The distance between two points

increases over time—like a map

being stretched little by little every

day. Force it too far and it snaps like

an old, overused rubber band. Instead

give it a rest and fold it in half a few

times. Though now, the map is distorted

and can no longer navigate from point

A to point B efficiently. Instead, the

journey entails trekking over folds

and bends and dead-ends until you

reach your destination with much

frustration. While the long expedition

leaves you with bumps and bruises

you are also left with a good story and

a map filled with memories within every

fold and bend and dead end.




My time with you is limited—all I hear is the

metronome of our descending clock

reverberating through my mind.


I want to take a piece of you with me when I go—


Tuck your laughter under my arm like a book of

poetry so I can read it whenever I please—


Then stuff your arms in my pockets so I can feel

your warm embrace whenever I’m feeling down.


But I can’t cut pieces of you like I can slice a piece of pie—


I can have all of you or none of you. But I don’t ever

want to choose none of you.


There was a sparkle in God’s eye when he told the clouds to

drape the sky like a lace covering;


patches of blue show through like skin through the open

stitching of a white lace dress.


The rain wraps around the city like a cold embrace that

envelops everything within,


until the only option is to collapse beneath its authority.

Because soon, the city realizes that


their skyscrapers needed to be brushed with the strokes

of water and their streets needed


to be swept by the broom of the droplets in order for it to

be made anew because sometimes


it doesn’t take the intense scrubbing of a bleach-stained

sponge to cleanse the city of its poison,


all it takes is a little pure rain to adorn the city and rinse

everything within and


God knew that when He told the clouds to drape the sky

like a lace covering.

Birds of a Feather

For the first time in her life, she felt like a sea

shell—something to be picked up, looked at,


maybe admired by some, but soon thrown

back into the sand without a second thought.


She didn’t want that—she didn’t want to be a

silver charm that hangs on a bracelet and bangs


against the countless other charms she’s beside.

No one will notice her stuck in the sand or blending


in on a bracelet for she looks just like everyone

else. She wanted to be a colorful feather on a


bird, one that helps it go from bland to beautiful, so

beautiful that it is impossible to get lost in a sea of


sand or a line of charms, for she is unique and always

comes prepared with a map to lead her back to herself,

Spring Cleaning

The vacuum screams across the floor—but I’ll

Take that over your screams any day—in fact,

I cleaned the floors yesterday. But you’re soaking

Your words with so much deception I’m left

Drowning in them until only my eyes are left

Floating above the lies that seep from your mouth

Like a waterfall. You say to turn that monster

off—well this seems harmless compared to the

fiend standing before me. So with only my eyes,

I push the machine across the floors until the

carpet is as clean as can be.