Bad apple

Transient is my shiny exterior;

reflecting truth between the shelter,

hiding bruises after falls,

held up by others — the only time I stand tall —

pathetic validation; never should have been



before my time (but when is my time?)

Seasonal, except for my interior:

One bite, and you know

sour, wasted, just throw.

Don’t think this way,

it’s apples and oranges, they say.

But what if you are better

being an orange than I am an apple?

Your sourness is valued,

you fill cups and are worthy

even of a nickname — a timeless one at that — OJ.

I’ve never even heard of AJ.


English Major

Note to self when in doubt

You get to spend a few years of your life reading, thinking, and discussing literature. This access you have is an opportunity as much as it is a privilege.



X: [Choking, sentimentally] Caught up in you — for all the wrong reasons, you say…

O: better off not living this way, but how about it [stands with dazed look. Turns head left and right] Just today? [Pause] Spare me, time; I need some to —

X: breathe. [Anger rising, fists clenched] How is it that you don’t ever look back without knowing WHY? ALL THIS WHILE I could only look from behind [pants for air. Catches breath before falling to a whisper] won’t you stay for a bit?

O: I will only rest – just a beat. [Leans on wall]

X: It’s only been a few days but a few years have gone by. [Counts with fingers] Too many changes have come and died. [hands fall to sides] where are you seeing right now are you smiling or crying I wish I know why you are running ALONE I see your shoulders; sometimes [falls to knees] I want to quit, too.

O: [Pushes self off the wall] Everything is changing. [Paces on the spot] But me? Why?

X: 21; there’s alot left to do. [Deep sigh] Mis(s)takes — it hurts me to hurt them. I really wanted to do so well for them; but it’s me —

O: I’ve changed? [Looks heavenward]

X: It’s not too late for that break: I’m going to lie down. [Lies prostrate]

[O leans back against the wall, hands folded.]

[Simultaneously] Don’t wake me up.

Black out.



the pulp moulds

under your fever

touch – it crumbles; feeble.

seep into the folds,

rewriting the untold:

Inhale, and fill

the days past

tire(d)less upturns

yet. Still last.

Exhale, and peel

back to the drawing board.


Hunter Valley, Sept 2017.

I climbed a tree,

and caught it’s tears.

I drank the sunlight,

flew from my fears.

I dropped my mind,

tried picking it up – too much too heavy a fight.

I need something,

more than anything.

A higher self,

but this time,

not on your shelf.

I chased shadows and lost colour.

My battle scars aren’t for show,

No. But that doesn’t mean I’m ashamed of them.


I want to say I did it because of my hopes, not fears.

I want to know what it’s like to wake up feeling happy.

I want to turn off the lights knowing I have given it my all.

I want to listen to the wind in the trees on my way home, and feel as light as the leaves.

I want answers to questions I shouldn’t ask.

I want to be able to open my eyes underwater, breathe with the wind in my face.

I want to know how to love you, but I’ve got to love myself first.

I want to be enough.