Cross-Country Runner- A poem

Everyone has his or her sport.

I run. I run like there’s

No tomorrow. You can call me

A cross-country runner.


I’m quite gifted

At running—from East coast

To West—away from my



Singing the Night Away- A poem

“But I still wake up, I still see your ghost. Oh, Lord, I’m still not sure what I stand for.”- Some Nights, Fun

There will always be

that one song that

somehow changed your life.

This is to that one

summer night where

two strangers morphed

into something incredible.

Sang on late, innocent

subway rides that would

lead to a night filled of

ecstasy. To a night

bellowing out words

like smoke from

a pipe.  To a night

tripping over the words;

never getting it right.

Ginning and heads

back, laughing from

our failed attempt.

Here’s to the song that

I woke up to every morning.

Never bothered me because

I woke up in the clouds of

your embrace.  Recovering from

a night of two hearts beating

fast, and the world

spinning faster.

And those nights I

spent with you were the

nights I wish would

never end.  And, yes,

I am quite scared

you’ll forget me because

my life is a war

that could never be

won; I’m simply

a winner at a

losing game.

And now I hear that

song on the radio, and

your ghost appears to

me; I don’t know whether

to smile or cry. Yet,

you’re still here; very

much alive in my

heart.  And when this

song plays, for four

minutes, you’re here

with me. We’re singing

the night away.

When Life Gives You Molasses, You Make Molasses Cookies- A poem

The rain falls down

upon the window. I

watch as each drop

travels vertically down

the glass curtain before

my eyes.  They were so

fixated on the sky’s

tears that it took

a moment to realize that

in the distance the

sky was on fire.  The

ball of light was fighting

her way out of the dense

cotton fluff made of water.


If the sun can break through

the heavy, molasses times

where it’s hard to move

and carry on,

then so can I.

Reminiscing the Devil: A Poem

There was a time,

months ago, where

I’d spend my

free time with

you. Inhaling your

intoxicating smoke,

devouring your

venomous words.


Now I spend my

idle time in

solitude. Inking

up blank pages

—pages like me,

barren and empty—

blindly to keep the

ghost of you alive.


But who am I

to possess that power?

To keep you—this demon—alive

when you are meant

to be purged and exorcised?


It’s because we’re all sinners

We all love to keep the

Devil alive to remind us

what we have been through.