my rosary prayers

this is for the kids who clutched their rosary beads too tightly they broke
and they still search under tables and behind doors for the missing pieces
this is for the young men and women who no longer know where to lay their prayer mats,
how to mend their souls, or why they still show up at God’s doorstep:

you may have forgotten how to chant, but you still know how to sing.

fine lines

a fine line

between everything

and it’s opposite

the world’s hanging

on a loose rope

pain and Suffering

thick minds and hollow hearts

we’re running on quicksand


let go


take my hand


i’m scared

not many caged birds can sing

you freeze, crack, feign your presence

it’s too cold to watch the sunrise

but I’ve captured the early morning dew in my eyes

trapped the sunshine under my scarf

meshed with locks of hermit hair

I’ve held the memory of that moment

with tight fingers

then slipped it in a locket

I wear it around my neck

so even when I let go

it rests against my soul

breathe in

breathe out

it moves with my heart


i’m light

i’m hanging on a delicate chain

and there’s beauty in that fine line

trying Tupac my music into a poem

build us a castle in Owl City

a labyrinth with a Simple Plan

far away from The Neighborhood,

we’ll travel there by Train

or better yet, a Lifehouse

in a Frank Ocean of sunny sentiments

where we listen to The Sound of Reason

Bewitched by our own radiance.


let us build our love on this Oasis

as strong as Iron & Wine

the One Republic in which we stand

under the Sugar Ray of Sunshine

and the Sigur Ros of moonlight

make our home a Coldplay

on a hot summer’s day,

and Parachute with insight

Hellogoodbye to ignorance.


we’ll catch a Birdy then set her free

go on a quest for a ladybug

and a Lady Antebellum

make beautiful babies

feed them Eminems

pretend they’re Bruno Mars

because this world

is a Lupe Fiasco

and they’re better off in Linkin’ Park.


we’ll show them the Beatles

make them Gym Class Heroes

snuggle together in Plain White T’s

tell them bedtime stories

Of Monsters and Men


oh, Santana,

don’t you cry for me

california’s not where I want to be

I want to be here

with The Bird and The Bee

where The Script is spontaneity

and The Fray is continuity


these people think us

in A Fine Frenzy

but all we are is Radioheads

and we’re here to play our song.


Because our hearts are a Passion Pit

they beat in an Immortal Technique

we bid our farewell to Phoenix,

desert Florence and The Machine

we lock our home with Alicia Keys,

drape our windows with Julia Sheer

one day we’ll Foster The People,

send alphabets by The Postal Service


but today is a Cascada of bliss

our Nirvana is this happiness

the story of our Evanescence from society

is a song.

and it is this.

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