just a boy

I’ve always been a fan of the fixer uppers,
maybe because for a while there
I thought of myself as one, or maybe
I was so broken that I thought I deserved the same,
some more jagged sharp edges to pierce my center,
another critical mind to judge me harshly,
or maybe I was just as shallow
in my simplistic demands for passion,
maybe just as dumb to think I could keep
fire separate from warmth;
hands separate from love…
a line drawn in the middle with an incredulous finger
when it became obvious he had no heart to gift back.

was that really a choice or just me giving in?

Now he calls me a girl
as if he hadn’t yet met the woman I’ve become
and I call him a boy
because that’s exactly
who he is.



Woke up and felt like writing

Was just sitting here,


By thoughts and love notes

Scribbled on notepad paper

During work, while riding on public transportation…


What makes you want to breathe?

And then,

Breathe again?

If you’re passionate for what you do,

How did this passion begin?

And can you help me spark mine?


Positive to a fault

I’ll never say I’ve hit rock bottom

But I have nothing left to lose

All that’s left to do is choose

The path my life will take next


So what makes you want to breathe?

And then,

Breathe again?

Because sometimes

I just want to exhale it all out

And call it a day,

Forget of the wasted time

and all my tragic mistakes


Finally following my heart

But I’m without compus

Unsure of where I’m going

Or where I’ll end up;

But if I could find a passion,

My life’s oxygen

I’d no longer have to fear

Running out of the desire to breathe

And then,

Breathe again

Without a final exhale

Without settling

for a mediocre,


sort of life.