Word Perv
(noun): One who takes delight and is skilled at constructing, writing or saying naughty phrases or dialogue.
March 27, 2015

On A New Note(book)

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Last Friday I finished filling a journal. This one was filled in record time – I wrote the first poem on January 14th and I filled the last page with a poem on March 20th, it took me only two months to blaze through the pages. Damn.

I have a very specific size and style journal/notebook I buy to write poetry in – it’s big enough that I can write normal, but small and compact enough I can carry it in my purse. I found them at World Market and I absolutely love them. And as I’ve said before, many of us writers are picky about our journals so please don’t buy us one as a gift! So whenever I fill up one journal, I head to World Market and buy another one. Thankfully they have a ton of different themes, so each are different while still remaining the same size.


I’m on my third journal from World Market. The first one I started on March 29, 2014 and I filled the last page on January 13, 2015 – it took 9.5 months to fill the first one but only two months to fill the second. With the third one filled with blank pages I wonder how fast I can fill it.

In Natalie Goldberg’s best selling book, Writing Down the Bones, she talks about filling a notebook every month. It sounds impossible but she’s written some fifteen books so clearly writing a lot is one of the keys to being or becoming a writer – you have to practice your craft constantly. And so my goal is to fill this next journal as fast as I can, to write as much as possible and to push my writing. I’m already eyeing my next journal. ;)



My birthday gift to myself this year was a six week one-on-one workshop with Megan Falley. Last week, I had my last workshop with her and we walked through four of the poems I’d written over the course of the workshop and edited and fine tuned them. I wrote far more than four poems during that time, I probably wrote thirty or forty poems during that time, but we only workshopped and edited the main ones I’d been working on. The result is four, publication ready poems.

I can honestly say that the workshop with Megan Falley was perhaps the best birthday gift I’ve given myself. Considering I went on a 10-day vacation to Hawaii for my 30th birthday, that’s really saying a lot. During the weeks I spent in this workshop I have written more poems and better poems than I ever had. Megan taught me, sometimes forced me, to dig deeper, to get dirtier, to really reach past the easy poems and work on the hard ones. To write the stuff that scared me. To write the stuff that I don’t even like to admit to myself.

After every workshop I would feel elated and exhausted. I felt like I needed a drink and then a nap. It was a wonderful feeling, to literally be spent from writing poetry. And so my goal is to keep pushing myself, to keep writing the poetry that scares me, to write the stuff can be hard for a person to hear or read – because really, isn’t that what it’s about sometimes?

March 20, 2015

In Case of Emergency

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Though I don’t talk about it much, I was briefly married in my twenties. It didn’t work for a lot of reasons – I did things wrong, he did things wrong, we wanted very different things and were simply wrong for one another. Of course I can look back now and view it objectively and can easily say that we should have never married. Hell, we shouldn’t have even dated for as long as we did because there were so many glaring red flags in our relationship. But when you’re in love it’s very easy to ignore all of those things and to plunge into relationships naively believing they will work.

Even though divorcing was really the best thing for us, it still hurt like hell to go through it. The ending of a major relationship sucks. The heartache and pain and anger threaten to eat you alive, even if the relationship cannot be saved. I remember writing a blog post about needing help from my friends because I really felt like I was drowning. I titled that post In Case of Emergency, Break Glass. It was my way of reaching out for the support I really needed. Thankfully I have some of the most amazing friends and they rallied around me and helped pull me up.

A friend of mine is newly separated and going through a rough time. I reached out to her, giving her what little advice I had. She responded and said she remembered reading my blog when I was going through my divorce, and thinking how strong I was. I was honestly surprised by this because I certainly didn’t feel strong. Her words stayed with me and inspired this poem.

In Case of Emergency, Break Glass                ~For S

I remember uncontrollable

despair, eyes puffy from hours spent

not sleepy and exhaustive tears,

and wine consumed alone to console myself.

I remember the guilt weighing

like bones on my delicate frame.

I remember panic knocking at my heart

and loneliness squeezing me so tight

I couldn’t swallow.

I remember existing in a fog

of disbelief and shame and fear.

And then,

I remember emerging – 

slowly, carefully

pushing into the bright of the day

and eventually enjoying the warm sun

on my face. 

March 9, 2015


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Ever suffered from insomnia?


Thankfully it’s been a while since I had a bought of insomnia. It’s not something I deal with very often, but when it strikes I become a walking zombie pretty quickly. The other night I wrote a poem about insomnia, here it is:


The first night it’s an annoyance,

a frustration,

a morning of coffee and open-mouthed yawning.


The second night it’s a terror,

eyes wide in fear as the hands

chase one another in a tireless circle.


The third night is euphoria

followed by the crash,

the monsters start coming

out of closets and shimmying

from underneath beds.


The fourth night it’s insanity,

scenes pulled from asylums

where screams are half-swallowed

and the nightmares don’t stop

when you open your eyes.


The fifth night you could be the lead

in a zombie movie,

but only the slow-moving zombies,

you’ve got no energy for speed.


The sixth night you trick

your brain with pills swallowed.

You consider three hours a victory.


The seventh night you’re

mistaken for someone detoxing.

You assume this is an accurate description.

You wish you were only dealing

with a drug addiction.


The eighth night you banish

all light and sound from the house.

You are wide awake in a quiet tomb.


The ninth night you can no longer

walk without your hand on the wall

to steady you.


The tenth night your mind splinters

and you see butterflies and stars and fairies

in the dark corners of your bedroom.


The eleventh night you pop

a high dose pill and fall

into a waveless ocean of rest.

March 5, 2015


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When I was seventeen I fell madly in love with my boyfriend. We dated for over a year, and like many young loves, made grand plans about our future together. We were going to move to Florida, where he’d been accepted to law school, and we were going to live happily ever after. The summer before he was to start law school, and I was to start college, we broke up. Or rather, I broke up with him. I realized that at eighteen I was too young to be in such a serious relationship and I wasn’t ready to follow him blindly. I moved on with my life and he moved on with his. With the exception of getting in touch briefly a couple of years after that, we haven’t spoken since.

I haven’t thought about him much over the years but recently he popped into my dream and so he’s been on my mind. I know where he lives and that’s he’s a successful attorney but I don’t know anything about his life. And that’s fine, I don’t need to know about his life, I hope he’s happy and doing well and I’m certain he wishes the same for me. But since he’s been on my mind lately I decided to harness those thoughts and memories and write a couple of poems. Here’s what I’ve started with.


The bartender shared your name,

it’s unique so when he introduced himself

I nearly kissed him.

It’s been half a lifetime since we said goodbye

and I wonder if your lips still speak French

and if your hands still are callused. 

If we met now would we once again

stumble into love? 


New Year’s Eve

At midnight

we drank champagne,

ate caviar and fois gras,

our first New Year’s Eve together.

My first time consuming

such exotic food, 

my first time kissing someone

at the stroke of midnight. 

It was a time we couldn’t imagine a future

that didn’t include US in big, bold letters.

We raised our flutes,

toasted ourselves and our love,

kissed and laughed when 

the bubbles tickled our noses. 

It was our last New Year’s Eve together,

six months later I would break your heart.

You would leave for law school a month 

earlier than planned.

I would never see you again.