Do Not Fuck With My Wife
I mean, not in that seedy-dive-bar-dude-in-flannel-leers-at-my-wife-
kind of way.
No, no, no, I mean: Do Not Fuck With My Wife.… Read More Do Not F*ck with My Wife
It kept on following me
No matter how long or how fast I ran
Pinched myself a thousand times
In hope of waking up from this nightmare… Read More Shadows of My Past
Can I just write
About something beautiful
Not educational or earth-shattering
Just a smattering
Of word paint
Watercolor for the soul
Like a sunset or fruit bowl
The sound of nothingness
While looking at the stars
Or the deafening roar of a waterfall
Drowning out the dark… Read More Watercolor for the Soul
My anxieties are always chasing the future.
Frustration grows as I know
I will never leave the present… Read More The Gift of Presence
Stealth and her sisters have taken
residence at the cul-de-sacs of my nerves.
They held house warmings,
let the hot air humble itself until
it sank down upon the guests’ shoulders
as a cool, refreshing breeze,… Read More Poetry by Karissa
You are yellow to me.
Sunny, happy, bright.
A little too bright.
A little piercing.
A little blinding.… Read More Yellow
pulls at something
in your blood
like it does
the tides,… Read More Affinity
The Child Finder moves effortlessly. I couldn’t wait until I had free moments to read this book. … Read More The Child Finder
Blood in my veins,
In a frozen state,
Sliding like wine
On his curved, red lips.… Read More If Love is A Tale
Ethel Beauregard is not dead.
Ethel Beauregard is alive.
She died, not with a choked gasp, scream
Not metal or a screech
Ethel Beauregard died of paper cuts on her fingers and face
She died, not of heartbreak, but of a heart made whole too many times.… Read More Ethel Beauregard is Not Dead