I didn’t have your back. I didn’t think that you had mine. And all this time, in all these years, I told myself it was fine. I didn’t know your story, I didn’t think it was true, I didn’t realise until just now, all along it was really you. I didn’t take you with me, I didn’t even try, and when I shut the door that night I didn’t think I’d cry. It wasn’t supposed to happen. Things do not ever end this way. This could have been a movie, the story I’m trying to tell, except it’s all these things kept silent that are dragging me straight to hell. I know now what I should have then. I know that it’s come too late. But my mouth inhales and lips are wide but words have run away. I wait for them to find their path, to come back and straight into your ears, instead they’re lost, they’re all alone, they’re the things I didn’t say. The things I kept real deep inside. The things I tried, I had to hide. The things that yelled, and screamed and cried, the things I didn’t say. And here I stray, I stay, I lay, I hear these things again. They whisper words of solace now, the silence sounds okay. The silence grows and lows and grows and chases words away. And there I am, alone again, with the things I did not say. But I will listen, use your words, my ears they are awake. You tell me once, tell me twice, the things that you must say. I will smile, I will nod, I will take these things to grave. And when you beg, when you plead, I think my heart will cave. And it will tell you all the things, the things I did not say. It will tell you stories and dreams of words I tucked away. It will say that it was me. It was never you this time. And when you asked to take me home, I went the other way. It will say that after all these years I do still see your face, both in my dreams and on the streets and on our wedding day. And when the alphabet is all sung out and the words have found their home, I will return to solace then, return to me alone. And in my mind of silent minds and beating hearts astray, I will sit down and hold the hands of the words I could not say.

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This Type Life circa 2009

I want a model type life
A get up, strut your shit, get the big bucks type life

I want a big time author type life
A let’s write about wizards, and witches and none of that real shit type life
A here’s my story, make me a movie type life

I want a Paris, Lindsay and Britney type life
An always in the glory, watch me world as I have my child, kill my child and rot in jail type life

I want a doctor type life
A pick my brains, save your life, here’s my degree type life
A seven hundred fifty thousand, please, tax me Mr. Government type life

I want a President Bush type life
A here’s my excuse, bomb here and there, feel no remorse type life
A let them hate me, they’re still thinking of me type life
A leave me with my power, my money-hungry ego and these backstabbing bitches type life

I want a law abiding citizen type life
A check both ways, signal now, STOP-pedestrians type life

I want a baby type life
A here’s your bottle, let me burp you, put you to bed and wipe your ass type life

I want a computer type life
A copy & paste, make my decisions, accept/decline, clickity click type life

I want a superman type life
A strip into fame, save the world, win the hottie type life

I want a Albert Einstein type life
A equation of equations equating to corrections and possibilities of success type life
A one plus two-plus six-times ten-to the power of infinity-holds all the answers type life

I want a Backstreet type life
A here ya go boys, sing your shit, give me money- create some drug & death drama for publicity’s sake type life

I want an Energizer Bunny type life
A keep going and going and going and going and bang those damn drums type life

I want a Michael Jackson type life
A no matter what you do, you’ll still be an idol type life
A come here kids, let’s agree on a story type life
An I’m a Celebrity, so fuck you and what you think of me, no body can touch me type life

I want a Tupac type life
A death only makes me greater type life
A go ahead, you’ll never figure it out nigga type life
A shoot me, I’ll shoot you, buried together in this cemetery of red and blue type life

I want a poet type life
A say whatever the fuck you want, 99 percent of people who read it will have no idea what you mean type lie
A here’s my brain watch it bleed type life
A the pen is my weapon, my words are my strength type life
An it only needs to make sense to me, screw you grammar & syntax, never mind rhymes and counting syllables type life

I want a poet type life. [check]

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Military Wife circa 2010

            “Because it is everything I’ve ever wanted to be,” are the only words he uttered to convince her. When someone tells you this, when some body is so absolutely certain that they have found their path in life, have finally after all these years marked their destiny that they can grip your face in their hands and tell you that this is all they have ever wanted to be, you withdraw your breaths of complaints and hold in the screams that are begging to escape. It is all he ever wanted to be. And though she could not affirmatively stand next to him and agree, and support him and console him in the way that she knew and truly felt she was supposed to, she pretended to. It is everything he ever wanted to be. A woman cannot tell her best friend of seventeen plus years who graduates from medical school that her schedule will be so impossibly busy and difficult that her chances of finding love and having children and finally living the American dream have incidentally decreased substantially. Nor can a father remind his son who just drove along five thousand meters of runway before finally soaring that gorgeous piece of metal into the sky that he could potentially pull the wrong lever or miss a flashing light in every spot check and ergo kill the hundred people comfortably awaiting their destination. An ex-boyfriend turned talent agent cannot tell the wannabe model that out of six and a half billion people on this planet we all share the same desire for fame and fortune and so, likely, she will be a cocktail waitress in downtown Los Angeles  before finally going back home to Texas. People do not do these things. People do not crush dreams, especially the dreams of the ones you love. And so when Will told Alex that he wanted to join the army after graduation, she smiled. She told him that he would be fantastic and that the experience would be incredible. She told him that when he travelled she couldn’t wait to go with him and that he could become a Lieutenant or a Colonel, and even though she did not know what any of it meant, even though her knowledge of anything ‘army’ went as far as what the movies had shown, she told him that she was proud. This is when his face lit up, the worry disappeared and the thick wrinkle that burrowed in the crease of his eye brows moulded back into his skin. He leaned in, so gently that if her eyes were closed she would barely know he was there. His half smile planted a light kiss on her already red cheek while simultaneously uttering the very words that echo in her dreams, and you can be the military wife. There’s a certain stigma that comes with the title—this particular prefix holds within it a loaded suitcase and several carry-on’s of baggage. The military mother. The military father. The military wife. And the most pitied of all, the most heartbroken— the deepest wounds do dwell within the military widow. It brings forth the same reaction at the sheer utterance of the prefix; the same downward look, the uncomfortable sway, the immediately withdrawn breath that screams aww. The military family, the embodiment of heartache, of longing, of sorrow, of patriotism. This prefix. This simple title, it gives birth to ideas before the animate being comes in to a direct view. A cliché of sorts, and yet, a perfect reality singlehandedly carved for and from this particular life. In the same moment that Will picked his future, career and love at hand, he decided hers.

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The Heroine circa 2009

It’s sliding past twelve ‘eh am’

Eh, am I the only soul still breathing

Souls still breathing in their sleep

Sleeping tight, not letting the bed bugs bite

Biting their tongue,

With dilating pupils and attentive pupils

Listening hardly and hardly listening

As she puts pen to paper and lives to write

About something truly right

Wondering if she’s allowed to scream aloud

So full of awe, so awful it is

Trying to brake before she’ll break
Dreaming for the scent of a cent

Without a clear site in sight

Spending her days in a sheer daze

Waiting for a fax about the facts of life

God, here’s my fare now make this fair

A corrupt heroine on heroin

Waiting for him singing this hymn

Here’s a medal to meddle, no strings attached

Passed the past, here we are

A piece of peace, would ya?

Hear the people’s pleas, please.

A moment of praise each time she prays.

Discovering no solace in being soulless

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Death That Whore circa March 2009
For broken hearts
And broken toes
And broken souls
And tearful woes

For girls, for boys,
For ladies, for men,
For the lovers and their haters,
And the haters and their lovers,
The fuckers and the bastards
The soul crushers
And ego breakers

For families of loss
For daughters been crossed,
For sons sacrificed
And nations waiting a Christ
Raised with rifles nailed to chests
And grenades detonated tests
Bulletproof cars and thick vests
Amid a tearful of protests
A mailbox filled with their requests
Lord God please bring them to their rest

Hear the criminal bullets weeping
And the judge above still sleeping
Death he comes silently creeping
No lives left that are worth keeping

These are the lives of our war
Lived after they shut that final door
Across one too many a shore
A new country to explore
A mission turns into a chore
So listen here,
President, secretary, prime minister, you sir
These men, these women
Are sons and fathers
And mothers and wives
And minds and hearts and lungs

They’re blood pumping
 breath taking
 life living
dance dancing
joy laughing
war fighting
fixtures of freedom,

So send them home or take them home
Cause after one death, two deaths, three deaths, four,
Chastise your friend death,
That fucking whore.

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Hot Shit circa 2007

I wanted to write some hot shit.

Some damn, that’s deep shit.

Some watch the ink just flow shit.

Some rebirth dying artists shit.

Some fertilizer for the brain shit.

So muscles now extend,

A hand so slightly will descend,

Capturing her trusted friend,

With whom she never must pretend,

A time trying to transcend,

As ink and paper blend.

Some knockin’ raven fleeing nevermore shit.
Some nothing gold can stay shit.

Some serendipitous love sonnet shit.

Some bloody hallways and mirrored redrum shit .

With her fingers firmly gripped,

Her mind not tightly lipped,

A heart now completely stripped,

With planned tactics she’s equipped,

A sheet soon promised to be ripped,

Into her creative pool she dipped.

Some metaphoric metaphors about similes shit.

Some stanza setting,

Rule breaking,

Synonym searching,

Amateur rhyming shit.

I wanted to write some I don’t know why shit,

Without which I would die shit

Overdosed on prose, comatose on rhymes shit.

I wanted to write some hot shit,

Instead, I came up with this shit.

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Fallen Soldier circa March 2009

For every fallen soldier

Is a family left in pain

A lover left abandoned

A life left not to gain

For every fallen soldier

Is a country left in tears

A home one body empty

A soul omitted fears

For every fallen soldier

Is a bullet through the sky

A bomb newly exploded

A speech to say goodbye

For every fallen soldier

Is a father less an heir

A mother less a child

A pain none ever need to bear

For every fallen soldier

Is a rifle to be buried

A final eye to shut

A coffin to be carried

For every fallen soldier

Is a country closer to being free

A nation left in debt

To a life that ceased to be

For every fallen soldier

Is another fallen heart

Another fallen body

A soul waiting to depart

For every fallen soldier

Is a country he had served

Comrades he defended

His honour well deserved

For every fallen soldier

Is an angel rising high

With a simple see you later

In God’s home up in the sky