Passive Aggressive

I place periods at the end of 3 word text messages,
to give a sense of cold finality.
I want this piece of punctuation to send
the same sense of animosity
as the blank face he can’t see.

The women in my family
Have mastered passive aggression
Into a fine tipped spear.
But I do not want to hide behind a period.
I want to be fierce.
I want to be feared.



He says that hugging me
Is like waiting for a glass to start breaking.
That my body is fragility in the making.
He says you could open bottles on my hip bones
that these are edges that never used to show.
He says he won’t watch me do this.
But he doesn’t get, it’s not up to me to stop it.


Its been damn near two years since my father left.

Its been damn near two years since my father died.

Its been damn near two years since my father committed suicide.

My fathers choices cause me great sadness.

My fathers choices cause me great confusion.

My fathers choices cause me great hatred.

His suicide effects no one.

His suicide effects everyone.

His suicide effects only me.


Your drunken words
are broken glass
littered on the floor of our house. 
It’s 3 am and I’m on tip toe,
holding my breath
so I can hear the cracks
as you let them out.

It’s easy

The experts say it’s easy.
“Stop thinking.
You think too much about….
well everything.
that’s why you’re so damn unhappy. ”
And I wish it was that easy.
As if I could just stop thinking,
pick up my fork
my phone
my life.
As if I could just be happy.

Just like this..

He pulled my head to his chest.
And with his fingers on my neck,
he said
“It doesn’t have to mean a thing,
if you want to spend the night with me.
We can lay here just like this,
we can stay here just like this.”
I kept my head on his chest.
And with my fingers on his wrist,
I said
“Will you turn the TV down?”
So he turned the TV off,
and he kissed my cheek.
And I kissed his mouth.
And he smiled into me,
and I didn’t push him out.

Piece Keeper

Note* to be revisited and rearranged

I didn’t know depression had a name.
I only recognized it by the shape
It would take
On the days
Mama couldn’t leave her bed.
More accurately
By the parts of my childhood
I was forced to fast forward. 

I was the piece keeper
When mama fell apart.
I’d keep the engines running
When she couldn’t do it herself.
It was up to me
To collect the scraps and sew them back.

We could look at mama’s heart.
And I could name each scar and it’s part
In the destruction
Of too much to cover
In one conversation.
In the destruction
Of a child
To naive to know the difference.