The Vampire (a poem)

Someone I loved once gave me a cd

To kiss Michael was like kissing old vinyl

Feeling the needle scrape against metal,

Skipping to the rhythm of our wet skin, and the

Static steam rising from the shower,

Watching our music spiral down the drain. 

That was what we liked to do those Strawberry September nights,

Fingers fumbling through cardboard boxes, dusting off Metallica and unzipping each other’s jeans

I couldn’t help knowing that it would soon be October,

When the summer’s ghosts would be swept away with the leaves

And I would be alone, trapped in a room with no doors or windows

Writing my devils by candlelight,

Covering the walls with scar tissue and bone

But Michael never cared that my house was haunted-

There was something burning in there.

He would jam himself inside me so hard

I hissed like a pipe squeezed by a pair of plyers, and squeaked into the staind bare mattress lying on the dirt covered hardwood floor.

The white bed sheet over his doorframe separated us from the echoes of footprints and the sound of a guitar playing down the hall.  

Neither of us wanted anything more than each other’s mouths, that

We ignored the roaches crawling over empty jack Daniel bottles, the roof crumbling apart, and our eyes locked,  

Wet and gold in the darkened room,  

Never kissing

Only tasting each other.

The beach was so beautiful today! Is it weird that I LOVE writing on the beach at dawn??

The beach was so beautiful today! Is it weird that I LOVE writing on the beach at dawn??

he just got hotter.

he just got hotter.

Have an Awful Love life? Become a writer

Comedians laugh about this all the time- but it’s really damn true. I use a lot of scarcasm and humor in my writing, so the more inane and ridiculous my partners are- and the experiences I have with them-the better for me! One of my exboyfriends and I broke my car by having sex on top of it while we were camping. On the way back, our car stalled and skidded on the side of the highway.  When I was 17, I was friends with benefits with a Sunday school teacher. She took me to a church service about how homosexuality was a terrible sin and told me she would pray for me. I cried.  

 This is when being bisexual is very helpful and I highly recommend it.  


Of course, some people may be embarrassed about their personal lives- but for all those painful moments- writing about them can be kind of therapeutic.

Write angsty shit. Write really angry stories about loneliness and despair. Make it light up the nights you lie awake and make them taste better. Write about your problems with intimacy. Tell about that exboyfriend you left before he could shatter your heart.  What color was your girlfriend’s hair and what kind of shampoo did she use? Describe the poster above your bed. Did you have sex or make love? Did he kiss you during?  How could she make you laugh? Write about those moments that made you fall in love. Write about those moments that made you fall out of it. Tell about the long dead silences during meals- the way the take out Lo Mein sounded as you mushed it around inside your white box. Describe the look on your girlfriend’s face when she told you she was having an affair.

If you have a lot of casual sex- then write about that! Sometimes a one night stand with a quirky stranger is really great because you get parts of people’s stories- but the rest is so full of mystery and excitement. Like Diehard, all of the action occurs in an eight hour period which makes the narrative more intense. Use those batshit crazy lovers as much as you can. They’ll really make your story great.   

The best thing about relationships- is you get to know someone intimately enough to be able to describe really strange things that make your characters memorable like their starwars slurpee collection. This is a thing that makes your character stand out. Does your character’s love interest have any tattoos? What does his house look like? Is his apartment messy with a broken toilet and a pile of dirty band t-shirts? Does his bestfriend sleep on the floor all the time because the couch smells like dog biscuits, dirty socks and some kind of cheese? Does she have Fifty Shades of Grey on her nightstand and a cross made of puccashells above the dresser? What are they passionate about? Tell us about the first time you saw each other naked! You don’t even need to make it erotic!

If I was a character in your story- you wouldn’t need to say I was a disturbed young woman obsessed with Korn. You would just use my dialogue as you stared blankly at my T-shirt of a bird eating a chopped off bloody finger sitting next to me on my dirty futon covered in pizza stains, manic panic hair dye, nacho cheese dorito crumbs, and cigarette ashes. 

“I want to get the Korn ragdoll from the issues album tattooed on my hip.” I’d say, abruptly, as I jumped off the couch to show you a copy of Issues and then ask if you want to have some more wine before leaving to the bathroom. You’d go through my CD collection filled with Korn’s Life is Peachy, Issues, Greatest hits, The Paradigm Shift, Take a look in the mirror and See you on the other side. Then, you’d open my fridge and see there is no food inside the fridge but red wine. In the freezer there is orange dreamcycle icecream bars, a half eaten chocolate frostie, a carmel apple To go shake from Steak and Shake, a pint of Low fat strawberry bliss, mint oreo cookie and a gallon of cookie dough. You’d shrug, then notice one of my paintings of a naked girl lying bloody on the kitchen floor, as I return from the bathroom, handcuffing you to my coffeetable covered in a mosaic of seashells and broken beer pieces of Jack Daniels, and kiss you on the neck.

Now write about all of the thoughts racing through your head.

Just use images.

What is it when a woman sleeps, her head bright
In your lap, in your hands, her breath easy now as though it had never been
Anything else, and you know she is dreaming, her eyelids
Jerk, but she is not troubled, it is a dream
That does not include you, but you are not troubled either,
It is…

My favorite poem of all time

A New Day

Starting over and moving to a new city is always hard at first. Some people go through life in an orderly fashion, successfully grasping opportunities and social norms and having long happy relationships. Other people like me have ridden on the back of every mistake, and have had lives filled with chaos, traumatic events, superficial friendships lasting for a month or two,  random casual sex with many different partners - and bouncing around from town to town trying to find themselves a place they can call home.   

I have began yet again in a new city, attending a local art class, applying for jobs, and going out the local Christian coffee shop with a new friend I met at Bible study, Rizzo.

It’s not that I have abandoned paganism- I just went to the coffee shop and when I saw the Jesus fish on the wall and photos of local Christian bands. I turned away from Christianity when I was around 15 because I was told sex was a sin, and I felt so guilty I didn’t believe god could ever love me. The band posters reminded me of when I was a kid and played a red bass guitar in a Christian band Indoor Yard Sale so I asked if they had any youth groups where I could find some new friends. All of the people there are guys- so it reminds me a lot of being 8 in Sunday school when I was the only girl in class who played with the boys and paid any attention. Needless to say, each Sunday night while Im drawing, a new guy walks in the door, takes one look at me with my crazy pink hair in my Peirce the viel t-shirt and goodwill jeans of all things and asks me If I’d like to go for a walk .  

So I’ve been hooking up with a new sweet catholic boy I meet each bible study and my dad is really proud I’m going to church again!

I needed to vent to someone about it- because I felt a little guilty about the whole thing  after I had sex with Jesse and Mike within the same 8 hours wearing the same clothes- and raced to my new friend Rizzo’s house, who also wants to be my boyfriend. HAVE THESE DUDES EVER SEEN A WOMAN BEFORE?!

Me: You know that whole thing with Mike and Jesse?

I showed him the drawing I did so far of him.

Rizzo: ASHLEY! You need to stop having sex with them! Have you listened to anything I have said?! You have a very talented hand.

Me: Hehehe. That’s what they said.

Rizzo’s stern face cracked open into a smile snickering.

A few nights prior, I arrived on Rizzo’s doorstep crying and we drove to church. The door was unlocked and we went upstairs to the stage where Christian bands played. Strangely enough, a red electric guitar was sitting on stage and I knelt before it and started talking aloud to god as if he was it, crying hysterically about how angry I was at him, and then how much I missed him, begging for forgiveness for two hours. Rizzo sat on a chair in the back, listening to the story of my life, when he called one of his friends Lynn for help.

She came and spoke to me for about an hour.  When we walked outside into the parking lot in dead silence, he picked me up into a hug like a little kid and carried me to the car.

We got into the car again, and I searched through my cds on the floor to find some country, and started singing We are never getting back together at the top of my lungs.

“I’ll let you practicing drawing me anytime.” Rizzo said. ”Except you know, my penis.”

“I’ve only drawn a naked man once when my ex boyfriend was really into his body.”

“You’ve drawn a naked woman before.”

“Of course! I’ve made glow in the dark penises and bedazzled vaginas out of clay.”

“Oh my.”

YOU GO TALK TO YOUR FRIENDS TALK TO MY FRIENDS TALK TO ME WEEEEEEE and grabbed Rizzo’s hand and shook it at the red light.    

Rizzo reached across the shift and hugged me,

“God loves you.”

“Dude, we should get vegan pizza! There’s this really cool place I went to!”

“What the fuck is vegan pizza?”

“It’s pizza with gluten free crust, vegetables and soy based nondairy veggie cheese.”

 “Okay I’ll go but don’t you dare ruin pizza for me!”

Best Friends Forever

“You wont find out who you are through sex. You’ll find it through art. A lot of famous artists and writers have bipolar disorder— God damn, It smells like weed in here! ”

This was what my best friend Mike said to me on the way home from the psychiatrist singing Bring Me the Horizon and chain-smoking camel crush with the windows up. I brought the car to a screeching halt at the red light nearly missing a Nissan ultima then screamed: 


Mike laughed looking through my six Korn Cds, slipknot, disturbed, bring me the horizon, asking Alexandria, and Gin blossoms then put in the soothing CD he gave me.

 Since I was hospitalized for bipolar disorder, I still have been having a lot of problems with my moodswings and Mike came to see the psychiatrist with me, promising her I was safe in his care. Mike works at a hess station,  was in jail for a month for sexting a minor, taught me how to make ramon noodles with a can of sprite and a beach towel, and ripped the sleeves off his band T-shirt to make a tourniquet for my arms the night I cut myself - which absolutely makes him my bestfriend.

I have a very bad habit of using people for sex. In fact, Mike was one of those people.

Mike, a 23 year old, was raped at 13 and his father beat him so badly he has to wear sunglasses every time he goes outside or else he will go blind. He numbed his pain through promiscuous sex, and never felt a thing for any of the 50 women he was with before he made jesus Christ his personal savior. Mike has been arrested for having sex in public places and has done pretty much EVERYTHING everywhere. He had his raybans clipped onto his black t-shirt while he was showing me his Metallica Vinyl in a cardboard box in his living room. “I actually haven’t had sex in three years because I realized I used it as an antidepressant. I took a vow of celibacy. What’s the craziest thing you’ve ever done?”

“One time a guitarist went down on me on the hood of a Volvo in the middle of a concert in the parkinglot.”  I had taken my shirt off because his apartment, covered with dirty band t-shirts and cockroaches, was about 90 degrees and was sitting next to him in my pink bra.

“That’s so hot!“ Mike said.

“It was amazing! The bass matched the vibrations of his mouth, and the drums echoing off the trees made everything pulse.”

“I really like to have sex in the park in the middle of the afternoon.”

“I always wanted to do that!”

“Wanna go now?” Mike smirked.

I laughed, then stood up and took a swig of my beer when Mike stuffed his hand inside my pants and kissed me on the neck like he was sucking an orange.

Mike: Can I go down on you? I’ve never done it before.”

Me: Well, okeydokey!!

Mike leaned in and kissed me cupping the back of my head, my hair falling through his fingers, as his five oclock shadow tickled my face as we fell back onto the couch unbuttoned my pants, and a soft whisper escaped my mouth. I ran my fingers through his hair looking up at the pictures of jesus in the garden waiting for Judas, and a cross made of palms.

I stared at his iced tea colored eyes, the lamp that casted ripples of gold in them, searching for a person there.

 “Baby you could make me so happy.” Mike smiled.

“Just like all the other girls?” Our eyes locked, and a change overcame his face like he had seen a ghost and kissed me hard, and turned off the light.

When he found me the next morning, bloody, and cutting myself in his driveway, he didn’t panic, just grabbed me, and ran with me into the shower, where he removed the shower head once more to rinse the blood off my arms. He stole the razors from my car, and stepped on them. Then, he cleaned out everything from his bathroom.

I told him I was sorry, and figured we would never be seeing each other again.

Instead, he handed me two cds and said

Listen to these instead of Korn.

I spent the next day drawing a tree on my wall when he called me in the middle of the afternoon and I asked him if he wanted to help me paint.

Mike was wearing his raybans, using a to-go lint roller to wipe the cathair off his black jeans and black dress shirt. I was barefoot in yoga pants and a large inside out tye dye-shirt.  

“I like to look nice.”

I handed him a blue pen because he was taller then me, and I needed someone to finish the branches. He looked at my drawing on my pink wall then timidly pressed the pen to the wall. “I don’t draw well.” 

“Make it have vines.”

“That I can do.”

I watched him scrawl vines all over my braches wrapped around the limbs. Then, I poured out some coffee colored paint for the branches. I was playing Everlong on my cd player, when Mike paused on his ladder and said:

What year did this album come out?


“Very proud of you. True or false: Dave Grohol made his debut when Kurt Cobain was still alive.


Correct. Kurt cobain died before he left nirvana.

A splotch of green paint was on my nose, while I stared up at him, sweeping around the edge of the trunk.

True or false: did you like sucking my dick?

Yes actually

 Mike laughed and went over with a dark brown where I highlighted, creating texture. He asked me for my brush, and made really great lines, carefully tracing the knots I had drawn. Mostly, I just sat down on the floor and watched him paint. It was so beautiful sitting back and looking at it I almost started crying.

We returned from the shrink to finish the tree where I got up in the middle and grabbed my keys.

“Where are you going?” Mike said. The blinds were closed and the room was dark.

“Out. You’re going to work soon anyways” My voice cracked.

“I know what you sound like before you start to cry. Get back here.” He hugged me, while I began to sob, tightly squeezing me. “I can be your best friend if you let me.”

He cupped my face, then stole my keys as we fell back onto the bed. I got on top of him, pummeling his chest, trying to reach underneath him giggling, when he put the keys in his pants, and I reached inside, where he wasn;t wearing any underwear. He stole them, quick and put them inside again.

“That felt good.” Mike said.

I reached inside again, this time, feeling around like I was trying to scrape the last spoonful of jelly out of a jar. Mike unbuttoned my pants and I stared into his golden caged eyes when he stuck his hand inside.

I opened my mouth to breathe, a cold coming on, his breathe matching mine.

We did not kiss. We just stared at each other. That was a part of it. The coldness of the dark room and the warmth of his hand, moving, as I leaned onto the pillow next to him, our foreheads pressed against each others, bucking and gasping.

I lied motionless for a moment, then got up, with my keys, and buttoned my jeans.

“We really need to stop doing that.” Mike said.

“Yeah” I said. I hugged him quick from behind as he was putting on his pants. “You’re a really good friend”

Mike turned around and hugged me tighter than he ever had before.

“You’re a really good friend too. I’m going to show your tree to a museum.”Mike said.


“This is so beautiful, and it can inspire people way more than hurting yourself. This is YOU. Not sex. You!”

A Song I’m Writing

My grandmother used to wear sunglasses at the dinner table

Because she thought my grandpa was so hot looking at him made her eyes water

But I have never been the kind of woman who has kissed the sun

and every man whose nose I have ever nibbled “forever” has always gotten burned.

I once walked down the street in a pair of Goodwill Jeans and a skateboarder hit a white Nissan where the driver got out a post it, scribbled his number, and said:

If you ever need someone to ride, give me a call.

I wear depression like red lipstick.

I never leave the home without a little shadow beneath my eyes and a bag of nails to drive through my palms like Christ

every time a guy finds a strand of my hair in his underwear—

He loves me, He loves me not, He loves me—

You might call me fragile but you have never seen me

working my shine, sparkling like a crystal ball,

Trust me, I can already see you trembling wrapped around my finger.

So I’ll promise not to kid myself that you’ll stick around long enough to organize my cd collection

If you promise to pick up the pieces of me off your bedroom floor and leave me a band T-shirt

So that when people say ‘You like Tool?”

I can say ‘ He Really Liked ME.”

It will be A Day To Remember if the boy 3 Doors Down ever leaves me roses by the stairs—

But you’ll still see me standing in my leather jacket sniffing a bouquet of White lilies and wishing I was a song you carried around like a future inside your back pocket

So you could hear me whisper

I love you.

Because I’m so sick of blowing wishes on dandelions hoping the weeds will turn to wine

And I want you to be the one who folds me in your arms with a glass of orange juice and tastes my temperature.

I’m not looking for someone to fix me, darling,  

I ‘d just like you to hold my hand, put the keys in the ignition in the getaway car from my past, and turn up the radio for us to hear the swish of a porch swing in Georgia and the violin of a teakettle the afternoon

I fell asleep cradled in your arms listening to your chest,

watching the sunlight cast shadows over the rocky mountains

through the frosted white window

after we tumbled in bed like an angels in a blanket of diamonds

 and you promised me, “Baby I want to sing you to sleep forever”  

 I’ll staircase my spine for you to climb to the heavens

If it means I get to feel your breath on my skin.

When the sunlight turns to embers, and the sirens come to take me, I’ll hear the echos of your moonlight while you rock me



I am not the first person you loved.
You are not the first person I looked at
with a mouthful of forevers. We
have both known loss like the sharp edges
of a knife. We have both lived with lips
more scar tissue than skin. Our love came
unannounced in the middle of the night.
Our love came when we’d given up
on asking love to come. I think
that has to be part
of its miracle.
This is how we heal.
I will kiss you like forgiveness. You
will hold me like I’m hope. Our arms
will bandage and we will press promises
between us like flowers in a book.
I will write sonnets to the salt of sweat
on your skin. I will write novels to the scar
of your nose. I will write a dictionary
of all the words I have used trying
to describe the way it feels to have finally,
finally found you.

And I will not be afraid
of your scars.

I know sometimes
it’s still hard to let me see you
in all your cracked perfection,
but please know:
whether it’s the days you burn
more brilliant than the sun
or the nights you collapse into my lap
your body broken into a thousand questions,
you are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
I will love you when you are a still day.
I will love you when you are a hurricane.”