sometimes my heart beats so fast
it takes me by surprise
and suddenly I’ll think of you
I don’t know why
will you tell me?
sometimes my head spins so much
that it makes me feel dizzy with joy
but only when you’re near
I can hear your heartbeat
and it beats fast, too
do you feel it?
sometimes my body aches
so sweetly feeling for you
that I cannot bear to tell it you aren’t here
only when you come back to me
does it bloom into burgeoning life
when we lie together in the dark
and we lace our fingers and trail them streaking down our fevered, transient skin
wishing, needing this to last
winding into each other
the way lovers do
finding curved edges to lie against
fitting together in melded harmony
safe within each other
and our racing hearts match a rhythm
that will never falter.


Spring of Life

sliding-hallways and slippy-socks
run-run to the Bedroom
shelter from the light-and-thunder
under a blanket of fear-fascination
Big-Daddy-Furnace, cuddle in the cold
Momma-Mama, take-my-temperature
I’ll read to you, fox-and-hound
I’ll sound-out-words
drip-drop morning-mist
tires-on-gravel, birds-in-trees
yes-yes I’ll try not to go too-fast
I still pitter-patter
in the spring-times
before summer-life comes
and makes me grow up.

Spring of Life


the water reflects her image

like a rippled mirror

swaying around her face like lover’s hands

caressing each eyelash and half-smile

as waterlilies swirl in her hair

she runs her thin fingertips through the aqueous depths

feeling the dirt and silt of her life sift down to the bottom

sins and lies and wrongdoings

to be stirred up by passing fish-fins

and borne down below

to become one with the earth

dragged to the center

to be burnt up

in a fiery ball




She sat in the empty house.
She stared out of windows with sightless eyes.
As she pulled the blanket closer around her body.
At night she would press her ear to the walls.
The inner creaks and groans sounded like a great ship.
Upon whose back she would ride.
Commandeering other moaning life boats.
And collecting unwitting hostages.
A pretend relationship built on conquest and mutiny.
She thought of the friendships she had allowed to
decay into awkward pauses and loaded sighs filled with looks of pity.
But the ship would take her yonder to the sky.
And set her free amongst the stars.
At least for a little while before
sinking back down
Until she was alone in the house once more.
She cried.


Loss–Cold and Angry

The door slammed behind her angrily, pushed by the bullying wind. It tore at her clothes violently, a jungle cat mauling its prey. The slam of the door echoed through the empty streets, testifying to its lone inhabitant, a preacher in an empty sanctuary. The wind howled viciously through the deserted, predawn streets, screaming at her like a furious spouse. It shoved the sounds of the highway at her; the blaring of car horns, the speeding wheels on cracked pavement, the deafening music to keep the driver awake. The wind changed directions, attacking her from a different angle. It was less agitated, and half-heartedly picked up the fallen leaves, tossing them aside like crumpled ideas. It was slower then, an apology for the roughness it caused—before rushing back into the threatening howl.

She closed her eyes against the tears that threatened to expose her. Two years had passed since the day in the hospital, seeing the sheet pulled over his cold face. She sat hard on the derelict front porch, once a sunshine yellow that had been worn into gray. She still felt the ache for his presence, the insatiable need for his voice whispering her name. The wind fell, soothing her ruffled hair, trying to wipe the tears away.
It twined around her body in an embrace, trying to squeeze the sadness out of her. She almost smiled at its efforts, but buried her face in her hands against the tears that came once more. The moon, silent and cold, stood as a sentry in the sky, illuminating everything that the clouds didn’t shadow. It was nearly winter, and she pulled the sweater closer in an attempt to ward it off. The wind tried to warm her, but it only made it worse.
She’d met him on a chilly night like this. It’d been cold, the very beginnings of winter starting to creep close when she’d seen him. Walking on the dark street like her; alone like her. Her resistance crumpled, and she wailed broken-heartedly, releasing the sorrow she’d been holding in. The wind became agitated, weeping with her, begging her to stop. It held her face gently, whispering at her comfortingly. Eventually, the tears ceased, but the ache remained, gnawing at her like a carrion crow.
She sat there for what seemed like an eternity, contemplating fate. The same disease that killed her love now afflicted her. She nearly smiled at the irony. She didn’t have much time left. She turned in on herself, laid down on the gray wood of the porch and closed her eyes. The wind was slow, howling like a dying beast. It was sorrowful as it fell, a breathless carcass at her feet.

Loss–Cold and Angry

My First Blog Award: Best Moment Award by Moment Matters

Best Moment Award, web awards, blogging awards, winners, nominations
Awarding the people who live in the moment,
The noble who write and capture the best in life,
The bold who reminded us what really mattered –
Savoring the experience of quality time.

Winners re-post this completely with their acceptance speech. This could be written or video recorded.

Winners have the privilege of awarding the next awardees! The re-post should include a NEW set of people/blogs worthy of the award; and winners notify them the great news.

What makes a good acceptance speech?
Gratitude. Thank the people who helped you along the way
Humor. Keep us entertained and smiling
Inspiration. Make your story touch our lives
Get an idea from the great acceptance speeches, compiled in MomentMatters.com/Speech
Display the award’s badge on your blog/website, downloadable in MomentMatters.com/Award

To say I was surprised to receive this award is an understatement. I’ve barely been here a month, but already I am overwhelmed with gratitude and joy–and it is all thanks to you, my loyal, thoughtful, beautiful followers. I have always felt insecure in my writing–I’ve yet to truly experience and understand this world, and I was unsure of my ability to capture its intricacies. You have given me hope. Hope that I am not writing to the wind, who is a patient listener but rarely gives feedback. Hope that I am on my way to unlocking the secrets of our universe and the human condition–hope that I am not alone in my curiosity for our world and planet (which are two completely different things). You have given me hope that our world is perhaps not as messed up as it seems–or, at least, it is fixable.

I must truly and ardently thank my parents for this as well. They had the audacity and determination to raise a free spirit. For that, I am eternally grateful. They are the greatest of my familial treasures and have always enveloped me in kindness and respect. They set me in the sun to let me bloom and grow, and I would not be who I am without their consideration and love. Thanks, Mama. Thanks, Daddy-o.

This blog is meant to be a creative space welcome to all, and I will continue to encourage follower participation–I want to create an environment of passionate discussion and thoughtful prose, both through writing and everyday situations, and with your help, I believe it can be done. So, from the very bottom of the overflowing-with-gratitude-well-spring I call a heart, thank you!


1. Natalie Elizabeth Beech
2. Nostrovia! Poetry


Don’t forget to celebrate with your followers! Tweet your success with hashtag #MomentMatters. Congratulations, winners!

My First Blog Award: Best Moment Award by Moment Matters

Rape culture is a very real thing; it is something that plagues the entire world–it is an aspect of our society that we sorely need to address and rid ourselves of. No one should have to fear being taken advantage of just because of gender–this goes for males, too. Rape–IN ANY CASE AT ANY TIME–is a gross violation of our inherent human rights. It needs to stop.

Rethink the Rant


The following includes descriptions, photos, and video that may serve as a trigger for victims of sexual violence.
Please be advised. 

Someone asked me today, “What is ‘rape culture’ anyway? I’m tired of hearing about it.”

Yeah, I hear ya. I’m tired of talking about it. But I’m going to keep talking about it because people like you keep asking that question.

Rape culture is when a group of athletes rape a young girl, and though there are dozens of witnesses, no one says, “Stop.”

Rape culture is when a group of athletes rape a young girl, and though there are dozens of witnesses, they can’t get anyone to come forward.

Rape culture is when a group of athletes rape a young girl, and adults are informed of it, but no consequences are doled out because the boys “said nothing happened.”

Rape culture is when a group…

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