Snow-globe Angel

They always thought it beautiful,

When they shook and shook her world

They always thought her lovely

The imprisoned, snow-globe girl.

Some, being curious,

Would start the snow to dance-

But no one ever gave her

More than a passing glance.

Tired of living in that way

She pushed and pushed herself

She made it to the very edge

Of her worn and polished shelf.

She thought to fall from up on high

To break the confines of her cage-

Finally free to roam the world,

As a player on its stage.

That poor snow-globe angel,

Why did she have to die?

The truth that shattered her whole world:

To fall is not to fly.

by ~Nawasa

I understand I am Ungoliant,

Oh, I am the fatal mermaid’s song,

And the vicious serpent in its tree.

I have breathed the truths, 

That tempt too sweet,

Like poisoned honey,

On the inside of your mind.

And I am shivering, freezing,

In the realms of your bitter hate.

I am drowning in the sea of your disdain,

As you cry out to the four winds,

That I must be killed.

My death the only thing

That can satisfy your 

Call for sacrifice.

I, who stand alone,

But not by myself.

The eyes of all the world

Are on your actions

And judge your judgement.

I am the outcast member

Of the perfect family,

Waiting with open arms

As you tell me I am unwanted

For not being perfect, too.

Broken Heart Doll

There was an old wizard
A master of his craft
He carved beautiful dolls of wood
And imbued them with the ability
To love, and be loved.
In his final days
He created a doll
Carved from a single,
Smooth piece of strong wood.
In his advancing age, 
He became confused, 
And imbued the doll 
With twice the power to love
But no power to be loved in return.
Returning to his work the next morning
He realized the doll was not what he had hoped.
No love left for the project, 
He threw her, almost finished,
Into the trash.
There she rested until collection day.
The sanitation worker eyed her warily,
But thought her an unfitting gift for his daughter.
Not thinking of the many children without toys at all,
He lifted her bin to toss into the truck.
He did not notice 
As she tumbled against the truck
He only spotted her as he climbed into his seat
And by then he couldn’t care less what happened to her.
The next person to pass her, as she lay in the gutter
Was an unemployed father
Who had a sick little girl in the hospital. 
He picked her up, and carried her home,
And washed the dirt from her dress and hair.
His daughter would not be able to see how shabby her doll was,
Because she lay in a coma.
But it would be something he could bring to her
And it meant a lot to him to do it.
The little doll loved the girl,
Twice as much as anyone could,
And the little girl got better.
The father got another job,
The little girl got another doll,
The girl went to throw the doll away.
The father thought better of the idea,
And gave the doll to a local orphanage.
The doll then passed from the collection bin,
To a little boy 
From him, to his sister.
He was mindful of the stains on her dress
And the way the paint had begun to peel
But his sister had been born blind
And so it made him happy to give it to her.
She delighted in the doll,
But kept it always hidden,
As she was almost to old for dolls,
The older boys would surely tease her,
As they did about everything. 
One day they did find her,
Playing with the doll alone.
Ugly, they called it, and worn and stupid,
And they called her names as well.
She shouted to them,
To leave her alone.
A social worker, hearing the commotion,
Stopped and reprimanded the boys.
He told the little blind girl
She could come to him anytime
If those boys were a problem again.
On her way back to her room, 
She passed the donation box
And dropped the doll back in.
The doll was ugly, old and worn
She was sure the boys were right
She was far to old to play with dolls
Someone else would love the doll much more,
The doll lay now in the refuse heap.
Finally at the end of a long journey.
In the end, she didn’t mind not being able to be loved.
The children she had known had been many,
None of whom had ever loved her,
But all of them had needed her,
And she would always love them all.


You know, I tried to smother the embers of this,

I buried my heart beneath thick layers of earth

And never, ever breathed a word to anyone,

It was a secret that I thought I could keep

From catching fire,

But word spread fast on burning tongues,

And all my world was consumed.

I stand now in the ashes of destroyed dreams,

As the ones I loved cry arson.

A Poem for All Those Who Love in Vain

You didn’t want me to love you.  

So now I hate you instead.  

Have a nice day, asshat. 

Lay to Rest

I give up on things
Laying them to rest-
Folding them into the earth.
Little graves for
Little voodoo dolls.
I give up on myself.
The past, ancient and immortal;
Dead in this ragged moment.
It springs to life,
When I am not looking.
Bursting into bloom-
The sacred scent reclaims me.
Gives me rebirth once more.
Let your hands be empty a while,
So that they may fill with riches.
Let your soul lie idle a while,
That it might chance to dream.


Oh, I know you have tried to corral me:
Like an angry bull,
Using many voices and faces,
And a dirt-packed arena,
Where you thought to fight me as an equal.
You will never know me,
Having decided me a beast already.
Sticking your sword into my side,
Yes, it was you who drew my blood-
Its sanguine sheen running along your blade,
My mute and dumb bestial tongue,
Unable to warn you of its poison.
You raised your arm triumphant,
Little rivulets of red revenge,
Trickling innocent into some small wound,
Even as my life was lost.


I have a face that breaks mirrors.

Melts computer screens and puddles them acidic

On the keyboards 

Of the huddled masses at my door.

I have a face that bespeaks an age of pestilence,

Inspiring in others a hatred 

That writhes and worms its way inside

The hearts of all I know.

What in the lines and lay of my fate

Left such indelible impressions?

Carving such unloveliness

Onto my very soul?


Your pupils are black holes:
I cannot slip your gaze,
Lent gravity immeasurable
By your density of emotion.
I am at the event horizon
Of your inescapable kiss,
Trembling, like light,
At the edge of infinity.

Of Friends and Foes

Caught within a spiral of silence,
You and I begin a dance,
Twisting about one another,
In this ancient rhythm of inhumanity.
The two have become as one,
A single, cleaved heart of hatred,
Torn from the aching breast of love.
We spin and whirl,
Flashing blades in the starlight.
How does this virtuous circle?
Learn to snap its teeth and curl?
Around the ankles?
And behind the eyes?
Until both angels and devils cry-
“Ah, ah, another vicious cycle!”


Cayana, call to the cliff-sides,
To the hollows and dales
Gather the wild ones,
And tell them the tales
The wise words of elders
We’ve waited to hear
The bright hidden powers,
Passed through the years
Those who have magic no longer asleep
Their hands full of power they can no longer keep
Their wisdom and passion are both overfilled
And they run like a river down from the hills
Cayana, my dear, you must fly like the wind
Over the valley to gather them in
Their words are all sacred, their spirits alive
This is the moment, now it their time.

Short story by me. {Language/Adult Themes}

Work in Progress

There are no poets anymore,

No actors or dancers,

No dreamers or painters-

There are waiters and waitresses,

Bus drivers and mechanics,

Folding the magic of their dreams

Into the soft creases

Of empty pockets.

Foreign Tongues
My words fall like jewels
From the mouths of strangers.
Tumbled against foreign tongues
They spill forth like sunlight
To reach my ears polished;
Faceted by perspective.
I am greedy for them,
Not of their rough forms:
Hungry for the gleam and glow
They are given by your breath.
I would not horde my words;
They are the diamonds on an ocean
More will come, lapping at my mind
Driving the message of my heart
To distant shores.
I will wait for their return
The echo of my soul.

My heart no longer beats,
It bleeds life into my veins.
Welling into ancient pathways
Carving channels through my soul.
I am seeping into this world
The sense of me absorbed
Lifted from my breath, to be
Found again in the cool of leaves
And amid the sighing at twilight.
Sunshine strips of me
The crowning brilliance of my head
Petals, soft as fawn skin
Stretch to catch my hues.
Worlds are born of each of us:
Wonders without measure.