She is an unplayed instrument:
a concubine at the west wing...

Lipstick smiles and non-existent hats:
pride rises like steam from temperamental heads...

My ribs do not protrude to stab you,
yet with every step on the scale...

Fairytales have to end someday,
so let me write for you...

Sometimes I think I've had enough
of polluting the ocean with my poetry...

I'm walking through a gallery of Van Gogh and...
I see oil on canvas, and all I'm reminded of...

Back to back, separate mattresses:
we stare at the ceiling, blind our eyes on skype...

10:15 PM -
There's no sweet sixteen or forever twenty-one...

Three-hundred pens
on scratchy notebooks...

Another evening of spaghetti,
another day of bread...

I get home, and all that croaks
is my couch when I vouch for its pain...

Social media's such a bore:
we click and flick, dismiss fat chicks...