It was amazing that I had saved the suicide notes for so long; as if someday I might need them again.
Personalized: to my boyfriend, my mother, my sister, the world.
I couldn’t bear to read them. My script was neat and blocky like a child’s.
The house was quiet and empty, fake adobe, sand-colored.
The trees lining the yard reminded me of other places I’d been. I felt safe.

I sat in the gravel next to the deck and gripped a lighter in the wind. I needed to make the papers disappear. The sun sank behind the cottonwood and piñon behind me, dimming the evening’s light and causing goose bumps to rise along my calves and forearms.

The flame flashed and danced below the first paper. Once the fire caught, it spread quickly, sending off surprisingly tall and scalding flames. I wasn’t thinking about what the letters contained; what lies I had been telling myself back then.

I was thinking that everyone has a future. There would be a friend’s marriage, an illness, a sunset, new sneakers, a birthday – something yet to occur. I was thinking about the cup of coffee I would have the next morning, with half and half in a handmade ceramic mug.

The papers crumbled into black-and-white ashes that writhed in the heat.

Were the neighbors watching, wondering what this girl outside was doing, crouching in the gravel with a lighter? For a second I thought I smelled flesh burning beneath the smoke.

We are all dying, but let it be unplanned. Let our regrets sink into the earth like ashes. Let us carry on as if nothing bad will happen.




Autumn arrives in the air all of the sudden
Nodding to me it’s time, she advances

The horizon will darken, trees age in a day
Fruit molds and drops, our garden dies back

Too old to mourn the ending summer, I turn,
Flush red and gold, mature fast as a sapling

When night comes early I am ready to greet her
Shedding my guilt like a snakeskin, or leaves

All fall down, together under a turning sky
We recognize that growth has many faces


You made me feel important; now I realize I am worthy of life without your validation.

You told me you were on my side; now I understand that you preyed upon my loneliness.

You told me you would die without me; now I see you took advantage of my empathy.

You tried to shut me off from life; now I am thriving without you.



A big "fuck that" to thinking that I deserve to be miserable.

A big “fuck that” to thinking that I deserve to be miserable.

Hey ya’ll, it’s time again to take a break from my blog.
I’ll be writing, but not for anyone but myself.
Time to focus on me.

Even YouTube is telling me to change something.

Thanks a ton.

Thanks a ton, YouTube.

And Hell no, I don’t feel selfish about it.
See you on the flip side.
Much love.

The Foreign Feeling of Hope

I am feeling a little better right now.


It’s like catching a glimpse of a flickering candle down a long, dark hallway.
I want so badly to hold onto this light.
I want so badly to feel better.
I am throwing myself into doubt, the unknown, the darkness.

Please help me…
Friends, universe, Wakan, that which we cannot understand.
I have to believe in you, or I will have nothing left.


I’ve been walking a tightrope between life and death,
waiting to see on which side I will fall.
I’ve become so wilted, anguished and bereft,
tangled up in your miserable thrall.

A ladder of scars ascends my sharp ribs,
each rung marking a body filled with pain.
I cannot climb down now that I’ve reached the top;
the winds howl for my soul in seductive refrain.

The decision lies now in my quaking two feet,
whether I’m to fight on or surrender.
All alone high above tiny houses and streets,
I realize I’m the only contender.