Handwriting Analysis

I am the woman who
analyzed the handwriting
of the CEO,
and come Monday
I will be biting my tongue
until I taste the crimson
pool in my mouth like rum.

Should’ve just paid for
a Christmas Party,
Johnny Boy.
You know how much
those meant to these

I want to tell him the best
part of his gift was the fact
he handwrote the tag.
I want to tell him that I know
his tactics,
that I know this is his play
away from home and that
he uses this place as an excuse
to thwart his power in a rather
small pond.

I want to ask him if his wife
knows about his cheating,
and what she must lack
to endure a personality as
petty as his.
I want to ask him if he even
knows his own children,
if they even know themselves.

I want to ask him if he knows
how I know, tell him he’s not
as clever as he thinks he is.
I want to ask him if he feels
a little restricted now, as if
he’s grown out of this skin,
the same one that’s getting
a little tighter by the day.

Money is a dangerous weapon
with a faulty trigger;
The cheap Chardonnay
speaks a level on how he
must view me,
how low he crosses his
T’s and the way in which
he curves his Y’s speaks
volumes on his withering

– B.


Listen to me carefully
when I tell you that
I am like a mirror.

Whatever you give me
I will return tenfold.

If you don’t like the
reflection you see,
you’ve no one but
yourself to blame.



I knew a guy once that
thought I was the devil.
He’d say, ‘girls that
bite into their ice cream
are truly evil,
that’s how you know,’

but mint chocolate chip
is so much better
with a bite,
cools down the burning
or at least
makes the conversation
a bit more bearable.

I’d always mutter back,
‘that’s a thing someone
who couldn’t bite into
their ice cream would

– B.


I think our character is often measured by what is done in comparison to what is said.
Anyone can say anything, but not everyone can live up to who they tout themselves as.

It’s easy to be the best version of ourselves in the confidence of comfort,
It’s difficult to do so in the face of a threat.

Who we are when we’ve lost all control of a situation will always be our truth unmasked.
This is why I often watch a situation unfold before I take a face into consideration.

– B.

If Poems could be People

If poems could be people,
I think I’d find you amongst
the pages of fresh binding,
lining the walls of a library,
coffee permeating the air,
words encircling watercolor
pictures and speaking on
behalf of love.

If poems could be people,
I think you’d find me amongst
the confines of a binding torn
loose with age, weathered by
the storm of perpetual hope,
amidst the dust of a trunk
hidden behind the hallway,
somewhere in the shadows
of the greats.

– B.

The Pianist

I hear an unfamiliar melody
throughout this parlor often,
the keys are distinctly piano.

I sit there for a moment and
merely listen,
twitching my whiskers,
pondering on lives lost in war
and the awful things
my soul may have done in my

I have been a mistress to this
innate sense of curiosity
for a long while.

The issue with heels is that
they often echo
under a step heavy in burden,
even when the
soles themselves feel as light
and innocent
as the air surrounding them.

I think to myself that it all seems
rather melodic,
the bass of my footfalls amidst
the symphony of
a life played in precision?
Perhaps it even
elicits a sense of deja vu.

Once you start a journey you
must finish it.
I reach the end of the hallway
by the time the
candles have melted down to
their wicks in flickered reprise,

I pull open the doors
their framed bones creaking in age,
I look into the Room of Dust;
piles of unpacked boxes blanketed
by pages of symphonies
strewn about in a hasty array
stare back at me.

Some hold notes I know like
the touch of my own skin,
others hold stories I will
never read and,
as always,
the dream halts while
time stands still,
words become lost to purpose,
music is deafened by dissonance,
the seat before the piano
is left empty.

– B.


We tend to stick to
a beaten path where
feet have fallen before;
Where no one ever
dares to veer from
sea to common shore.

You’ll find me on the
broken wave of idled
amidst a daydream for
a future that holds more
than just a pension.

For few can see how
little it means to me to
obtain the life of a degree,
when I’d rather clear
a brand new path to
my own soul’s legacy.

– B.