These Heartstrings

these heartstrings is an exploration of life through poetry, from its beginnings, through its trials, celebrating its triumphs, and learning from its pains. This collection is presented in five parts (introductions, abuses, illnesses, loves, and farewells) uncovering the good and bad of existing,  and declaring that life is beautiful because of it all.

This is a reading of the poem, “Thrift,” one of 125 poems in the collection. Get your copy today!

heartstrings (2)

Featured post

Where Have I Been?

It seems like I started a website about writing stories, indulging in poetry, and sharing my thoughts…and then I disappeared.

That’s exactly what happened.

It was not intentional, I promise, but I am truly starting to appreciate the phrase, “life happens.”

In my case, I have two autoimmune diseases that refuse to go into remission, and they decide, instead, to frequently flare up, and I have been working multiple jobs to provide for my wonderful little family. I have also been focusing more on screenwriting than poetry as of late. I am hoping that with time, and my new life challenges, I will be able to approach a better sense of balance. Until then, be on the lookout for my slow rise from the ashes.

Wishing you the best always.


How To Be At Peace With The Phrase “boys will be boys”

turn the first ‘b’
to bitch
in the resting bitch face
you hope will protect you

add an ‘h’ to the ‘o’
to express your surprise
when it doesn’t work

‘wh’ goes before the ‘y’
which is the question
you will scream into the universe
of your mind
while your mouth remembers how to smile

the first ‘s’ is for silence
and the last ‘s’
is for survivor

between that is ‘will’
will you tell
will you always be afraid
will it always hurt

it eventually turns into
your will
to carry on

then there’s ‘be’
be angry
be scared
be patient with yourself
be kind to the part of you that is a victim
be nurturing to the part of you that is a warrior

then there’s the ‘boy’
this one is the toughest
because you may have to watch him
walk away free
no longer responsible
for leaving you
in chains

but remember
that’s how you make it to the last ‘s’
and in case you need reminding
that ‘s’
is for survivor


Similes For Something Like Love – Poetry from my past

as the reflection of the water
danced across your face
like a piano players hands
gently prancing upon the keys…

as your fingers gently
brushed against my skin
like a wave
washing up on its shore…

the way the moon gave your face
this loving glow
as it would
the petals of a fresh picked rose…

the way you tilted my chin up
for our eyes to meet
as if trying to enter into
the gateways of my soul…

the way you wrapped a blanket
around me
when you saw the slightest shiver
escape my body…

the way you left your arm around me
and pulled me closer
as if to say
“I want to stay forever.”

the night caressed us
like its precious children
and beneath a cover of twinkling stars
we fell asleep in each other’s loving arms…

When Depression Met Puberty – Poetry from my past

I’m being held, hostage
but there is no ransom
I’m being held captive
and no one can save me
I can’t even save myself
I’m wasting away
in a prison with no walls
I’m deteriorating
in a cell with no bars
no one can get in
and I can’t get out
there is nowhere to run
nowhere to hide
nothing I can do
I have been sentenced to life
and committed no crime
the door is locked
the key was never made
memories slowly slip away
my soul becomes helpless
my body lies still
there is no other way
emptiness surrounds me
I’m being held down
by invisible chains
nothing is important anymore

Reckons and Regards

I look at you and wonder
how much you cost,
what prices you have paid in life,
how much you have lost.

I look at you and wonder
what I have to give
to walk hand in hand with you;
the honor to watch you live.

I look at you and wonder
what makes your skies turn grey?
What puts frown lines on your face
and how to make it go away?

I look at you and wonder
what kind of magic is in your laugh,
if you have heaven in your eyes,
and could it be held in a photograph?

I look at you and wonder
what makes your body electric?
What things cause it to spark and shiver
making it alive and hectic?

I look at you and wonder
where your timeline ends.
What do we end up as?
Lovers or simply just friends?

But, most of all,
beneath the shade of these branches
on a breezy summer’s day,
I look at you and wonder if
you’re looking at me the same way.

My Skin – Poetry from my past

I’m cursed for my skin
I am cursed for my skin
for everywhere I go
the first thing they see
is my skin
and when they see
they can’t seem
to look past
my skin
because it’s my skin
they make it
like my sin
that I was born
with this skin
born of others
with this skin
and they were born of others
and others
with this skin
and the others
were taken from their land
because of their skin
beaten and starved
because of their skin
and that skin becomes scarred
and those scars become cursed
I tell you
I’m cursed for my skin
I am cursed for my skin
but that shouldn’t be
for it’s my skin
and not my sin
it’s my blessing
my skin
it’s my right
my skin
because this skin
is the only skin
I have to live in
I am proud of my skin
I’m proud of my skin
and for those of you
with skin like my skin
don’t hide it in the shade
let it see the sun
our time to lift the curse
has already begun

Powered by

Up ↑

%d bloggers like this: