Midnight Rain

Smoke curled around her lips while she exhaled into the dark night. Bringing the cigarette to her dry lips, she breathed in the sweet smoke letting it fill her lungs and watched as it left her body once again. Heaving a sigh, she set the smoldering stick on the tray and leaned against the brick wall behind her. She let the soft rain kiss her face oh so tenderly like her mother used to before drifting off to sleep as a child. Closing her eyes, she imagined she was back there, listening to the rain hit the window while her mother read her a story. A simpler time.

She picked up the cigarette again, taking a deeper breath than normal, as if to make that simple time come back. Breath after breath after breath she tried. But to no avail. Frustrated, she plunged the dead butt into the tray and pulled out another cigarette; cupping her hand over the end and lighting it. Maybe this one would have the answer, she thought. Gazing at the shattered glass that glittered the ground around her, she wondered how her life ended up like this. How she left her home that always smelled like apple pie.

She pulled out another cigarette and hoped this one would have the answer.


You Must’ve Fallen From The Sky

I miss the feeling of his hand in mine. Our fingers intertwined in this mess of flesh as we sit side by side in my car. It lets me know that he’s there with me for that



                                                       in time.

The heat radiating off of them is comforting and when I take my hand back to turn the wheel, it immediately longs to be held again. But not by just anyone, but



He would call my nasty, calloused, Starbucks hands soft and inviting and I would think he was absolutely crazy but would blush and smile all the same. I still do it. The blushing, I mean. Any little phrase will set me off and cause my entire face to turn the color of a ripen red pepper. I’d never tell him this, but I love







My hand is still waiting for him to come back, so it can be held again. Nothing will suffice. Not the cell phone I tend to lose. Not the pen I will make my money off of. Not even the coffee cup that never seems to want to let go. Nothing

                                                                   compares to

                                                                                             his touch.



When he comes home, I’ll be waiting. And I’ll finally be able to stop and take a breath and relax and let his touch


                                               on my



i'll put this night to tune and move it to you

he knows me so well it's scary.

he makes me calm for and reminds me to stop.

he is kind.

he knows how to make me smile when i'm sad.

he has
the best

he listens to everything.
even country.



you had me @ ‘hello’

would it be ok, would it be ok

if I took

                 your breath



Word Warrior

Career Quizzes - TestQ

This test told me I was a Word Warrior...how cool is that????


What Do You Want To Do Before You Die?

What Do You Want To Do Before You Die?
5. Fall In Love

And not like text book love or the love that your parents no longer have for each other. I’m talking about head over heels love. The love that stories are written about. The kind of love that is Earth Shattering and the sky’s open up to welcome it. When it feels new every morning, yeah, that kind of love. Love that makes it ok to fight every once and a while. Perhaps a vase gets broken in the process, but we’ll shrug it off because that vase didn’t define what we were or our love. The kind of love where your wedding ring is the first thing you put on; not by habit but because you really want to.
Where it means “Writing-tons-of-poems-about-it-in-order-to-get-it-out-of-your system-and-you-still-have-millions-more-inside-you.”

The kind of love that makes you missue grammar or spel words funy,

That’s where I want to be.



It's National Poetry Month!! So I'm trying to post/write as many poems as possible. I never really got into writing poetry until this semester when I had to write a ton for my creative writing class. Now, I want to get a minor in Poetry when I go to Columbia! =] So, here's a poem I wrote for my Pshyc class about being lonely.

I long for the sky to open up and
Engulf me into the openness.

It’s not like anyone would miss me.
I am heartbreakingly lonely
Not a soul knows I’m around
or cares for that matter.

Life is happening. The music still plays
And cars still drive on by. The sun rises
And the day begins.
But it all feels empty.
Like I’ve been invisible my whole life.

The clear plastic bottle taunts me
“Consume me,” it cries out
from the counter top.
I cave

The pills are a double edge sword
dulling the loneliness
and adding to the same.

I take one too many
And my loneliness is gone