A Porcelain Doll Shattered

Inspired by A Doll’s House by Henrik Ibsen

Pretty woman

sits and smiles

for her husband

Pretty woman

dance and sings

for her husband

Pretty woman

never denies and obey

her husband

Pretty woman

borrows and owes money

because of her husband

Pretty woman

worries and frets

and doubts

and questions her


because of her husband

Young woman

brushes porcelain

shards off herself

Young woman


her stationary duty

as doll wife and mother

leaving behind her husband



As I was drivng  home tonight, the thoughts I had my sophomore, junior year of college came back. I thought of many ways to kill myself in my car– hitting a curb to flip over, running into a light pole, or veering off into a ditch– but as I rounded the corner of CE King and the Shell gas station, I saw a man in a black hoodie hugging his knees to his chest. After seeing that, my mind and thoughts became focused and centered on him and why he was at that corner in fifty something degree weather hugging his knees to his chest. I don’t know why that image of him stuck itself in my head but now all I can think of is writing a story to fit that image of him.

SIDENOTE: Writing is what I live for and there are no expectations or pressures of being perfect. Writing for me is like smoking; suck in all the negative and positive shit and breath out everything to the wind and repeat.


Technology Rules the Human Race

In a classroom fit for twenty-five students, there was only ten of us spread thinly throughout the room. No one talked to one another and some had headphones on while others smiled at their phones. Technology was everywhere and in every face, including mine. My first day here, I tried to talk to this one girl, Bertha Homes and that was it. One day of communication and she was back on her phone only looking up to say “hey” whenever I spoke to her. Eventually, she stopped saying “hey” back because I stopped trying to connect.

Today was computer day, yet again, which meant get your work done and get on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, and whatever other social media site. I just sat there and watched the other kids scroll or tweet. I saw him at the door before the teacher because she, too, was either scrolling or tweeting. He walked in looking around to the same sight I did my first day too. Technology everywhere and in every face. Soon, he will adapt to the ways of the classroom where texting is the new form of communication.


Some days, I sat at the kitchen table

nibbling on a pork bone with him

by my side;

The man who resembled my daddy

in smell and by the sadness of his brown eyes.


Other days, I laid with him on top–

sweating and panting– while I

remained still and lifeless.

Once the deed was done, a shiny

nickel was tossed my way;

sometimes a whole dollar.


I could never forget his fake leg which ailed

him when he walked

or fell off whenever he pounced on me.


I never hated him nor did I

get the chance to love him.

Negativity Crowding My Mind

Gazing into the darkness of my room

my mind wonders throughout;

What if I never…

I hate the way I…

Please let him/her be okay…

The longer I stay within darkness,

the more I feel its grasp tightening.

I can no longer find an escape 

until the brightness from the Sun

peeks through my blinds and awakens me

Sleeping Beauty (redefined)

Awaken from a wondrous sleep 

with a mop atop of your head

and dry saliva trailing from mouth

to chin. 
Your sweet prince walks in and places

a kiss on top of your forehead

as well as the unborn child. 
You lay back down for another five 

minutes while your prince cooks 


Stitch Me Up

Replace my old tattered heart with a new one

Take out my dead, cried-out eyes and give me fresh, vibrant ones 

Remove my battered and disfigured arms and legs

Fix me up to look pretty for my next master to play with and discard