from bed, a letter

Hi –

Thank you to all followers and those who stop-by to check out “my morning stream”. If you haven’t read the “about” tab, please do, it shares the process and project behind this blog.

In total, I’ll be looking at two years of streaming, editing, sharing, worrying, forgetting, fretting in self-conscious fits, and otherwise being a writer who feels as though they have something to share.

Delayed gratification, wrapping my head around insecurity, and understanding process are the underlying personal challenges i expose while undertaking this endeavor.

Themes that come out of my writing? Those are many and varying.

I rushed around a lot, still do some, though I’m coming to terms with my skin and abilities of what I am and who I share – what we have is one another. Not always peaceful, not always at war, and sometimes just being; yet together as we push and pull to create something greater than what came before.

By profession, and otherwise, i’m a teacher. i believe in the pursuit of being uncomfortable, taking risks, and sharing what we have to offer to continue sewing the infinite thread that passes through the tapestry of human history, as to not lose the fundamental pieces of who we are as beings.

Who are we?

People who desire love and community, people who are destined to experience loss and humility. One beat with billions of faces finding ways to contemplate and share experiences that bind us.

Thank you, again, for your support. Some days I’m embarrassed by what I publish, others proud, and sometimes I feel like I don’t know the person who wrote the words you see.

Surprise and mystery, of ourselves and one another, are reason enough to rise in the morning.

I look forward to conversation and visiting the worlds you create.

Thank you,


from a fold out bed, loud breathing

your lies kept us together

disorganized thoughts ordered into chaos as i wonder, while the answer waits

i’ve basked in synonymous questions for a dense decade decorated in more dancing than dread


they keep coming up

the questions

a mark

i emphasize key words hoping to bend your ears into your heart for a reality to create a fresh start

your bafflement and approach are beyond reproach as a new spin catches up to my doubt within this empire of frustration that you love

minute to minute

facts left through the back door, carrying the means in a worn out brief case

i see an end

it’s because of the means and they don’t justify a thing

relationships don’t have a blue finish line ribbon to rip

nothing to cross

just the one over my shoulder

and i don’t believe it’s there

i do know what’s in that box stored deep in the recess of her minds mind minding your business which is carrying suitcases with starched men who drink double scotches and order them like every asshole orders a double scotch

on the rocks

i’m getting lost as you’re forgetting you tossed two mop heads and loyalty to a cost benefit that’s your analysis

did you win?

i can’t say it was anything more than a tie as this goodbye suffers in with a favorite lie

the one we told when i played with the fold of white hand sweat paper

i didn’t need to look

i remembered and rehearsed those words

not needing to bow, it wasn’t a show

maybe i’m tethered to a web of my past masking itself in the way you bask in everyone’s sunlight while guiding relationships by moonlight

maybe it’s your patience that keeps us together


from a fold out bed, be careful of pronouns

i zipped it shut and walked away

innocence trapped in a bag with my initials on it, an ode to a forgotten time when gifts were working to define how i’d view the world

it sits on the top shelf in my closet now

holding letters to mysterious creatures and old candy bar wrappers

i peak inside from time to time

inspiration for a way home

stuck inside, curiosities roam from peak to valley in midnight walks around a room built for two, or three, maybe four. there are enough doors, pick one you want to exit through

or, we could take them all off in fits of honesty and clear out the pretension that sits with knowing we’re somewhere they can’t be

they’ll always run free

because they get to treat the sounds that clatter from our room as little more than the raising of little ones to do our bidding when the mice shriek down the stairs they’ll be crushed by side-eyed stares and who cares if one of you light the flare it’ll only alert hyper-egos and selfish sun soaked children to look away while their loved ones are feasted on and carried to a place of infinite corners and steam shop loaners wandering into one another wondering if there is a way to grab that bag out of your closet

unzip it

and let the dreams of children fly through fanciful forgotten scenes of innocence

those are my initials though

it’s mine

that’s what they were trying to tell me

close that thing

from bed, well timed

like you

i navigated ancestral waters to an opening in the sky, splatters of holy water were left covering her thighs

careening into valleys

sliding down alleys


rippling from the vibrations of my crossing chasm screams that came crashing out of lungs learning to leave

an understated goodbye

a piece of you and him

alone now

i leave messes for you to remember

it was your decision

a collision kept from love

though that doesn’t define what platforms i design to account for mountains swallowing my pride in moments when i catch a glimpse of your puckered face twisted from grace grabbing and gobbling the giant goblins gift as i grant permission to press on in this plane

plain to see what was given from you to me

this dimpled chin, blemished skin, and a sin to thin out the crowd

stop and listen

to the others joining us here

crawling out of a home where we’ll all return

they hold the answer