The Secret Present

Secret Santa, Secret Santa, bring me my gift.

Make it so heavy that it’s hard to lift,

Wrap it in paper, stick it with a bow,secret-santa-gifts

Under the tree is where it should go.

On Christmas day, I’ll grab it up quick,

And tear open the package with just a flick,

Revealing the gift that’s hidden inside,

“Just what I wanted!” knowing I lied.

And just remember this part, don’t forget,

We all agreed on a boundary, preset,

You can’t spend more than the ten-dollar limit,

Ok, fine, spend twenty, just never admit.



Somewhere in this stack of life,

I made a list and checked it twice.

It was a list of things to get done,

A so called ‘New Year Resolution’.

I sat and added thing after thing,

DeathtoStock_Wired3Stuff to change, the new to bring.

The list was long and full of hope,

A lot more awesome, a little less dope. Continue reading Resolutions

Hidden Pain

I don’t know who I am anymore,

the mirror lies to me when I look

I don’t know who I am anymore

My innocence the world took,

Huddled in a ball on the floor,

Knees pulled tightly to me,

Huddled in a ball on the floor,

Screaming out “Just let me be.”

I don’t know who I am anymore,

The masks are stripped away,

I don’t know who I am anymore,

There is nothing left to say.

Putting it Off…

There’s work to be done,

I’m very sure of that,

As I take off my coat and hang up my hat.

I sit at my desk,

I straighten my tie,

I stare at the screen and ask myself ‘Why?’

Why did I put it off,

Adding more for today?

Procrastination always gets in the way.

I don’t think I’ll finish,

Or meet my deadlines,

The boss will surely yell, the blame is all mine.

I hang my head low,

Put my palms to my face,

And pray a silent prayer and beg for some grace.

Taking a deep breath,

And holding it in.

I grab hold of my work and just… dive in.

Wrong, Right or Hurt

I don’t like being wrong,

But it hurts more to be right.

So I lie about how I feel,

As I hold you through the night.

I don’t like being right,

Knowing it hurts you to be wrong,

So I lie about what’s real,

That you can remain strong.

I don’t like being hurt,

As if right and wrong are things,

Somehow that’s become our deal,

Ever since we put on our rings.



I wrote this to help someone else out with a story they were working on. Figured I would just share it with you. I think the concept for the story is really good and am hoping to one day have the opportunity to read the finished product.



He ran his thumb over the nametag on his uniform blouse, feeling the thread from the embroidered stitching as he smoothed out the material. He curtly pulled at the bottom hem, pulling out any remaining material that might cause his uniform to look out of sorts. As he did, he gave himself one last glance in the mirror, a quick skim of his outfit to make sure everything was in place and that no wrinkles or bunched cloth would cost him a mark on the inspection.

The uniform was crisp. The grey material contrasted against his pale skin. His bony fingers down by his side reflexively scrunching as he fought against the rise of anxiety that started to creep in. His eyes, blue and sharp, stared back at himself. He thought “Get a hold of yourself, they mustn’t know you are nervous. You will become a Weed if they see.” Just the mere thought of Weeds set his mind to thinking of the 6 dozen or more failed members of his class. Continue reading Beginnings