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Letting Go

The space between faith and failing—as fragile as my grandmother’s slip– I see those two don’t exist as I had thought they did. After waking– as if from a cave…

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Publication…

I just wanted to share with you all that my racy little essay is getting published by Mad Hatter’s Review! I’ll share when it’s up!

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…for Erica

and chasing trains,
the smell of the tracks
beneath that one rainbow
who the hell can see forever

I think of you,
I respond to your letters,
I picture you across
the ocean, painting houses
to get by on your trek across
the continent with your love.
I picture you gardening–
maybe Mexican Paintbrush?
soil and seeds in your hands—hands
I’ve held while leaping into
unknown waters, our handshake.

I read your search for yourself,
and your courage to find it,
fearless.
You were always fearless.
It wasn’t the world that
frightened you.
That was a thing we
had in common but didn’t know it—
what frightened us
was ourselves.
In dark corners across the globe
facing down hell
in shacks and hospitals
I read your eloquent graffiti
you wrote in a rush,
and I was there hovering
over your breaking heart
as you held mine

I heard from someone
you’re still beautiful

See, you started living
from the outside in—
you grabbed that great big
old world in your arms
squeezing it until you hugged
only yourself

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Undone: A Bipolar Duet

It is a sunny afternoon, the light coming in yellow through her curtains that cut through the smoke. Cat Stevens feels like water inside my soul and then she switches…

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She’s Come Undone

It is a sunny afternoon, the light coming in yellow through her curtains that cut through the smoke. Cat Stevens feels like water inside my soul and then she switches…

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A Trauma Theory

It was my third year in college when I first heard the term string theory. I remember moving forward into what he’d say next, and as the professor strolled over…

Diary of Dawn PowellPhotographed in New York, 2012

Red Tides

The journal at my bedside. I stare at the white winter light coming though the double-paned glass and crystal dust drifts in empty air. The nurse comes in her alcohol…

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EB-125

EB-125 I think I’m seeing white birds white birds scattering away from my window, out there in the cold January, their wings sound, from here, like sheets– my grandmother’s white…

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Madden Me Back

I have lost the need to be someone. It’s strange that when You have one piece left of so many selves And it breaks, shattering your familiar reflection, You–annihilated in…

dVerse Poem

Share your poetry and creativity over at Dverse Poets Pub.  I am basing my poem off of a drawing I’ve been working on. Stitches You’re in my ribcage I turn…