The Beast

To me, you are nothing. Nothing but an afterthought; a grease stained t-shirt left in the garage. Thrown away, I refused to clean you.

To her, I was Maleficent, but I was never jealous.
But, we both know that was smoke and mirrors.
And you are actually some other beastly character lost between worlds.

To me, back then, you were an oil painting, one of kind. You were made by a man who was lost in his dreams. He dotted your canvas with the clearest ocean, on the most beautiful day. He made you a sailboat. Inspired by the wind.

You were breakfast on a Sunday morning, easy and sweet.

But now. He’d paint you a stately mansion with bear skin rugs. A man in the finest clothes and a lady hanging on his arm. Oceans, and pastures dotting the distance.
Because you wanted your dream.

Yes, back then, I never saw your soars and boils. You wore a sweater made of charm. You hung roses by your teeth. I never noticed they were wilting.


You are someone’s friend,
someone’s lover.
for once-
that someone is not me.

the boat yard

we drove under the harvest moon.

I had to work the next day.

you didn’t seem to care,

and I neither did I.

We drove to the boat yard.

It was trespassing

you got your identity.

It was trespassing.

We drove back

3 am never felt so beautiful-

awkwardly beautiful

because I loved you.

I know you loved sex.

And so we just were.

Your breath hung there

hot, all knowing.

I breathed you in and

I kept you there

until I had no breath-

to breathe on my own.

only you can make breathing hard.

Only I can still be using you

when you’ve already used me.

Tonight I drive to ordinary places

you are not there.

The boat yard is too far

and midnight is too late.

why now?

It would be a lie to say that I never loved him. Because I did with my whole heart. It broke me, 2 years ago when things fell apart. I can pinpoint to the hour that I lost him. I was in the worst bar. It was smoky and dank. I thought, is this real? Do I love him? I did. I know now that I did. Back then, I don’t think I could ever admit it. But that night, it was breezy. We stood in the corner and I whispered, I think there’s something going on here. Why do you always want to be around me? Why do you always make it impossible to meet guys? He responded with resounding distance and then an eventual girlfriend.

We don’t talk anymore. We don’t know each other anymore. I am incredibly sad that he is absent.

He was and is my best friend.

Recently we spoke. It was like air to dying body. Now, I want nothing but him. And it is scares me.

Why now? Doesn’t he know I don’t want to go back to the hopeless place I lived in for so long.


I miss him. I miss his friendship, I miss his reassurance, I miss the way he makes me feel on rainy days. I miss driving through the summer sun with him. I miss when he tells me it’s going to be okay when I feel like I have nothing left. I miss the familiarity when I just want to be around someone who actually knows me. He’s home.

He knows me better than I know myself.

It’s so sad that things happened the way they did.

It’s so sad things will never be the same.

I miss you Bobs.

girls who go out to bars alone.

So last night, I went out by myself for the first time in months. I used to do it all the time because I lived alone and sometimes just needed human interaction. That wasn’t really the case last night, I just wanted to go out because I had a free Friday night. So, of course I went to my favorite bar in my little town and was immediately greeted by my bartender friend with my preferred wine. I am a bit of a VIP in this bar. Not because I’m a “regular” but because I became that girl who dates bartenders and now I don’t know they all treat me like a princess. It’s great. So, as I sat there, sipping on my wine and enjoying just being at not work. I was greeted by the first man who’s name escapes me. He told me I was to pretty to look that sad. I mean, yes I was alone, but just because I’m out alone does not mean I’m sad! It infuriates me that just because I’m a single girl out at a bar alone that I’m in fact depressed. Yes, I have friends. Yes, they all have significant others, husbands, girlfriends, and children. But I’m not upset that they are not hanging out with me! I LOVE my friends. But it is nearly impossible to meet anyone new when you are out in a group.

The second guy who hit on me was clearly not aware that I’m in fact at least 5 years older than him. He then told me how beautiful my eyes were. Which, is a laughable line, although I do have really blue eyes and people always think I wear those color contacts. So I believed him. He seemed nice. Cut to the chase and asked for my phone number. He will probably never call and honestly I doubt I’d follow through with actually going out with him. But hey, it was nice to be looked at as more than the blonde girls’ friend.

The funny part to all of this of course is that I had history with the manager of this place. We are friends now but it’s still awkward sometimes. And one of the bartenders asked for my phone number. Of course this bartender is painfully awkward and has yet to follow through on his requests to ‘get a drink with me.’

I really enjoyed myself last night. Of course, things got hazy when I started to miss past chapters of my life. Well just one chapter. One very not so distant chapter that apparently isn’t completely finished. That’s a whole other story that I don’t really want to tell today.

I think that if a woman wants to go out alone. She should. She shouldn’t feel worried for her safety. She shouldn’t feel judged. She shouldn’t feel that she has to make up excuses as to why she isn’t saving a seat next to her. She should just be able to have a drink and a meal. Watch a game. Meet some people and go home. Isn’t that what men do? It is. So what’s the difference?


So how about some poetry? This is supposed to be a poetry blog after all.


I know we had nothing

that one time.

We locked eyes in the crowd

of beers and cheers.

We bantered about baseballs

and footballs.

We had our own secret messages.

I know it meant nothing to you.

Because you said you loved her.

It shouldn’t mean anything to me.

But it does.

You are not a significant you.

But you just made yourself one

when you asked me

about her.

so I wrote a poem…

Here’s some random, raw poetry. There’s a bit of wine influence but, you know…eh isn’t that all poetry? I’m just going to let it flow.



Dearest you.

I see you over there being all


like you invented the leather jacket.

Oh, cool bro-

go ahead, smoke a little.

Keep me down.

It’s me, your financial advisor,

maid, as they say-

“Friends with benefits.”


We drove into purple morning hours.

your blue eyes sparkled and

you became the thesis

the statement

the peroration.

My poetic you.

Am I worth more than your weed?

probably not.