Writing
-
Chaotic Calm
I come here, and my emotions are calm against the rhythmic chaos of the sea, the waves in my mind are no match for the waves of the ocean. I breathe, and the beach washes over me, inside me, through me, all my senses on max,, somehow, it feels right. have you tried turning it… Continue reading
-
This is Different
I am no stranger to the dark and the sad, to the depths of painful expression Most of my life it was all that I knew, but for windows of respite, pockets of light It isn’t unfamiliar. It is unwelcome. Continue reading
-
on indecision:
Not knowing where to begin because of not knowing where I am headed.A vague idea of getting out,finding the exit,winning the game.But what does that mean? Not knowing what I want because I only know what I don’t want.A debilitating sense of confusion.This way or that way?End or beginning?Pulled in all directions; stuck fast where Continue reading
-
(crushed) Alive
Stuck. What do you do when the walls of motivation are closing in tight, crushing, not stopping, and you are on the wrong side of them. You’re not sad. You’re stuck. You’re not depressed, you just can’t move. And the inability to move feeds into everything you are trying to run away from. The walls Continue reading
-
Waking up
Waking up in Ubud, Bali is not the same as waking up in Brooklyn, New York.It’s 6 a.m. and the sun is rising, peeking out in shining rays behind the coconut palms.I throw open my curtains, letting it all in, the contrast is startling, each day anew.The tiny colorful singing birds, orange and yellow and Continue reading
-
Yet Space Can Not Contain
I remember this poem as the one that made me believe I needed to be high in order to write anything worth writing. I remember writing this poem, sitting on a green plastic chair in my bedroom at my parent’s house in Brooklyn, NY. I remember reading this poem, out loud, during workshop the next… Continue reading
-
Just Start
I wrote my first poem as a first grader. It was terrible. Everybody loved it. I loved it too. Finally, a thing I was good at. My first poems were full of happy little rhymes, carefully constructed sentences, and complete nonsense. I wrote what I thought a poem was supposed to be. Continue reading
I can I know 