Blackbirds Without Bliss

“Silvery flakes drifted downward, glittering in the bright light of the harvest moon. The blackbird soared.” 

   Onward and outward with her ashen hued wings. Over forests and past the hidden moon while she echoed of her impending doom. Landing on Penny Lane; ‘Twas the day my life changed. 

   For when she came the air suddenly had weight; Pressing on my chest like cinder times eight. 

    The pupil of her eye resembling nothing but pure darkness

     Like the heart of my mistress, and I shouldn’t want this. 

     But she stayed for days and I never once complained. Despite her silence being like thorns in my veins. 

      I could never detain something so naturally made, yet any thought otherwise filled me with hate. 

     Her realization became my fate. So that night I set my bait; A poorly painted wooden crate secured by a tether around my gate. 

     I called to her and in she flew; I almost wished she knew

     That at first sight of starlight my shaking hands would bind her breast; Wrapping leather upon leather around her chest

     So that when mourning comes in the dawn her beauty will be here instead of gone. 

   I must’ve spoke my inner being, for she glared at me pleading 

       ” What is this I am hearing? who ever said I planned on leaving? Why must you do this in the darkness of the night; Instead of the morning to see my fright. I am not the only one in this life, so why must you hold me so tight? I never said I would fly away, but even if I did my heart is here to stay.” 

     The very next second I let her go

I expected her to soar but she looked at me slow

                  “I love you”

And I knew this to be true for she came back to me every daylight hue

      I was going to hurt her so badly, but it goes to show. 

       If you love her; Let her go. 

And if she stays time and time again, then she truly loves you till every end. 

Confessions of a Visionary Realist

The shades between reality and dreaming are very clear to me. The dim and dull variations of paper work and rejection, and the harrowing, vibrant, extraordinary sparks of love. I was never clear on my own perceptions of love. Until I found that in my spare time of living I often wished I was dreaming. The hands that feed me give off a healthy intention. A love so delicate as baby’s breath in spring and baby’s first Christmas in content. 
The hands that hold me are a glass home. So beautiful and tender. Sharp to cut me if I hiss my tongue too quickly or squeeze too firm. They are working hands. Constantly moving although keeping at a steady pace. Thus the hands of time count the dismemberment; The disengagement; The skin to skin divorce between mine and it. 

    Inside of my glass house are veins. Wires if you will. That pull and tug the ways of the heart. Often times I feel as though we share an artery. For whenever sadness arises we both wilt in heartbreak. Nevertheless; A glass house has a glass heart. And though I hold it dearly to me it is never truly mine to keep for without it. You cannot live to tell the story of past safe keepings. You cannot move on. 

I accept my plunder into this field of broken glass. Because holding a heart so magnificent as time works it’s way around means the world to me. My little glass house has become a temporary home. A home with hollow eyes, a real heartbeat, and a green flicker of envy for the one who figures out how to make a glass house into brick. 

Until the hands of time become withered. I will stay. Letting the feeling of lipstick stained lips decay. Through my skin it will go and only I will know. That you were. Are. And always will be. Mine 

Let’s Talk About Sex…Appeal

Very few people these days like to actually admit what makes them feel attractive. It’s seen as vain or conceited. This to me isn’t the meaning of sex appeal. Something that you find flattering on yourself I might find repulsive on me, and visa versa. This is the beauty of sex appeal. We all have it, yet we express it so differently. Whether it’s lingerie around the house. A form fitting dress. Anything that makes you feel confident inside. For me, one of those things is girly lingerie. 


“The hardest step”


“She ever took”


“Was to blindly trust”


“In who she was” ~ Atticus 

•What makes you feel sexy? And why? •