Abandoned Abroad

I don’t have a country.

The annoying orange has occupied an office that was intended for someone with even a thread of moral fiber.


I don’t have a home.

The one I knew collapsed into a chaos of bipartisan shouting matches.

A society where good deeds and valid ideas don’t count unless you post them on social media.

A government violating the people, forsaking the people, determined to pull the bigotry-soaked red, white and blue bandana over our eyes.


A nation so preoccupied by the latest radical executive orders, that we’re blind to the more forboding and lasting measures being slipped through the iron bars of Congress.

A nation that has officially discredited anything seen as “other”.

A hypocritical nation completely oblivious to it’s past: Founded by rejects and religious refugees, yet now unwilling to accept them.


A country I’m no longer proud to call home, but a place where I must now sheepishly admit to having been born.


A place I hope in my heart of hearts will prove unworthy of this shame,

will fight back to right the wrongs,

will work to mend the gaping wound spewing red and blue all over our butchered nation.


But seeing the steps forward we made

and how we’ve regressed

leaves me little hope

for future progress.



I don’t want what most people want.

I dont want the nice clothes,

designer handbags,

the engagement ring,

the wedding,

the down payment,

the career that defines who I am instead of defining myself.


I want more.

I want to see the world and everything it has to offer;

smell its stench,

taste its riches.


I want freedom.

Freedom to move freely about this Earth,

to meet new people every day,

to experience something different at every turn.


To steer clear of what’s expected

and dig out my own path –

one not restricted by tired expectations,

unnecessary regulations or fear.


A life lived by the law of being uncomfortable.

A tireless pursuit of what makes this world what it is

and who I am in it.


The Carousel

Life is circular.


You keep coming back to revisit past



recesses of your mind


that you thought you’d


evolved past,




When in reality you’re still on the same


ferris wheel,

swing carousel


and you’re getting more and more





despair in the dark


She stumbled over their toys in the dark,

Had forgotten about her boys in the dark.

How dreams can bring back old realities,

And we have to muffle their noise in the dark.

She could feel the burning tears bubbling up,

While trying to keep her poise in the dark.

Where had that excitement for life gone?

Attempting to remember past joys in the dark.


I found her like that,

Cutting her wrists by choice in the dark.

glowing eyeball


Your eyes are what surprise me.

Those multicolored orifices of light.

How am I to focus on the rest of the world

if all the light is being absorbed by those crystal balls of color and soul?


A meaning so immense.

A feeling so intense.

Your pupils like a speck of sand

on a beach made of particles of light.

A window to the soul?

A window to eternity.


The only everlasting, ongoing essence we have to

cling on to.

That eternal essence I can feel

when my crystal orbs happen to meet yours.


Knowing that when your lids close for the last time,

the glow that penetrates from within you

into me

will continue on.



The morning fog rolled in like the undulating low tide.

Vete por aquí amorcito.

I can see the morning light consuming the streetlamp’s glow.

The buzzing dims.

The stench of wet asphalt stings my nostrils.

I dig my toes deeper into the dewy grass.

I taste the soil creeping through parted lips.

The birds retreat to their nests to greet the sun.

The quiet the new day brings burns inside my head.

Pebbles pelt me to shoo me off their sacred ground.


L ran to seek refuge and acceptance.

She will never find it.

I float off the earth and into the fog’s embrace.

Crack is an unusual drug.

Shelly warned me of that in the church basement.

She wanted me as her drug.

The train left the station at 6:00 am.

“All aboard” was the last thing she heard.

The sleek car filled with travelers’ hopes didn’t make it five miles.

The chintzy death.

She’ll have to be born again to remember her past life.

The deep mist penetrates my bones.