I am the Ocean Crashing on Your Beach

What a cruel world

My life, my life at the edge of yours

Sorrow paints the sky, there’s sorrow in his eyes


I am the ocean crashing on your beach

let me take you out to sea


grappling with this piece of me

– the one that forgets and wants to flee,

the one that drops the burning memories –

it’s not part of me, has no bearing on reality, it doesn’t exist

if I let go of it


I am the ocean crashing on your beach

let me take you out to sea

take you out to sea







Kiss the crazy outta me

Kiss the crazy outta me

Give me something to believe

I’m not playin’ games, I’m not gonna lie

I’m giving you the me that’s deep inside

Speak the words to make me come to life

it means nothing, it means nothing

You look at me like you can almost reach

it means nothing, it means nothing

everything hiding in the depths of me

I tell myself it means nothing

If I say it enough then it makes it true.

Or maybe it’s the opposite…

If I say it too much, it becomes a lie.

I’m tired of being down down down, but my there’s nothing you can do because my rescue was never on you.

I Can’t Compete

I Can’t Compete


He likes how I want him so much,

but all I know is that his apathy feels like rejection.

If only I had the power to make him stay,

to imprint the feel of his skin on mine, the warmth of his kiss.


I see my reflection, what everyone sees–

I know I can’t compete with the curve of her lips or the way that she moves her hips.

My hair too frizzled, my teeth unstraight,

no dazzling smiles or tinkling laughter punctuate the bounce of my hair.

Others get annoyed with their own flaws but all I am IS flawed.

He likes how I want him so much as if the shape of my desire outweighs all of this.


I am all that I am going to be–

all that I am is contained inside of me.


When our eyes met there was this spark recognition that stirred a soulfire.

I want, need, that connection–

something that rips and bleeds when torn.

I’m not a thing that has to be done,

not a chore or a duty or some choice that’s made–

I’m not a moral higher ground, loving me is not an altruistic contribution to the world.

I’m desperately love-lorn…

He says he likes how I want him so much,

as if the force of my affection is enough.


Escaping Beauty

craft construct conform

do you string your words together or let them fly

and let them form:

unpredictable, wild and free, soaring high?

or is beauty in the selected rejection,

cultivated affected perfection?

is the beauty of the garden not in the flowers thereof?

but all we hear is the manicured battle cry of

I am an individual. I am unique.

Others employ a survival technique

bob and weave, bob and weave…


Is beauty seen from not only the paved path,

but also in the flowers that escape unscathed?



Unafraid of the wanting

Lost between

the mysteries

of yesterday and the promises of tomorrow.

Watching, knowing

where we are going, running

from the things that chase.

Peace flows through

the howling ache,

holds until the trembling weight

proves too much to take.

If no peace can be found, then

give me passion.

Passion to ward away the pain.

Passion to resist the lull of fear.

Passion to fight the pull of the ever-decaying decay.

Passion is more

than the one by your side,

it’s encompassing,

the whole of life,

leaves you unafraid of the wanting.