Youth (poem)


Grown up too quick,
Adulthood presses from every angle.
Body twisting around the truth,
Rigid and unyielding until its reveal.

Cursed in the shape of a tree,
Crooked and wailing into the darkness.
Frozen at the core of its trunk,
Yet rustling its leaves to communicate.

Gone too fast and never recovered,
Never well while still escaping truth.
Learned first-hand but stubbornly forgotten,
Fitting in with prescribed narratives set.

Before closeness with corruption,
Touching palms with decay and pain.
Discover novel wonders abounding,
Walk through portals to fresh possibilities.

Little Red (poem)


Hooded and protected,
Safe in a cocoon.
Wrapped in a baggy jacket,
Soaked with feminine blood.

Mixed in with sweat,
Dripping under summer’s sun.
No form under the folds,
Faceless in the dark.

Where are the wolves you fear?
They can smell you through your cloak.
Ride away, Little Red,
You’re not safe here.