Portrait of the Artist

What are you afraid of? That they’ll see right through you? See through your farce? Your vain bid for importance? That no amount of effort will surmount the appraisal of your surface? Or insubstantialize your many failures and shortcomings? (In fact, make them all the more obvious.) That you will be deserving of neither attention…Read more Portrait of the Artist

Being Myself

Doubt is part of every word I say. Before the glances congeal into a gaze, I am already formed. A partial. A remnant. Existing to be discarded. How many estimates Must I encounter To meet the one I cannot fall short of?   I fail, I fail, I will fail you Always In your judgement…Read more Being Myself

March, the Death of Winter

Some thoughts on the loose ends of winter: Remnants that scatter. Swept out. Soon to be forgotten. Bared by the persistent cold prove too fragile to stand, neither whole, nor in any semblance of form. A relentless wind, whipping panic, freezing each and every protuberance. Removing the timid, Exposing all that is meager. There is…Read more March, the Death of Winter

I Am Not Your Negation

I am not your negation, But you desire mine. My presence offends you in ways I cannot fathom, though I certainly feel your anger, rejection and disgust. I can do nothing to appease you, To calm your fears. Even when I apologize, You continue to yell at me, berate me, call me names. Honestly, I…Read more I Am Not Your Negation

For Now

It begins with a feeling, barely there. A song from a dream you can’t remember. It might just be the most beautiful song in the world, the way it strains your nerves with effort to recall. Once floating in waves of melody, bathed in golden light. Now adrift in fragments are the embers, unwilling to…Read more For Now

Lines and Divisions

Single lines can be strummed together a whole, humming in repetitions a chorus reverberating long after the source can be traced. Single lines can cut, dealing out pain in shivers and slivers, incisive, unrelenting, dividing tediously every in-between of the once placid. Single lines can rise-up, up towards the light, reach out furtive tendrils, see…Read more Lines and Divisions

The Wreck of the Hesperus

I remember the cool darkness as I stood backstage. My fingers were tingling, my stomach was churning, I was both excited and nervous—the classic symptoms of stage-fright that I was experiencing more and more that year. Mrs. Wozniak, my fourth-grade teacher, had nearly forgotten about the event in the auditorium that day. With just minutes to […]