Poetry · Writing

success magazine; mothra

i collect memories

store ’em in a binder

under my bed

deep under past the monster

blow the dust away

they start early

half eaten by moths or accidents

birthdays and birthdays

a success photo shoot

that fucking kid billy that i hated

(take that one out real quick)

flip to the back to these empty pages

no dust no moths no sad endings- yet

a place i come often

a sweet reminder that the previous pages

don’t tell the end

moths will get to them just like the beginning

will put it back, with out guardian monster

take our books, pens and camera to the park

and look for butterflies

Poetry · Writing

cake; princess diaries

i see it in your eyes

a hunger for more

every piece has your name on it

if you can see it

you’ll take it

a bloodlust for happiness;

but when your head rest on my chest

the breathe slows to a mild sigh

i see the kid again-

chasing a dream on a t.v screen

trying on string like a queen on the screen

it’s your favorite scene

we watch it on repeat it’s our routine

in the mirror it’s a queen at thirteen.

Poetry · Writing


i believe it’s meant to be

when the rain swept away

the nine on the night of wine

left all on the right wing

so i sink

swept away on the nine

i remember the wine

in boxes- floating

sent away with a sticker in rain

meant to be

swept in the rain


on the night of wine

Poetry · Writing


i have dreams

sometimes there simple

like tacos at that place down the street

on everything, they bomb.

don’t let it be a tuesday

ill transform into the road runner

and meet meet you there.

most of the times

i think about changing the world;

sometimes small,

like opening chick fil la on Sunday,

i’m sure i could start a political campaign off that one

most of the times,

i want to create something that enhances the mind

that makes others want to create

something the next kid can love

and grow up to rinse and repeat.

sometimes; i’m spiderman

but usually i’m me;

writing at a desk

with a half read book

playing digital chess

and a half eaten sandwich

Poetry · Writing

trojan horse

we fall

we rise

we find each other at the bottom

it’s not where we started but we here

here at a fountain;

throwin’ dimes

wishin’ for a miracle:

feedin’ weedin’ threw the muk at the bottom

can i get a dolla fifty?

fifty begging for air


we got here

out of the weeds

through the open doors

into a day

where we could breathe fresh air

where the mornings are filled with jelly toast and cartoons

where the nights are not filled with open prayers and sealed letters

and this is Troy