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Trip(s)

Trip(s)

2002 - Age 16

2002 - Age 16

2002 - Age 16

2002 - Age 16

Ollie and Coda

Ollie and Coda

Simon

Simon

The Tree of Music

"The Art of Mental Wellness"

BLOG

I began to write poetry at the age of 13, to express my inner struggles. I wrote poems about beautiful magical places as well as dark pieces about depression and suicide.

My BLOG is not necessarily a reflection of where I am today. Many of these posts are moments of writing, frozen in time, that helped me cope with my life. They are my stories.

In time, I hope to give them all context and weave them together in a more linear fashion so they make more sense!

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Flight of the Faeries

Jun 12, 2018
2 min

Flight of the Faeries

Written in 2003 - Age 17. The eve the leaves had fallen, the crimson, gold and green, where butterflies were flighty and angels could be seen. A single blood-red leaf swayed towards the earth, and the emerald eye of innocence was given a new birth. The silence pierced the forest, it numbed the owls cry. With lady death upon us the moon could barely shine. Yet through the dust it sparkled the rain would part its fall and the mightiest of mountains would yield fo

Ode to the One Night Stand

Nov 11, 2017
2 min

Ode to the One Night Stand

Sex was a game for me in my early 20's. It was an attempt to regain my power. Mania can cause 'Hyper-sexuality' and mixed with all the booze I was drinking, I had a manic blast (at times) going to bars and choosing one person to prey upon. This is a poem from that period of my life. Please read "The Aftermath (of the One Night Stand)" to follow up.... Ode to the One Night Stand I once again believe that I am a wolf in sheep's clothing, because they look at me like a lamb, So

The Aftermath (of the One Night Stand)

Nov 10, 2017
3 min

The Aftermath (of the One Night Stand)

Originally written in 2008. I feel the need to come out with this writing so as to help others, as well as myself. These unexpressed experiences can fester shame -- or on the contrary, they can help support and heal the trauma when one is ready to dive into that wound and speak out. People with certain mental illnesses often experience "Hyper-sexuality". It can be risky, dangerous, destructive, etc. Hyper-sexuality is fed by the manic highs in bipolar disorder. When the high

Jun 10, 2017
1 min

Granules

We teach children to dream by sculpting castles made of sand. How fitting, teaching children to build with crumbs of rocks - instead of teaching them to quarry out mountains, cut down trees, and mix mortar to create structures that last. We teach them to climb mountains if they want to be tall, and to read novels and text-books to make their minds deep. With unseen paper-cut fingers, and oxygen tanks to reach those high peaks, we never teach them that they will fall. O

Journal Girl

Jul 16, 2014
4 min

Journal Girl

I guess I assume that when they look at their pictures they see their beauty. I never saw my beauty, or well, I did. I saw a beauty, I felt a beauty, that as age set in I came to think was false. It was the kind of beauty that the photographs couldn’t capture and the mirrors didn’t relay well. Sometime ago I started writing a book. I filled its pages with the horrors of teenagehood. I don’t know why when I was in the midst of developing my storyline that I put my lead charact

This is Me

Nov 21, 2009
1 min

This is Me

POEM & PHOTOGRAPH FROM NOVEMBER 2009 (Age 23) _____ This is me when I'm suicidal. This is me with a broken finger because I beat myself over the head with a flashlight in a drunken rage. This is me smiling. This is me hiding the slash marks down my thighs. This is me with a broken heart. This is me with a drinking problem. This is me when I'm suicidal, and I look pretty normal... Don't I? #Bittersweet #Mentalillness #Poetry #Commentary #DrugsAlcohol #Sorrow

Poem for the Pencil Picture

Dec 6, 2008
1 min

Poem for the Pencil Picture

For the love of God, kiss the sea and have the trees grow out of me. The mountains push their boiling peaks, trees budding from their ash. Plate tectonics shift and shake, shaping the crust at last. There are diamonds forming harshly in the pressure of my thoughts. A world deprived of colour, grey reigns with no contrast. My hand is pressed against the page still white and vacant. Its empty spaces ease my mind Empty skies to dream and fly. The mountains rol

Oct 17, 2005
1 min

Undisclosed Recipient

You say are alone as if you don’t realize that you are but a star in the vast network of the sky. There are a billion others gleaming the same light and feelings as you. I know how easy it is to be blinded by the sun into thinking that you are only one even though a million faces shine around you. You still feel alone. I cannot preach away your sorrow when I sleep deep in the chasms of my own anguish, caught in the midst of my own bitter fairy tales. I cannot imagine how the

Feb 12, 2005
2 min

Silly Writings

It seems so easy at times to sit at a computer screen and type. Lots of things seem easy, and well, for me, they aren’t. Like waking up, or getting to school. Or even getting some makeup and clothes on and getting my butt outside for a bit. The shallows of these walls surround me and when I walked alone tonight invisible webs lined my path. Do not step off the path they say, we will lead you and you will obey. And they lead me from artificial light to the pure darkness of the

Mar 17, 2004
1 min

My Maiden

From the bosom she blossomed, a maiden wove from the finest threads of silk and sinewed stars. Lace beneath her chin with blotted lips of red beaded from the tulips breast skin fair pale as the cryptic moonlight. While pedals plucked "He loves me not..." She dusted across the town And at last the crowns of the men and of the women were laid down Through pools of ash and dirtied snow she wandered sifting through the stones gleams of light and tarnished jewels to find the threa

Simon

Mar 8, 2004
1 min

Simon

(Based on my father’s first seeing eye dog) Written in 2004, updated in 2015 Crèma floating on the top of the shot glass Rich, and creamy — A warm ardent kiss. Slender spun legs chiseled into his frame The form of a fish lingering thick to thin. Bones of the body, the skeleton. Like a statue he stood stoic and proud Noble in his duties ...most of the time. Like a sphinx he sat, a legend, a story. Passed on to the generations by the forefathers. Like a dragon he rested in his