Office Door

You left your door wide open
but you were already
gone for the day.
Everyone’s secrets
were in the hallway
escaping the darkness
of your office.
They were in a language
all of us can understand.
They wanted to be found
and dissected
like animals
in a high school science class
for the credit
of getting through all the pain.
I asked the front desk
if you meant to leave
everything so vulnerable,
if you needed some space from it all.
The girl working said no
and that she’d go back there
to lock everything that got out back up.
I hope when you get there in the morning
it’s not all too much to handle.
I hope you remember
to lock up next time.



Inhale dirt,
exhale flowers.
My lungs are gardens
with roots tangled,
reaching deep
to where the earth sees no light,
where hands find cold mud.
Rows of spring
line my throat,
my heart beats blooms from my chest.
Tulips, daisies, moonflower, and poppies
all collected into bouquets.
I am part of the healing wounded,
knowing softness better than I used to.


The international symbol for being fragile
is a broken martini glass on the side of a cardboard box.
It’s never been anatomical hearts,
fractured bones,
crooked spines,
bruised self-esteems,
or anything else you shouldn’t bend
for fear of breaking.
How else would sense of self
even be illustrated?
Too many times
we have quantified fragility in things
forgetting that we, too, are just as easily broken.

Tuesday Night

I opened my front door
and led you into my room.
Candles were lit and flickering
but not to convey romance.
I just wanted to darken
our collective shyness.
And there was nothing romantic
about you saying “you can suck my dick if you want to”.
After all,
that’s why I invited you over.
That’s why you messaged me.
You unzipped,
I got on my knees,
and I took you in my mouth.
I took in your smell,
your taste,
and it was all perfect.
I’d been eager to do this with you for months.
To hear your moans fill the space around me.
You said harder,
I sucked harder.
I used my tongue in ways
I’d been missing
because for the past few years,
I’ve had only cisgendered dick in my mouth.
So I devoured you,
put some of my longing into you
as much as you’d let me.
I pulled your pants down further
and grabbed your clenched ass with both hands.
I pulled you into me,
you pushed into me,
you grabbed my hair.
You took off your shirt
revealing a body
my hands wanted to explore.
I wanted to kiss the scars on your chest
but there wasn’t time.
I wanted to kiss your lips
but that’s not what you were here for.
You came hard,
said this was the weirdest thing you’d ever done,
and we both laughed.
I walked you back to the front door
where we agreed we’d have to do this again sometime.
I went back to my room
and opened my window
to let some of the night air in.
The candles are almost finished flickering,
like stars about to burn out.

Adventure Dog

Adventure Dog
loved being in the sun.
She loved being under the covers
until she’d pant her way to cooler air.
Adventure dog loved people,
car rides,
and long walks.
She was a champion adjuster
of blankets for napping.
Adventure Dog
got me out of bed
when I was too scared to do it myself.
She recognized my panic
as well as I did.
She knew the definition of divorce
as being just me now
and him only sometimes,
then him never again.
Adventure Dog
cared that I got home safe
from a night of drinking.
Never knew there were so many times
when I almost didn’t.
She never judged me
for all the vomiting,
the hangovers,
the regret.
Adventure dog
has been gone since April 7, 2016.
Looked like she knew why the vet came over.
She fell asleep on my bed for the last time.
Turned into ashes
that sit on a shelf in my room.
She’s not here to witness
my sobriety
or my newfound joy for life.
Her snores are no longer the lullaby
I listen to as I fall asleep.
Adventure Dog
often visits me in my dreams.
Sometimes, I can still feel her heaviness nearby
in the between being awake and still sleeping.


Car ride to Portland
That face
Casual Friday dog
In the sun
Awkward dog selfie
Bed buddy
Breakfast time
Our last day







I went to Target and bought a box
of 100 tea light candles.
The cashier asked me why so many,
thought maybe I was gonna propose.
That 100 small flames
would be the way to do it.
That I’d get
an enthusiastic “yes!”
from the love of my life
when actually,
I just have a lot of candle holders.
There is no alternate plan,
no one to profess my love to.
Just 11 little fires
flickering in the quiet of my room.