Posted in Being Vulnerable


I use to believe I wasn’t creative

But now I know my mind is my color

My paint brush and paint

It helps me draw a world full of pain and love.

Hopes and hells.

It is my art.

And I’m grateful

For its existence.

Posted in My Poetry

Inspired by the famous rambler

Do you ever dream with poems floating in your head

Like little cigarette butts in the ocean.

Do you ever see them taking shape from the smoke they create

Or is it just a dud potion.

I wonder sometimes what would happen

If I let them take form

Would they be unique

Or just the norm.

But I also think, would it be cruel to trap them

When they look so happy floating there.

Posted in My Poetry

Seduce me

I want your words to surround me.

Entangle me in your mind.

I want to feel each touch from A to Z.

I want to hear you think.

So kiss me with each letter

Love me with each word

Throw me over your shoulder with each sentence

I want to see your power, baby.

For your mind is my play room

And your words are my master.