and the crevices of the
held all the memories
reflected through
satellite dishes
onto back screens
of rose coloured petals
that only bloomed
if a child was
brave enough
to climb out of
the valley. And when
that child got her guts
and climbed, Every
flower bloomed
greater than the
first lotus flowers
in the garden of eden.
The petals sang floating
golden string choruses
of a thousand cellos.
The nectar inside was the taste
of a feeling when you touch
fingertips for the first time. And it
happened—the whole world was gifted with new
sense—because a child was brave enough to climb out of a valley.


insomnia, cont.

anxiety isolates

the biggest smile

from the bluest eyes


reaching and reaching

falling away from breath

the moment before touch


whispering in my own ear

a troubling warning

of a never existing harm


the scolding mind

the pushing heart

expelling energy

into all the wrong caves

when it should be soaring

over a sounding sea

bk 2017




when you start


in love

it’s so hard

to fall asleep.


the warm light

birthing from my chest

spreading all the way

down to the ends of my toes

is a sunrise

in the middle of the night.


I bury my face

in my pillow


and squirming

in the muchness

of it all.



it’s a whim of wonder,

a feeling I had forgotten


a sense of shame,

for being all consumed.


I lie awake

dreaming of all the things

that might be said

but mostly

I lie awake


because I’ve placed the power

in your eyes

and now you can truly hurt me.

everything happening all at once

my world exploded

not into a million little pieces

but into great shards of excitement, fear, pain, stress, disbelief, and love


and I find myself thinking:

has my luck ran out?

is this explosion the beginning of the end?

has the precarious balance of my life

been distorted?


or is this another awe-inducing moment

that lends itself to a happy ending

of a book that will never be written

but probably should?


Time no longer passes.

I use my time,

I experience my time,

I feel my time.


I might feel like I’m drowning.

but breaths I catch when I pull myself to the surface,

fill my lungs with the sweetest air

that I will ever taste.


I’m not living to write a book about my life.

but my thirst for experience is creating a life

that a book could be written about.

And I feel proud.



a bird flew in front of my bike today
and I thought of you
I hate birds

and I hate that I care
you didn’t do much wrong
because you didn’t do much at all

only wanted to be your friend
and I can’t see how that was so hard
you’re a coward for cutting me out

I was never going to fall for you
your ego tells you lies
you’re a sheep in a monkey’s suit

brooklyn 2016

more bike poetry

one black wolf

howls in the night

he wags his tail

and runs out of sight


one grey dolphin

swims far and wide

making deals with fish

with no one by his side


one blue whale

dives to the deep

calling out to her friends

already fast asleep


an owl looks over

and hopes for the end

for a girl who breaks

more than she bends