My Bulldozer Fist

My father’s secret mission was to teach me that when I held my 3rd grade fist above the face of my brother and threatened to plow through it with the force of a bulldozer that I could recognize it was myself I wanted to explosively dig through for the sake of some good old-fashioned confession…

Poet in Hell

It’s no secret to me that travesty has followed me around all my life. It’s been my shameful little “Zip-a-Dee-Doo-Dah.” I’m reminded of the time my mother convinced the courts I was crazy for a while and asking to be beaten, so charismatic she was when it came to convincing others of a representation that…

Motto in the Color Ugly

I’m going to tell you the truth even if it makes me look bad or uninteresting, even if it makes me less attractive, is sort of my motto, and why I have such a hard time complaining and whining and usually find myself tempering whatever edge I’m leaning into to make me a little less…