Rain,  It’s sad  It is true despair,  People are stones  They broke your mirror into fragments  These shards are fragments of your heart  They cant be fully repaired The gaps can be filled But never the same   A little different  Maybe strange    There are people who will rise But not you  You are agoraphobic, …

Please stop calling me smart. I don’t like it, and it’s not a compliment. Every time those words leave your mouth, I want to peel my skin off, Open up my skull and show you what those words have done to me. The scars on my self-love, The minuscule paperweight I call my self-worth, (The…

Sweet sap fills the air he sees, Through the thick mist and trees, He sees the bear-man, strong and tall, The little tenderfoot drools, He wants it all. But alas, his small feet are weak, He can’t express his love, His spirit is meek, He runs away when the bear-man is near, From shyness and…

It’s nice when I can count the worries on my hand I look at my list (my digits) and I know where I stand Then I can start to check them off one by one, Using a knife I cut my worries from my hand (very fun) I’m left with a beautiful perfect red stump,…

They called her ‘Little Red: Rider of the Hood.’ She was the leader of the Riders, the most fearsome gang in Cantum City. No one really knew what she looked like, but everyone said she wore a red cloak to hide her badly scarred face. No one entered or left the Hood without Little Red…

She smelled like herbs and sunlight. Like failed attempts at gardening and healing salves. She sounded like lullabies and the forest. Like warnings and black bears. She looked like impulsive decisions and brash words. Like soft-spoken, begrudging apologies and life-risking loyalty. She felt like warm hugs and carefully bandaged wounds. Like anger veiled by intense…

A woman of rhyme without reason Was Miss Melanie Bleu She wore their scorn well— The woman who was taboo. He’d left her at the altar With naught but a festering feast; To another who stays gold His heart was only leased. To the tailor she went a-calling She’d dress fit for a queen Her…

She’s different now.  I used to see her in chaos The bustle of people on the street The laugh of a child in the theater The bark of a dog in a winter park The hum of a car outside my window. Now I find her in silence In every frostbitten morning In every sunrise…

Her fingers were cold as frost-bitten glass. They twitched nervously in her lap, which was absurd because she had nothing to be nervous about. The doctor ushered her toward a chair, “Ms. Oswald, you might want to sit down for this.” She arched an eyebrow. “Just spit it out, young man. I don’t need to…