Nothing comes from nothing.
Empty cannot become full if not filled.
So if empty people guide empty people,
Empty gets lost,
Then forgotten,
Then disappears.

Like a child in a crowded room

She slips beneath the sea of faces
Crawling between the legs of giants
Her little hands getting crushed under the soles of their feet
Her nose begins to bleed
And her knuckles begin to swell
But no one can hear her screams
Because nothing echoes nothing when it’s empty.

Empty knowledge convinces nothing
And empty understanding never learns
So if you ask Empty a question,
Even a simple “how are you?”,
Empty can’t respond because she doesn’t know how to.

Empty spends hours in a room of skeletons
Interrupting each other to talk about their problems
But Empty doesn’t want a solution,
She just wants something to fill the silence.

So Empty fills her house with empty things
Decorates her identity with what people think
Filters her life to fit her Facebook feed
And crops her reality to fit an empty dream.

See, Empty appears beautiful
Clothed in silk, draped loosely around her slender figure,
Lips like nectar and eyes that sparkle like silver,
She convinces you that crossing over her threshold is the answer.
But like a white washed tomb her words are hollow.
Empty is not a leader but a follower.
The only thing she is sure of
Is how to repeat what she sees around her,
Because in a world of empty standards,
To be empty is fulfillment.


Silent Cries

You’ve seen him on the train,
in the streets,
on a bench,
this cold, dirty, dusty man
a rejected misfit.

His cardboard sign:
“please help, God bless”
says nothing of what America
so selfishly forgets.

You’ve seen her before,
but you don’t know her name
she’s been struggling since day one
got pregnant at sixteen.

Each day is a struggle
each breathe like a mile run
she can barely pay her rent
street corners her only option.

But deep within those searching eyes
and behind that careful smile
lies a desperate heart crying out for relief
a soul praying for revival.

You’ve seen him in class
sitting there in the back
dark hair, dark eyes
a smile that speaks death.

He’s not home much these days
weekends spent in the clouds
an old build up on 5th
some never come out.

His shadowed appearance
only to conceal the pain
would it surprise you to know,
he cries himself to sleep?

You never met her before
only saw her in the hall
long sleeves year ’round
concealing her canvas of scars

They didn’t know
didn’t wanna care
she was just another face in the crowd
a breaking heart they couldn’t hear.

So she gave up all hope
relinquished what future was left
gave in to the sea of voices
and began painting rivers on her wrist
last night she breathed her last
on a blood stained bathroom floor
could you have saved her if you tried?
or was she too far gone…?

Silent Cries

False Hope


Its developed
like a cancerous disease,
continually diagnosed
as a reoccurrence.
Infecting every limb,
cell and organ,
our family
to the core.

Shards of glass
paralyze the spine,
oozing wounds
left a graveyard
of scars.

Like drugs fail
to lessen the pain
your flat words
bring no ease
of mind.

We all know
where this road
will lead:
a field of green
stained in red,
for dead.

False Hope