A northern transplant

In a southern world

A girl

With a punk rock soul

An artist’s heart

And a traveler’s mind

A small college town girl

With a passion for the city

‘Cause it wakes me up inside


I was in downtown Nashville

Thinking the blues

Seeing in jazz

The change in scenery

Is getting pretty tiring


Ice cream on my tongue

I should be perfectly content

Than why do I feel

This rush of brokenness?

Dying Truth




A tarot reader in New Orleans once said to me:

“He will come.”


And I hold onto that dying truth

Like the last shards of a broken version of myself

When I cry myself to sleep.


I am sure I have put myself back together again

But there seems to have been a missing piece

Although I have searched

Through fog and dust and tears and blood

I can’t find it

I just keep looking

And I’ll keep waiting,

Until he shows up

On my doorstep

With ice cream and coloring books.



I used to color in the psych wards

Even though it was against the rules

They let me fingerpaint

That one time when I had escaped my reality


Even though images of my death


I felt somehow more at peace than ever

When I gave the best of my pictures

To the young girl who was going to Bryce–

At least I was somehow useful

though it was so sad:

“I have no one to take care of me.”


I realized that’s all I ever wanted


But can he find me?

Does he feel as hopeless

As I feel every now and then?


At least I’m free

Cause when I was in Gen Pop that time

A girl said:

“She’s a richy-rich girl, but she ‘aight.”

Which has basically been everyone’s assessment

Of me always….

Although, as Mr. Nice Nasty pointed out:

“That’s the best compliment you could get in jail.”



At least now

I can say I have lived


most people just do what they’re suppose to


I’ve let go of the life

I’m  “suppose” to have


never really setting out to get married,

I suppose I can’t complain I am still single


But I do feel a twinge of regret,

Like, well, what now?

Even though he fell off that train

He probably has more peace

Than I.


Although it’s not a bad life,

It’s just that I get lonely sometimes

Waiting for the man

That tarot reader spoke of.



Note: The tarot reading was indeed accurate—I was married 10.15.17.




















The two realities fade,

blur together, shimmer,

until reality is less palpable

you can see

between the lines

underneath thoughts

throughout time.

you can see out

but no one can see in

so why don’t you

take a look inside

my skin

lets take a ride

to 1989

and dance at my funeral

spark he’ll let me drive his LeBaron

as usual i’ll

get a speeding ticket

on the other side

have to slow it down

take it one reality at a time.

Beautiful Screams

The wind is getting fierce

The sky is going dark

I’m standing outside in the rain

you can see inside me

Only because I let you.

Listening to music

As the ambient bass

Vibrates through me

To my soul

I wake up

Im no longer playing pretend;

Authenticity seemed so simple

In actuality, it can be

Like driving down a curvy road

In the snow, in the dark

With only the stars to guide you.

At least im no longer

Hanging upside down

For a dollar

its just not who I am


I’ve opened

The crisp pages

Of a new book

The smell is so intoxicating

But so is the smell of leather

Although I don’t know that’s my path either.

a masochistic princess

turning primal,

She’s a squirrel

Who desperately wants

To be a wolf

But she lacks the bite,

the growl

Instead she purrs and giggles

wanting to please

towards the end

Her beautiful screams

Are echoing in the darkness.images.jpg



The sound of a door closing, the buzz of an alarm, the ambient waves of a piano

I recoil

Sharp, jagged moods:

pop another pill

sink deep into

Emotional Novocain.

Down the rabbit hole

Clouds of Hazy memory

Float past

Turned down the volume of my mind

The happy demon in my head says

“You are going to die”

climbing up to the 13th floor

twisting in the air

I want to feel the ground beneath my feet again

All these things are true

And contradictory too

I am sideways in the world.

A Different Flavor of Madness

schiz-y woman

bite down

take another hit

cause it always returns,

haunting. . . .


It’s just a different flavor of madness


the telephone doesn’t stop ringing

when I pick it up

no one’s there

feels like

God just gave me the finger


dementia came on over

she said “let’s go take a ride

to the ends of the earth”


It’s a different flavor of madness


take a look inside

sanity is just a perspective


hanging upside down

is only good for a sick tummy

but it doesn’t cure me

any more then he could.


so take a good look inside

before i carve it up

that child was a serial killer

her favorite victim was herself


It’s just a different flavor of madness

so take a good look inside

 maybe I’ll find a different reality

where the madness means freedom.