what can I tell you about my journey thus far?

it is a terrible plight: this thing called life. terrible and wonderful all wrapped up in a question of “what the hell am I doing?” there is constant questioning and wondering and planning followed by no answers, only more to wonder after, and failed plans.

being an artist is one of the toughest professions because it entangles our emotions, relies upon our own creation, can destroy us from the inside out, and demands all our time without giving us what society considers necessary: money.

being an artist creates good and strong people (especially if you have to fight for your place). Having to prove my worth and ability over the past eight years has strengthened my resolve, but the in the moment dealing of proving and re-proving myself? those moments were terrifying, painful, and broke me.

I still feel broken – broken my the constant demand of life to prove who I am and where I’m going

but I can still tell you: I do believe its worth. Honestly.

I’m in a low place, I’m in a valley if you will.

I’m still confident there’s an up coming my way – here’s to searching for it.


am I an artist? 

when I take pride in silence,

when I take solace in being at home 

with cats upon my lap

and underneath my fingertips 

am I an artist

when no one else believes in me?

when no one looks my way and says

“Come to dinner” 

“let’s talk about our endeavors,

our plans.”

“Let’s get a drink!”

‘I want to hear what’s going on in your life”

When I don’t hear those things,

when no one reaches out

am I an artist at all?

When I have but one close friend

and a lover to make the second,

when I’ve placed love 

in the forefront of my goals,

when I am working in my desired field,

but not exclusively.

Is there a reason I’m not good enough for you?

is it that I’m not good enough for me?

Am I an artist?


I’m no stranger to not being invited somewhere, to not being one of the “cool kids”, but I sure as hell am sick of feeling it. 

And you know – I thought that kind of thing was behind us all – I thought I had made it out of the thick because I am a successful alumni. I am doing marvelously well post graduation. I may not be famous, but I’m working in the field I’ve studied and getting positive responses from the world around me. I am a working artist and teaching artist – yet here I am feeling like the people I went to school with don’t understand that. 

Here I sit feeling like I haven’t done enough, like I’m not good enough, like once again I am not one of the cool kids. 

I am not someone they want to call up for dinner. 

I am not invited. I am not applauded. And I just have to continue working harder than the “cool kids” to prove that I am actually worth something.

I am sick of having to prove my worth, 

but fuck I am not giving up. 

I’m pissed off. I’m upset. 


I could hear my heart beating. I could hear everyone’s heart. I could hear the human noise we sat there making, not one of us moving, not even when the room went dark.”

– Raymond Carver 


These words ring in the air when they’re uttered, they jump off the page when you read them, and here I sit thinking “I’m a writer”. What on earth do I have to say that hasn’t been said? What do I have to tell the world about that isn’t mundane? 

They say by the age of 20 you’ve experienced enough to last your creative lifetime – to fill pages and pages – and yet I fear I haven’t done enough. What can I tell you?

I’m a 22 year old artist. I’ve lived in three states, stayed in Spain speaking spanish for spring break, kissed in the rain, slept on a boat, and driven to the Golden Gate Bridge. I’ve loved – but every love held a different form. 


Perhaps that, right there, is what my story is all about. 

I’ve always believed firmly the world needed love, needs love, and finding love was my ultimate goal. Slowly over the years I became to realize love is much more than the details between four letters. It comes in so many different forms, different people, different sizes – it is an all-emcompassing emotion and creation. It is action, feeling, noun, relationship. 

Being only 22 in this (hopefully) extended life of mine – I perhaps have seen more shades of love than most. I have loved. I have loved to the point of desperation, to adventure, to stability, to risk. Every relationship I’ve been a part of has been a different shade. It has taught a different lesson and become an important part of everything that I am today. 

I know the world constantly tells you to learn from everything – the truth is: that is the truth. Listen to the world around you. These shades of love that come and go can change your perspective. Love is fleeting. That is half the beauty, half of the magic. There are relationships that only last a few months, but they last just long enough. 

And then its gone, but I promise you love comes back around – its just a different shade, a different hue. 

Remember to never look for the same thing. What has been will never be, but what will be is even better. 


Perchance this is all my story.

Today I’ve thought a lot about the fragility of life – about how frail we are in this world.

We often forget how fragile life, health, stability all is – until suddenly our balance is thrown off, someone is sick, we watch someone’s life flicker away.


Waiting in the lobby

in this hallway of a space

for news

for information

as others ill

or feigning ill

stumble in

or out –

where germs are imagined on

every surface

in this worried mind of mine –

all these personal lives – on display – 

we try to keep so private

so confidential

but an emergency room 

has no walls 

it is a place of panic

and desperation

“Jesus Christ” rings

from mouths as pain



here you come in a flurry

it is to be a quick venture

for it all becomes






and we forget to be self-conscious 

we are much more afraid

for our own well-being


loved ones rush in

to comfort

to hold hands

to be self-conscious for our others


and as the whole world 


explodes around me

I remain quiet – 

I remain still and contained

you need a strong star to come home to

a bright point in our constellation

we can’t have


An ode to you

I owe to you 

so much

an ode, a sonnet,

an entire book of poetry.

i owe you my words

(they are where my heart lies)

and for you

there are so many.


to an old poem (never published):

my lover sits 

in the adjoining room –

not knowing all my thoughts

but loving them

loving me

planning his nightly journey

to lay beside me

bedside me

to rest his weary head

where I rest mine

and recuperate 


together gathering

energy from each 

other’s deep sleep


and nudges for more space

losing sleep just to be

my bedfellow

because he is


he feels the tugs on his 


ever since the first moment

two corners colliding

outside a coffee shop

they were never to enter

we’re a hipster

love song 

(though he’s no hipster)

he loves me so.

I am a lucky…..



to a new poem (never published):

when I sit at home

surrounded by cats

one stuck at the door


I see you everywhere – 

in the discarded clothes

crumpled in all the odd places,

in the coffee cups with slight stains 

where you missed a drop

or two

were you saving them for me? 

your glasses

rest unattended

to reflect the television back at itself

and see the world 

of their own accord.

and your cat finds the one entrance

to my lap as I sit and write

rubbing his head against my arm

reminding me: I got more than a love

when I stood at the corner – 

I got a family I knew nothing about 

a sleepy day cuddle bug

and a constant warm bedfellow

a constant encourager,

a forever believer,

an always goodbye-kiss,

and don’t forget goodmorning

good afternoon

good evening


hello my dear,

I’m here for life,

where should I hang my coat? 

snow in spring 

the four seasons seeming to forget their order

and the sun barely poking his head over the edge of his blanket 

whispering: “good morning for you,

I’m staying in bed” 

and retreating 

to nuzzle the neck of the moon

who never fails to remember her hours of work.


the spring flowers are yearning for their time of freedom,

for their time to play in the garden 

and gaze upon the golden rays of the sun


the earth is waiting,

mother is waiting to be reborn

to see her young grow another inch or two,

to see even younger first see the light of the sky

we are waiting.


but still it snows.  

income – finances – debt – payment

the words are everywhere in this daily life

and yet they are words I care not for.

I want to make enough to survive, to have a few good things,

to make it,

to eat, to sleep, to drink, to breathe,

but I do not yearn for riches

for having so much money I don’t know what to do with it.

I want just enough

so instead I may be rich in memories,

in experiences,

in adventures…..

in photographs.


that’s what I want.

bury me with my photographs 

not my money. 

lost track…

and days have flurried by – or have they?


half awake

half alarmed by the woozy wobbling in my brain

left to my own instinctual habits

to fulfill what’s being asked

running on pilot

luckily I have a pilot,

a tiny man behind the controls

or a woman…

rather I think this pilot is nondescript in that term,

like peter pan (boy or girl)

never growing up 

always in control of my deepest dreams

and most importantly

in control of these fingers

as I write without rhyme or complete reason 

work without sense of awareness

and continue

continue on

never knowing where days end

because we’re not to 

the end 


There’s a lot on my mind.

Clearly too much on my mind.

For I’ve filled pages with nonsense long before I’ve accomplished the things 

on my to-do list. 

I write this like a poem.

Though a poem it is not. 

I dwell to much on returning to work,

to the work I don’t much like I should clarify,

though as of late it has been better 

thus I’ve already nullified my fear of return. 

Problem solved.

I dwell to much on money,

on finances being pulled this direction and that,

for the money that will be pulled out of my account for various things

on a later date

and yet – there it is 

“a later date”

no need to worry on this very date when a later one is specified.

Problem solved. 

I want to control every aspect of my life.

I want to plan. and plan. and plan some more.

I want to write it all in.

Pen it all before it happens.

But I can’t.



Problem solved. 

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