Her Series/Poetry Series: Surrender

Red Sky


With clenched teeth, and a twisted inside,

her hands went up, and a tear shed from her eye.

Time was up, and there was no where left to hide,

and so with a strong back, she left with her pride.


Her Series: Salt.

‘Where the Ocean Meets the Sky’, Jamaica, Negril, West Side Cliffs

Loosing her breath with whimsy,

then taking new air in her lungs,

being scrubbed clean by water and salt,

feels like, and sounds like, soft drums.

Her Series: Endings.

Fire in action by square_eye

Fire in action by square_eye

Have you ever come to the ending of something awful?

Her bare feet where stained a dull earthy red from heel to toe. The sting of the rocky soil didn’t matter, because her motives were worse than the pain. Knowing her future made more of a difference than ever before, and her fate was sealed, it was all falling into place. This time she wouldn’t, and  run there’s no fighting it anymore, she cannot turn back–the pain grew more intense, but she wouldn’t let herself feel it. The house is burning and she must save herself.  Though time bleeds in front of her, the past is seeping from the walls to the skies–the future was broken and smoldering on the front lawn. Her ice-cold eyes burn, and her stolen lungs choke.

Her broken hands, cold eyes, and weak lungs–will feel whole, warm, and strong again.

After she burns the fields.

Her Series: Steps.

There is power in the steps she takes, they are stronger than the fear that trained her, stronger than the hands that slapped and snapped her skin. The muscle and bone they can tame, yet she still wanders– running down mountainsides, swimming the great lakes, letting the sun warm her oiled fur. She will live more in a single second, with each step she takes and with each brave hope, then they could ever dream.  Though her pain is exposed, for every prying eye that looks down…upon her tamed frame, and they think the fight is over, that the bells been rung and the gates are closed–but she still wanders.

Her Series: Behind a name.

There’s a Snake on the Tree


It rested on her back like a snake on the branch of a tree. No one looked twice, they couldn’t see,  but when it shook its feathery skin, they felt it–scratching their noses and shuffling their feet. Every foot step she took stole breath from their lungs, but still they wouldn’t look, break. break. break.  It was unknown, spoken from the lips of her mother, they still couldn’t hear it, so they couldn’t hurt her, they couldn’t speak it, so she was free.