I stand in a frenzy. Stillness is upon my face. Inside of me
I have begun to go manic. Bouncing off the thoughts that
rage inside of me, one wall to the other, back and forth,
gaining momentum as they pop against me, like a pinball
machine. As quickly as the initial thought is released, the
rest of them begin and there is no longer any control. I am
at the whim of my own brain. Peace and serenity and just the
quiet repose of my senses have pushed way down into my toes
and fingertips. I know this because I can feel them tingling. The
anxiety has begun to rise and I will shortly become impulsive
and compulsive and will destroy any sense of stability that I have.
The truth that I generally live in will become a lie and as that
tall story blossoms and grows, my sense of self will retreat to an idea
of me I have put to rest a long time ago.
I have deprived myself of the presence of the moment and will
now suffer the waves of consequential suffering, by overlooking the
solution of one moment of meditation, until I realize that I must
come back into my body.
I begin to pinch myself in order to wake myself out of the
destructive trance. I slow my breathing and begin to reconnect
to now. The sensations in my fingers begin to come alive and
I can feel my limbs rooting themselves to my core and my core
shining positive energy. All at once, I am love again and fear is
back in its cage. These twinklings of deprivation used to be as big
as mountains and despite their overwhelming power at times,
they’re really not more than speed bumps. Speed bumps I can just
roll over.



Summer, Summertime.

Summer is my jam. No really. I’m a sun worshiping, warm weather loving, ocean swimming mamma jamma. I love summer. For nine months out of the year, I wait patiently and semi-silently for a summer day tease. You know? One of those warm 80 degree days in the middle of January, where the sun is brilliantly shining bright, the breeze is cool, but in no way exemplifies a barren and cold wind and I forget that it’s actually winter time.

I hop in the shower, shave my winter legs, and can’t get myself quickly enough into my bathing suit. Hopefully, I’m only midway to my winter hibernation weight, but regardless, I go to the beach and pretend like one day after another for many consecutive days, I will have summer fun. I live for these days. These gentle, but taunting unnaturally seasonally challenged days are the little pieces of hope that get me to moments like today: the Summer Solstice.

Today is the longest day of the year. The life giving, heart of the solar system will bare it’s brightness for all of us to celebrate for just today. But, it does not just deliver one gift. No, no, no. It’s like a three month long celebration of amazingness. I know most of you are perspiring like a wild animal, but I’m basking in it because I know it means one thing. It’s summer, summer time.



LBC—The City to Be

The word city  causes me anxiety and an overall feeling of dread. I have never been that person who has wanted to live in a big city and experience all that life has to offer. New York? No, thanks. Paris? No, thanks. LA? No, thanks. With that being said, I have to first admit that I am the quintessential definition of a beach girl. I don’t necessarily look like one, but my heart and soul would beg to differ. I have to be close to the ocean or I feel restrained, stagnant, like a piece of me needs to be revived inside.

There was a period of time about twenty years ago where I thought I wanted to live in Hollywood, mostly for the diversity and weird factor. I had traveled along the small cities within Southern California that bordered the ocean and needed a bit more inspiration. However, I was in a bit of a quandary because of my love for the ocean breeze and the epic sunsets that the Pacific Ocean often produces. So, I found and settled at first sight for Long Beach, California. It was almost by accident and I had never really spent much time there. I once had been on some mushroom tea and had made my way to the Bob Marley Festival. Besides that, my idea of Long Beach had been set by visions of Snoop Dogg videos and Sublime songs. I wasn’t exactly thrilled to settle there. Yet, a job offer I couldn’t refuse came my way and I had become a LB resident and I’m forever grateful for it.

Long Beach is a city. Definitely. Still, within it, there are many different communities that come together and form this unified experience of diversity, open-mindedness, freshness, progression, natural living, art, extravagance and freedom. It holds the third largest Pride Festival that is framed by the Pacific Ocean. It has farmer’s markets practically every day of the week where you can procure anything from organic vegetables to homemade jam to wire wrapped crystals while you people watch and listen to live music. On any day of the week, you can usually head out your door towards Retro Row, which is a collection of vintage shops, stores and a home base for Portfolio coffee shop, and find something that you can just join in and celebrate. Long Beach has an amazing music scene filled with all kinds of festivals, which usually are affiliated with Fingerprints, a local record store. Long Beach always finds a way to have a community event. It’s like the perfect combination of a laid back, but very conscious vibe mixed with every type of person you can think of.

I spent fourteen years in this city. It’s the longest I’ve every spent anywhere, including as a child. I got drunk in Long Beach. Very drunk. I got sober a couple of times. I fell in love more times than I can count. I danced. I recklessly walked the streets in the middle of the night. I worked some jobs. I became a local. I met my son’s father and had a sweet little boy. I graduated college. I learned that I was a writer and not just a teenage girl penning her angst down in a journal. I met life long friends in Long Beach. I lost friends. I ate the best food I still have ever had. I read books, sang tunes, watched Pride festivals, with and without a girl on my arm. I saw some of the greatest bands in the world. I smiled a lot in Long Beach. I cried too. I watched sunsets. I felt God. I got to witness numerous acts of kindness and grace. I had loads of conversations with perfect strangers. I begged for death. I celebrated new life. I learned what it meant to be a part of something bigger than me. A community. Many communities. I lost myself. I found myself. I fell in love with Long Beach. A city. A perfect little city for me.

It seems like when I think I know something, the Universe has a weird way of showing me something new. Long Beach was one of those big lessons. I simply would not be who I was without having spent time in a place that some have nicknamed, “the sewer by the sea”. Long Beach has some grit to it. Most people don’t last but a few years.  Luckily, I like rough around the edges and will always call this city home.



An Ode to the Natural Woman

Rise and shine
to the chirping of birds and the scent of the sea. The waves begin
their rolling dance, ebb and flow,
back and forth as my sanity lingers
between them. I sense the vibrations
from my dreams that have followed me
to my wakened state and I begin to
stare at the dim sky, waiting for the sun
to break through my consciousness.

My prescription bottles remain empty.

I walk through the day present in nature’s
presence, aware of the strength of a good
jaunt back into the wilderness. Affording
myself this luxury, I remain intact, whole,
my arguments with myself stay sane. Often,
I think of the heroes before me who wrote of
the sea and its relatives. And, how Mother Nature
wasn’t always their savior. She is mine.

I howl at the moon and the energy of a unified
scream fills me to the brink. I have been refueled and can walk among the masses,
making my way as though as I belong, but
aware of my sensitivity and their futility.
Attention to the details of the green in the
trees, the fluttering of the hummingbird’s wings,
the caw of the crow and the scent of the roses,
my weapons are always only a reach away.

I stay true because of my connection and I stay
because I am a small part of the whole of it.
Natural Daily Post Prompt

Mandatory Fucking

I wake up with a sharp pain

in my gut or my soul. Neither of them matter.

Most likely it’s my blackened heart.

I reach over for a warm body to

shove into this empty hole, but you

are not there. The imprint of you still remains

on the striped pillowcase.

My eyes close as if I’m still lingering between sleep

and wakefulness.

Fingers tiptoe to where your warmth lies

and come only to find a pocket of void air

that you left behind from before.

Rolling over into my pillow, I shove my

Fingers into the dampness between my legs to get a taste

of what you’ve been missing. My body loosens

as my fingers quicken, imagining you filling me up,

losing your consciousness onto the back

of my neck.

As I plunge deeper inside, I feel you on top

of me putting all that you have left to give

into each thrust. Longer. Harder. And, then slow.

Cuming down into me as we begin to pant into each other.

I pull my hand from underneath the covers and

laughter forces itself out of my pussy as the

tears begin to stream down the side of my face and

onto your pillow. I imagine you there with your hand

still on my ass. I watch the animal in you slowly go

back to sleep and the humdrum of my lonely breath alone

lingers only alone without you.

Breathing a sigh of relief, I fall back asleep and wake up

full of sense.


Alternate That Frequency

I don’t know that I’ve felt my
existence within someone the
way that I do with you.
As your hand reaches to touch my face,
I see your feelings through your eyes through mine.
Cascading lifetimes pull our bodies in the now
apart as an eternity of knowledge slides into
metaphors of
not words
not emotions
not experience
but more like epiphanies of universal love of the
hand that opens my vulnerable core and turns it into a
community of expansion upon the
veil of this existence.

Pure in heart, in thought, in soul,
I lose sensation with
my shape as I become formless and
melt into all that which is around me.
I am you.I am the trees.
I am the homeless
man on the street who came home long before me.
Robbed of the justifications which allowed his ego to
propel him on a material shooting spree of spiritual
assassination, he lays segregated from society,
but he knows the path of the eternal 360,
what goes around comes back around again.
Karmic debt to travel with through the lifetimes of
reality so that we all remain in packs, tethered to one another.

We stay.
Faces change.
They all transition, but we stand in our loyal solidarity
Pulled together over again with no say so.
Destiny has had its hand on our deck.
Cards dealt.
Choices made.
I choose the struggle because the struggle is you.



Fuck this Shit

I don’t take care of myself is the thought I usually have after I’ve had one too many pieces of pizza, am amidst the pains of a break-up, am sleeping with someone to make myself feel better about said break-up or buy another black pair of heels that I’ll only wear one to three times and most definitely can’t afford. I enter a drastic place of loneliness, self-doubt, borderline depressive thinking and my brain quite quickly jumps to the absolute worst part of the reality of where the situation is about to hit the fucking fan, only fueling more bad behavior.

I Call Bullshit


Skimming the headlines, searching,

There is always searching,

For something to bring me current.

From the bottom of my bottle to the

Top of my head, I stand invisible and

Feel like the world has left me behind

To go about its business unaware

That I am standing here, screaming:

“Fucking leave it be already.”

The pounding of that sledgehammer

Seems silent compared to the

Stance my head has taken. Thoughts

Seem to be stolen by the insatiable

Urge to stand alone, still.

Calm has seemed a distant future

And more loss a probable outcome

Until additional inaudible cries will

Be heard and then there

Is you: All shiny and bright like

A fucking pink and purple cloud

Of cotton candy and slowly

The death march I’ve been running to and fro

Teasing myself and it back and forth

And forth again looks me dead in the eye

And has me, just like that. It all falls

Aside and deliberately, my eyes

Widen as my hips loosen and I remember

To cry and dance and that there is a sunrise

That has my name on it, just waiting to be

Seen after a late night fuck fest only sealed

By your kiss.

(I can’t help to feel. I feel. God damnit, I

Feel like I can’t fall and then there,

I feel I’ve fallen for your kiss and it’s all sealed by your deal.)

Remembering the Way I used to Shake it While that Juke Box Played that Song


There’s this girl I watch

a couple times a week:

Stringy hair, thin frame,

carefree style, opinionated

in her silence and mousiness,

(mousiness in the sense of being subtle

and not in her looks), which I like.

She brings her lunch in little plastic baggies,

nibbling on her homemade

peanut butter and jelly

sandwich with the crust still on.

As if she’s trying to hide

something from everyone around her,

she checks out.

Munching on her sandwich

with intent, her thoughts seem

to overrule the feast of the

fruit in her mouth.

She finishes her lunch off with

a bruised banana, chewing slowly, not

losing her resolve to fulfill

her hunger. She wraps the peel

up quietly, tucking it in on

top of her purse, waiting to

dispose of it, not wanting to

draw attention to her awkward

walk across the room.

Her lack of shower, (maybe she

had a bird bath instead) which

I know is to save the water, is

a reminder of my own choices to

do the same: Save the planet. I

envision her standing in front of

her vanity mirror, scrubbing her

arm pits with a faded yellow

wash cloth, which was probably

her grandma’s while humming songs

to some anti-government band from

years before, making sure to avoid

changing her underwear.

All of this reminds me of a time in my own life where:

We drank a lot,
fucked a lot,

fought a lot.

We were opinionated,



Life seemed to pass us by,

exist only in it debauchery,

remind us of our nemesis.

We crawled into bottles

to hide our resentments,

our responsibilities,

our lackluster views of society.

We chastised our leaders who lied to us,

our drug dealers who stole from us,

the bums on the street who got their

booze for free.

We sang songs screaming for justice,

wrote poems begging for silence,

and passed out every night in our own puke.

I think of those times and don’t

miss them one bit.

But, I just wouldn’t trade them

for anything. Sometimes,

pain is the great motivator and

stinky armpits are the reminder

that I need to shake it up once

in a while, despite my age.

So, I thank you little girl, (not in

a bad way, but in the way that

I was truly a little girl pretending

to be all grown up, too). You reminded

me of “my roots, my rock, my reggae.”