Reality is richer
than fiction

I found the dress
I was raped in
and didn’t know
what to do with it.
I haven’t for years

You know the dress too,
Marilyn Monroe’s iconic
white dress
cooling herself
over a subway grate.
It happened on a Halloween
I was her
he was pimp
reality, richer than fiction.

The first poem
I ever wrote
was titled, “Dirty White”
written at 12
about a woman
feeling dirty
in a dress
on her wedding day,
foreshadowing my own

I’ve contemplated,
burning it
as if the fire
could burn away the memory,
I’ve thought about
giving it away
but fearful that
it will be someone else’s

I’ve thought about
washing and wearing it
a bizarre testament
that I’ve healed
then dread washes over me
like unexpected rain
that it will happen again.

Marilyn and I are bonded
insight into
a polarizing figure
the sadness behind her eyes
the madness that consumed her
but shines effortlessly on screen
Impossible to look away from
her reality greater than fiction.

I’ve thought about
my experiences
Trying to justify
Find reasoning
Accepted that I’m given what
I can handle.
My poetic purpose interpreting
reality richer than fiction.


There’s an itch

in my soul

begging to explore


Get lost and

step into the



Feast on shades

of blue and green

hues of my dreams


Disappear, nurse

from nature’s breast

feel its caress


Marvel at stones

weathered by storms

hundreds of years old


Create a new reality

finally live the






Birthed from

Thorn lined womb

But kept rose

colored view




Love floats like

Gentle summer

Breeze, but

It’s not for me




Concrete jungle

Waves of violence

Blood splashed streets

Reality hits





Images split

Once believed

No longer seen

Life inspired visions





Tree root Feet

Grounded, Mother

Earth whispers

Despierta* to me





* wake up