Writings
I post many of my writings on my blog, Indigobelle.net. Here are a few excerpts of my poetry:
The Playhouse
there’s nothing like this place, you know
the mood, the lighting, the sounds, the drinks –
not that he’s had one in 9 months, 4 days:
sober from the glass but drunk on the bar.
no, there’s nothing like this place – a little Clifford,
Louis, Ella. enough to make anyone high, floating
to a dive like no other week night; sexy, swanky, sultry.
where raspy voices can talk you through your troubles
and a sip of water is as good as a sip of whiskey.
nope there’s nothing like this place, please know
because out these doors he’s no more street than gravel
but in, he’s no more normal than the rest
forgotten
I am a curdled sunflower
 desperate for the sky but my 
 leaves are dust and I am crumbling
down down down 

to the ground, ground, ground
​
I am a butterfly whose artist 
 forgot to paint my wings
 instead of periwinkle plum and peach
I am puce, layered with puce, 
 with some more puce on top
​
I am a red sequoia tree

but my branches are too heavy
 nobody dares to come near me
because each day I weep
 and I weep, I weep
Needles
I wish I could vomit out my addiction
day in and day out i am seduced
promises slither along my skin
up my arms and down my spine
they worm their way into my pores
and build a home inside me
i try to squeeze them out with my nails
but my body harbors them like pets
with my false hopes and crusty dreams
covered in dust and bookmarked
i feel so alive when i adopt another lie
it fills me up with faith while simultaneously
staining a red hand print across my cheek
i claw at myself in desperation
I’ll never vomit out my addiction
"play time"
my satin sheets blindly welcomed

the ice cold feet attached to you. 

you stomped between my bloodied halls and
 after bleached my bedroom walls, 

and then you clutched my midriff, 

stained my shirt with your regret,

while I sat traumatized by the puddle

oozing between my legs.
​
look at me! look at me —
 blinded by your apologies
 that shouldn’t erase

your indiscretions but yet
 here I am cradled

on your lap, your baby, 
 trusting your every word.
​
but here we go again, 

you’re like a rhinoceros

raging around the bedroom
 driving your horn between my legs
 while I crumple and beg

but you can’t hear me when you put
 your hand over my mouth and say
 “they’ll hear you.”
​
and when you’re through —

you’re disgusted with what you’ve done.
​
you take me to the butcher shop
 hang me up next to the feather 
 cock who eyes my broken hymen
 reaches over and unhitches the rope
 around my neck so that I’m 

falling

into a maze of sidewalks lined 
 with your heads that haunt me
 and I remember how you said
 “don’t tell dad.”
what are you doing new year's eve?
the droplets pound against my spine

each one melts across my shoulder blades
 and seeps in to my sore muscles

soothes me
​
the shower beats against my forehead

until something stings my leg, my body moves
 my clumsiness coats my calf

attacked by my razor
​
I pop its head off its Venus signed handle
 it winks up at me from my palm

teases me, begs me to just

try it
​
my breath is stuck behind my teeth

my lips part to welcome the cool metal
 my tongue flinches as my mouth closes
 around it
​
I let the blade swish from cheek to cheek
 like a tangy, salty mouthwash

but instead of spitting down the drain

I gulp
​
the head is an inch worm reclining down my throat 
 my hazy reality now a burnished metal

my faith restored in my spasming

gullet