Tales of a love sick insomniac

I love reading poetry when I can’t sleep.

Especially poetry that reads like a journal.

I flip through the pages really fast as if I’m devouring someone’s secrets.

Flipping through the destruction, the chaos and seeing how it all leads to the person you are destined to become.

Whoever that person might be.

You ache for the writer, because you can feel the pain in their bones. Because, you know that ache. That pain of feeling too much.

You wish that you could let it all out, take the pen to paper and stop all the noise in your head by assembling them into hauntingly beautiful poems.

But, if you were able to stop all the noise, what would you dream about?


Just a little freestyle

She paints a picture in her head about the way this should have been,

could have been,

might have been.

She hasn’t been home since the age of ten.

Doesn’t quite know where she is going,

kind of ashamed about where she’s been.

She thinks she understands now,

but she doesn’t

and she won’t.

She sits back and watches her story unfold, where it ends no one,

not even her



Hotel room poetry 

I wrote this after my devotional tonight, not really much to it but, let me know what you think.

When you moved away that day, what could I say?


I fumbled with those words knowing that I would never again be “ok”

I watched that last load go up on that truck and thought, this is it.

There goes my life…

You pulled away without a second glance and tears streamed down my face.

What do I do now?

When I moved away, I said ok…here is my life.

I unpacked that last bag and thought, this is a new beginning. 

A place of my own, a place to find just who I am and what I want.

I said goodbye to you that day, I said goodbye to my past thinking that I had said goodbye to my future.

The day I moved away, I never looked back. 

Goodbye past, hello future.  Today I take over, this is my story now.