Sometimes, alone at night, I can’t help but hold on to my phone

wishing someone would call or text or reach out

wishing I had someone to call or text or reach out to

someone that understood


Other times I go out between dusk and dawn and wander around

when the town sleeps and I’m alone in the streets.

I can’t help but feel free…


If only for a little bit.

Short Stories


The day came to an end.  It was nice.  The weather had cleared up and he spent the whole day relaxing and playing with friends.  He came home and sat down, grooving to his favourite song.  It was almost midnight and he was tired.  He put his headphones to rest and went to brush his teeth.

And he realized, standing there, facing himself in the mirror that he was alone.  His chest started to tighten and he had to fight to breathe.  The bathroom started to close in.  And in the quiet, silent, lonely moment he hated what he saw in the mirror.  This caricature of a person that everyone else thought was him.

He wasted day after day pretending to connect, not saying what was really on his mind.  He wasn’t fake, but he wasn’t real either.  The fear that stopped him from doing anything worthwhile turned into a worry of ending up mediocre with superficial friends and a shallow life.

He put his toothbrush down and put in his earbuds again.


To Dad

I’ve never seen Dad weak, but his voice shook and for the first time in my life he said he wasn’t okay.

Dad has had heart attacks and been kicked by horses.  He’s gone through some rough patches financially and mentally but he never admitted any vulnerabilities.

I can’t imagine how you must be taking this.  I’m sorry I can’t help.

I’ll be the first to admit.  I don’t always like you and I’m sure you don’t always like me.  But Dad I love you.



I reach out just to back out.
The sun’s out but it’s dark out.
I wanna drink ’till I black out.
Not thinking, it’s like whiteout.
So I smile out with my teeth out.
And I joke about my life now.

But, God damn, I need a time out.


Cleaning Out My Closet

I promised to be open with you
my closest friend
this runaway blog.

So here goes
cleaning out my closet
’cause I promised to be honest

Some things I can’t say
Some things will stay locked away
or almost until something reminds me
or I get home or
when I’m all alone
and it comes back like a thief in the night and
I can’t sleep and
I can’t eat and
I can’t breath and
I can’t think and

I just wish I could