what I did when you weren't looking


I am the fucking cherry

that gets left on the plate

I am recreating a dirty kitchen

without making any room for reward

I have screwed up all my chances

made this home spell out the world crumble

and kicked out all the houseguests

at least the devils still here

are paying me for something


I can’t usually explain

the things that make my heart hurt

and these people have their own fucking friends

who will tell them everything is okay

they are okay


I can’t usually explain

why my heart has not taken me out to dinner

in a few decades

why my mind keeps slipping down the mountain

why I sit here with exactly what I want

still thinking up ways to make a tragedy out of it


so I publish all the gray on my desk

and leave out the color


so I keep buying clothes that don’t fit

running around in them

and being confused when the world looks strangely


so I keep going out with someone else’s face on

and forgetting it’s there

when I look in the mirror

but sigh shrug and say

at least it’s better than mine


so I sit here and set the room on fire

and when that’s not enough

I strike a match to the fire

and when other pieces of me

come in

I hear


why would you do this?


because I’m not you

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Written 3/1/22

The Elephant in My Cell

You came at a bad time.

A terribly, terribly bad time.

You showed up the moment I couldn’t stand to touch you.

I was afraid you were never going to come.

I should have been glad you came, but why am I not relieved?

Is it that crippling fear that the moment I touch you, you fade away like a ghost?

Is it that you might be a whistleblower looking for an insecurity to use against me later?

Or is it that you are trying to distract me from tending to my garden before it dies of thirst?


I want to shout, “Why didn’t you come sooner?!”

I want to shout, “Where were you when I needed you most?!”

I want to yell at the top of my lungs, “Would it kill you to tell me what’s driving you away from me?!!”

But I am too nice. Too kind and gentle to scream and point to the elephant in the room.

The very elephant that a sorcerer pulled out of his hat and crippled both of my limbs.


I never wanted to call for help because it reinforces the notion that I should still be in high school.

I’ve crawled around all year avoiding the other teenage drama queens that worship dragons.

Seems like they forgot that dragons like to steal our fortunes and our hearts. Before they eat them.


Spending time with my open-minded little brother has planted a seed of doubt in my head.

A seed that gets me thinking that all love does to me is waste my time experimenting with false hope.


My imaginary nights with a fallen angel goes along the lines of;

“Yes, yes, honey, shower me with hugs and kisses. Oh, my love, how I yearn for you.

Pleasure me with your lust until the water in your veins runs out and you become a raisin.

Only then, will I toss you in the sun and wonder why the hell I’ve never gotten lucky.”

When will the water cycle end for the both of us?

What compels Venus to bewitch me to make bad choices?

Why else do you think independent seekers with degrees in hand avoid commitment?

Our grandparents and parents are more patient than our generation is now

Because compared to us, they tended to their gardens and their raisins.

You did a bang-up job tending to me by showering me with promises you can’t keep,

With complex wisdom about human nature, stories of your struggle to get your education over with,

And the snuggles and touches that I wished were real more than the chains I dream of shattering.


You’ve made this game look so easy, you know?

All that had impressed me about you lately is how you’ve lured me into your arms,

Only to neglect me without warning when the sun was at its hottest.

Part of me does not wish to see you go because I tolerate the pain that your absence has left behind.

You scarcely have time on your hands, but would you care to join me for a cup of jasmine tea?

It won’t take long. What I want to know next is what else is new that you have yet to tell me?

Feeding the Flame of Insecurity

As I looked in your eyes

I saw a tiny flicker

As if a small piece of your love for me

Died deep within you


A flicker so small

You barely gave it notice

But it blazed like the sun

As it seared my heart


I felt my soul shiver

As if your precious gift

Was pulled from body


A sickening wave of despair

Passes through me

As I realize your love for me

Will no longer be whole


My heart is left broken

And bleeding with regret

Unable to mend the wound

That has been inflicted.


Will time heal the damage?

Or will I have to suffer

A slow painful death

As the fire within you

Slowly dies out


Shall I continue to fan the flames

That I see still burning inside you?

Or does the fuel for my love

No longer have the capacity to sustain it?


I think I shall just close my eyes

And let fate run its course

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Some of these people

really crack me up.


I’m doing a Center City reading

and talking with

a couple poetry comrades

about poetry, life

& all the usual bullshit.


Ginsberg gets slammed

by jealous wannabees

and Bukowski is toasted

by pansies afraid his ghost

will come back to kick their asses.


Of course, politics & coalitions

are mentioned

in the same breath

as love, rhythm & Kerouac.


And then the chat

took a turn toward the loony.


It turns out that one of the poets

is telling the other that he wishes

that he needed glasses.


“I’m thinking of going to a doctor

to get a pair so I’ll look more intelligent.”


“Yeah, glasses are cool.”

intones the other one

(pun not intended)


About this point

I’m feeling the distinct taste

of bile in my mouth

as the virtue of glasses

are being discussed

by these two poets


Now, I can’t grasp why

if God, Allah, Zeus

or whatever other diety

spiritual or secular

grants you good vision

why would you want

to tamper with the results.


Well, I find it insulting

to people with vision disorders

that someone blessed

with perfectly good eyes

would mess with them.


Guys like this should put less thought

into how they look

and more thought into how they write.


I thought of point this out to them

but I’m not very assertive.

And I remained silent not really sure

it would even be worth the effort.


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As She Walked By

Day 1

As she walked by, 

Many thoughs scattered through my brain,

My heart beating faster,

Pumping more then enough blood through my viens ,

Yet I do not know her,

But im quite curious to know her name,

But I never asked her,

Am I the one to blame?,

Such a beautiful girl ,

A living portrait within a fine frame,

Day 2

As she walked by,

Words woudn't be able to describe,

This feeling that incarcerated my soul, 

She gave me this sort of vibe, 

Yet I said nothing to her, 

Cause I knew I wasn't her type of guy,

I let my insecurity get the best of me,

And watched her walk by.

Day 3

As she walked by,

I tried not to stare,

I knew I couldn't have her,

This seemed to be the true definition of unfair,

I wonder if she knows I like her,

Would she even care? 

So much question unanswered, 

I feel like a questionnaire.

2 Weeks Later

As she walked by,

I still felt that day one sensation,

Yet I can not come up with any words,

Nervous about our communication,

You still haven't even noticed me,

This nervousness is turning into frustration,

I just need you to give me a sign,

Even the littlest bit of correlation,

Yet the smallest things you do,

Causes great temptation,

Just know one day you will be mine,

And this is my confirmation,

And you walking right by me...


That will be my motivation.

1 Month Later

As she walked by,

Time was thinning,

Summer is around the corner,

And I wasn't remotley close to winning,

School is about to end,

And this question kept popping in my head,

This question was,

Will I ever see this beautiful girl again.

Last Day Of School

As she walked by,

I knew this was my last chance,

So if you know me by now... 

I should apologuiez in advance,

I let you walk right by me...

And threw away our possibility of romance.

5 months Later

As she walked by,

We seemed to walk the same rejection,

Defying all my fears of rejecton,

As we talked,

I told you that i've had this confession,

And all along it turns out, 

You aswell was under the same impression.



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Time Bomb (day 161)

Somehow I have not been born right

I can't get high on you loving me

even when it's tattooed on you and it's etched inside my skull


When I want to be alone I go out into a crowd

because in the center of me is a guitar

and I don't know how to play it

I need you instead

you seem to read these notes better than me


You seem to sit better on the edges of their smiles

I'm unmoving here, bread on the table

and no one gives me a second glance without your honey


Somehow I have not been born right

I can hear my heartbeat like a time bomb

this distance like a spotlight

until I tremble in a crowd to feel alone again


You make me more dangerous

standing so close, 

I could go off at any moment

and just because I choose you to stand next to in the crowd

doesn't mean you're invincible


Somehow I have not been born right

but I have learned to live it, 

capsize when I suffocate, 

fix broken hearts in the space between alone and claustrophobic, 

reach for you to find bread and honey

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Written 1/4/17

Bread and honey




Kyla Bingham (Written circa October/November 2011 – Modified/Completed January 25, 2012)


She’s tired of being the chaperone.

She knows there’s nothing worse than being in a roomful of people and still feeling all alone.

She’s tired of being overlooked—viewed as what’s in the litter box instead of as the pick of the litter.

She’s so much more than a really good friend, a go-to-girl or built-in babysitter.

She gets tired of being the strong one, being the one who’s known for her smile and encouraging the world all the while ignoring the pain that’s raging inside.

Sometimes she really wants to weep instead of laugh, make a mistake without being judged, scream and scratch, be rude and snide.

But she knows she’ll never do it because what good would that do?

She’d wind up more alienated than she is already PLUS looking and feeling like a fool.

But there are times she’d love to be invited to the party or the concert, be escorted to the dance.

She doesn’t know how far it might go, but she’d love to have the chance.

She’s been living her life in neutral—unable to reverse to childhood or drive forward to being a woman with all that it entails.

She’s just stuck in the mud.

Spinning her wheels.

Grinding and stripping the gears.

Gunning the engine with no traction until it’s flooded. . .so her battery dies and the transmission fails.

Because she’s surrounded by couples, she feels so excluded. She doesn’t get the inside joke—she’s missing out on all their fun.

So she slowly fades away into the background and wonders what’s wrong with herself and why she doesn’t have a “plus one”.

Is it the hedge she’s built around herself to make sure that her private agony doesn’t become a public hell?

Is there no one able to even try to scale that wall, shake its foundation, crack that shell?

And though she’s oft misjudged as being aloof or intimidating, she’d be worth the effort because at her core she’s soft, but at the same time, God she’s so afraid.

She just doesn’t know how to be vulnerable so she needs a warrior to stage a coup and mount a raid.

Because there’s light inside her, it’ll just take someone strong and special to see it.

To be secure enough for them both and to know that whatever is needed, she’ll be it.

But she fears this soldier must not exist—either that or she’s alone because she’s just not smart or pretty.

Or perhaps it’s because she’s too outspoken—maybe a bit too witty.

Is it because she’s not a size 6, and you can bet she never will be.

How I wish that I knew this girl so I could comfort her—oh wait, I do know her—she’s me.

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RING 101



At the hate crime poster, I stare.

Ringing retort! Urge me to dial and report!

Am I doing right to even care?

This blatant. intolerant attack: IS a hate crime of sort.

To make sense of this crime, I must ring and dare.

Enough of this abusive sport!!

At my expense; even if life is unfair.

It is time these culprits were caught.

Quick before this situation turns into despair.

Yes to report them, I ought.

Such outrage I should not have to bare.

These assailants, to court were brought.

Tried and imprisoned for such insulting behaviour.

Wittnesses and victims of hate crime, sought.

Let Justice be the snare, RING 101 if you care.

Author's Notes/Comments: 


My opinion of unecessary hate crimes perpertrated and if life is to be so unjust, reach for that phone and seek redress and report those tormentors. My message also in a  anti- hate crime project I have recently been involved in, localy here in Wales.


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Can't go back

A simple Gaze
A short meeting of eyes
A simple haze
Morality's demise
It is I who I despise  
Save my soul
Make me try
If I could just walk around your head for a day
Would I turn into stone or clay?
Does it even matter?
Daft thoughts
Created by factory chairs