They don’t get the joke

“You’re a feminist??”
they whisper
as if I have disease
or someone might here them.

treat the person with caution
they get appalled by rape and sexist

they don’t seem to find humor in
gender oppression and
sexual abuse
that’s so weird


koúkla mou


One day someone will sing a lullaby
when counting sheep does not help
if lullabies don’t help you sleep
a cup of warm milk will be by your bedside

They’ll take pictures of the smiles
that form on your beautiful face
placing them safely in a book
bound in plastic, to last over the years

They’ll mend every broken heart and stubbed toe
placing a band-aid on whatever is hurt


One day koúkla mou
You’ll exist

Pocketing Memories With Pieces of Lint

An implicative memory hangs limply on a coat hanger
Wrap it around my shoulders and move on
I forget it’s there until I remember
When no other words are processing,
I remember.

Compose myself with sips of water
and splashes of reality
Then go back to the class and settle down

Lint balls collect and I pick them off
Feeling guilty for losing the little bits left of you
I pocket them,
and they begin to collect
like the congealing memories

I feel guilty about you becoming a memory
You should be more than pieces of lint
collecting in my pocket

I wrap myself up in the smells of every memory
that I will not let fade away

and all I have is the vague smell of home and
lint balls that remind me of you

Aftertaste of Shame: When Will They Stop the Blame?

A rush comes with anger
With the aftertaste of shame.
I didn’t think this would ever happen to me
And I am not to blame

With the aftertaste of shame
I cover my body, to feel safe
And I am not to blame
Empty streets and long walks home

I cover my body to feel safe
When will they realize I was sober
Empty streets and long walks home
We must remember, we will always remember

When will they realize I was sober
They say I am at fault, but how?
We must remember, we will always remember
We need to take action now.

They say I am at fault, but how?
This shouldn’t happen to anyone
We need to take action now
A rush comes with anger

Passing Break and Shallow Breath

Together they take a breath
The air flows through, but she
chokes and gasps, her breath is shallow.
Can the air be any less bitter?
“Are you okay?” he
mentions in their passing break

They only see one another on their break
She wondered if he held his breath
when they pass each other, he
did. In the fleeting hope she
would become a lesser version of bitter

But that’s a lie, she wasn’t shallow,
just needed to have a bread
from himself. The wind was bitter
against the open lungs “take a breath
and exhale yourself into me” she
sighed. She looked so bright he

was blinded by her. Did he
believe himself to be shallow?
The world they live in she
felt a harmful way of a break
They both need to take a deep breath
and exhale their feelings of bitterness

Their facades have melted into their bitter
truth. “What is the truth?” he
asked. The world is softly taking it’s breath
together they will live in it’s shallow
lungs and swim in it’s bones, break
apart and sink deep down. She

will drown otherwise. With that she
will becomes and stay bitter
There isn’t the time for their break
The world is empty and he
is trying to be not as shallow
when he passes her, he holds his breath

She will break and collapse
under his bitter breath, loves
the shallow intake he provides.

Dictionary poems

We did this fun poetry exercise in my poetic voice class where we would take three words from the dictionary (we started with three adjectives but you can do whatever word you want) then what you do is you write the word and definition down. With that you have to create a poem only using the words in the definition and you use the three words in a title. Get it? It’s really difficult but a lot of fun.


The elastic feeling of being incapable with the nostalgic longing for you

Easily resume the lacking ability to be stretched
Stretched for the past
Shaped for the bittersweet longing

Being stretched after lacking the necessary past
Longing for being necessary
Easily resume the shape of the past

The bittersweet shape of longing
For the past, the necessary past.


So the words I got from the dictionary were: Elastic, Incapable and Nostalgic. Then the second one I did just know because I really had fun with the first one. I used the words: Epiphany, Cynical, and Vestige.


Does the vestige of my epiphany calculate for my cynicism towards us?

Believing a trace of disappearing people by appearance of divine standards
Disregarding only human integrity that is disappearing
Disappearing or no longer existing?

Believing a trace of integrity for one’s own self-interest
Typical appropriate standards are manifestations of no longer existing
Appearance of believing that people are distrustful of being motivated

Concerned only that people are no longer something
Something that disregarded sincerity of one’s own integrity
Accept or disregard a trace of something that longer exists.

By the lake


My family and another family rented a house right on the lake. I left my computer at home and only brought my notebook and four books. One notebook was for my novel that I am attempting to write, and my other notebook was for little things that popped into my head. I am sharing with you the notebook that was for the little things that popped into my head.

June 23, 2013

I tell him of her lost life story, he replies with the statement “Well she will just have to live it again,” as if living life twice is a simple thing to do.

June 23, 2013

In the beginning of summer I fell in love with how the moon enveloped the lake.
How the lake and the forest      melt together to create an
amorphous blob
How the moon drips down into the lake
and how the light from the houses bled into the lake
filing      the       water        to be golden
I fell in love with nature and out of love with you

June 24, 2013

The dock is quiet, except for the waves that come once and a while and crash against the rocks. And for the chatter from the house that reverberates off the dull shimmering lake. The dock is the opposite of quiet actually, it is full of sound. The cicadas whistle, the water laps at the rocks as if it was a dog, the kids screech in the distance as they get thrown into the water by a sibling or a parent. Once and a while the loon will make a noise and it will echo for a few minutes prolonging the eeriness of its call. The humidity press down unto me, making me want for the cool waters to surround me. But I fight the urge and let the lake side breeze cool me. Noura comes down, her flip flops making a noise as she rushes down to sit at the dock on the white chair. My thoughts are disturbed and my words float away as if they were on a boat.

June 25, 2013

The world seems more alive in the morning. When we are sleeping the bugs and birds come out, they whisper and giggle to one another. Telling stories of their nightly triumph. I want to preserve this moment, this moment at 4:24 on a Tuesday morning, in a time capsule. Save it for my children so they can know that when the earth is death from war, the earth was once alive. It thrived like I did once. I much like the earth is most beautiful when no one is watching. When the morning sun sneaks its way up the staircase to catch a glimpse of it’s reflections on the water. The birds will sing to it, telling it of it’s beauty.

June 29, 2013

I want to take all the rope in the world and make one big lasso
I want to lasso the stars and drag them closer to us
We could hop from star to star
Naming the unnamed after our favorite things
Each star would be different and we could absorb all of its energy
Soaking it into our skin
We could bask in the energy of our galaxy we named.