“Its been so long since we haven’t been on the road.”

I had an interaction with a couple that highly resembled the personalities and movements of Mickey and Mallory yesterday. I’m sure they weren’t harmful but I did write a poem about it.

No front licenses plate on my three door car.

“We came from California” reads my area code.

I don’t know who I am and I’m sure as Hell don’t know her.

And she doesn’t know me.

Where am I? How did I make it to Ohio?

Did she have my kid? Does she have kids?

My credit card is a swipe away from being declined.

My leather jacket has too much bacteria.

I left my leather jacket behind.

Almost, until someone brought it to my attention.

Where is my attention?

“Its been so long since we haven’t been on the road.”

Where is my attention?

She puts the pill bottle on the counter before I decided I’m paying.

Not enough pills to entertain a baby, but the sound of one pill rattling is enough to keep my eyes cherishly lit.

There’s a diner in New Mexico.

We can go, you miss the roads.

As we drive separately, don’t lose control.

We could make it to one of those TV show.

Where the killer has perfect teeth and is willing to speak.

I’ve never acted so natural. As she feeds the baby and lays me a stained map in her red door car.

Highway sign reads “Welcome to New Mexico… Have you seen Natural Born Killers?”

Baby is asleep and the couple thinks…

Leaves the milk and pill bottle behind for their needs are fixed.

If Mickey and Mallory were here, we’d bow down to their feet.

Natural Born Killers couple 



Happy National Poetry Month to all! The month of April looks pretty easy going with the events I have planned. Which means I will have time to really celebrate this month dedicated to poetry! (Even though every month is poetry month) Here is a poem I wrote earlier this year…

Sitting in a cold room, not much different than outside.

Hearing wind charms. Coming from where?

Makes sense coming for inside or out there.

There’s so much I could say but my bones are shaking, to a frozen stop.

No hope tonight, no luck.

I watch him as he sits lifeless, smirking a bit.

Probably at ease for no more nonsense.

For he has lived through the years, years of freezing degrees.

Memory chills, of wanting warm meals.

As he sits still, I can’t make much more out of him.

I see that there is not much more to see.

Snow is falling free filling up six feet deep.

He doesn’t enter this man made steep.

Rather he admires the breezes for it is not cold to him.

At this I am reminded that life is at the bend of our knees.

I get up and leave.

I realize nobody is following me but, me.

I left the cold room.

My knees are bending, my mind is mending through endless possibilities.

It then comes to a halt, my mind, the image of the kind man.

Shows me his hand, rough and inviting.

Shows me his young hand, tough and expanding.

Dad poem

Rainy March evening (first blog posted)

Tomorrow I am switching my major from Criminal Justice to Journalism and Mass Communications. Spring break just ended and I am currently sitting in my first year of college, second semester. I have been skipping my Intro to Criminal Justice class for about two weeks now and keep looking into journalism internships in Cleveland.

I am most proud of myself for realizing that working in the field of Criminal Justice will do no good to my mental health and I prize anyone pursuing in this field.

If there is a ”round two” then I am doing something right.