Journal: Tight Rope

I’ve been walking a tight rope lately,
my arms stretched as far as they’d go
into the winds,
challenging my balance…

I don’t know what keeps this line suspended,
tight enough to hold my weight,
slack enough to keep me wavering…

I do my best not to look down,
I’ve fallen before,
rather not have it happen again,
but it’s tempting…

I keep inching, hoping for something
anything, an intervention
divine, an intermissive stimulation

I keep hoping for a surprise,
looking for a sign saying maybe
it wouldn’t be the worst
thing to dive, to get it over with

to slip and accept with grace
another body to offer a chance,
an extraction from my delayed reaction,

this fear of forming any attachments…

– B. Brown

(image by Alain Laboile)

Trust Issues

what happens when it’s all you got left

keeping you afloat,

giving you hope

a line to other hearts,

a line to be used against you,

as a tournicate

strapped across your vital parts

how can you bleed?

how do you breathe?

– B. Brown

(stitch art by Andrea Farina)

While I’m Down

afraid to move

too suddenly

for the wind to carry

my scent 

off to who knows where

to who knows who

for if they came for me now

they’d take all

I had left to lose

– B. Brown

Pulled Apart

on display
sold as is
no returns
after alterations
so you were stuck with me
for your prerogatives,
that I was more
than what you wanted

I was everything
that you needed

– B. Brown

(Doll Chateau Stacia)

My Story Still Continues…

I published my first book back in November. I emptied everything I struggled with into it and then sent it off to the world. My friend asks me why I haven’t been promoting it and I told her the truth, even though it was kind of silly.

The truth is that I’m a teeny bit embarrassed about how much I put into it. I gave it my all, like I was supposed to but still, putting such tender pieces of myself onto those pages… it’s like I’m not ready for the entire world to know yet.


I still relieved it’s out there and I know that it could help someone who struggles with loss and their faith just like I do. At least from these pages, someone will know they’re not alone. That there is someone else out there with the same hang ups about family, love and death.

If you’re interested, you can find my book here: Amnesia

I’m working on another collection of poetry as well. This one will be a little less solemn as it is about learning love and understanding the beauty of our nature. My story still continues and I hope to share more with you guys soon.

A Little Extra

with everything that I am,
with breast that have fed,
the marks that snake up and down
my tummy and thighs,
my blood shot eyes
and stiff shoulders
and mind,
my calloused feet
and swollen tear ducts
no one wants to admit
that I’m more than just a good fuck,
that their touch runs deeper
beneath my veins
and trains of thoughts,
that what is asked from me
I’ve fought to be able to give
that I fight to be able to live
with the demons that drug me daily
that my mind is weary
and in need of another soul’s fury
that I need more than just fire,
that the rain has a way
of cleansing my desires
and that words are my earth,
that I stand on critiques and literature
that I still need to be nurtured

– B. Brown

I am not ashamed for being a little extra when it comes to my needs, because all of my adult life, I’ve had people take more than what they’ve cared to give to me. I am extra and I do the most because I am constantly trying to be the best me. So yeah, I am a woman who’s entitled to her needs.

(Art by Rekouane Kamel)

The Gamble for Gold

you wouldn’t see it
in the wrinkle of my brow

or know it
even as I told it
with a quivering frown

or hear it
in my shaking voice

how I felt
that I had no choice

but to risk it
and run with it
with you

for a chance
to love again

before it all
fell away again

– B. Brown

(image courtesy of Pinterest)

Don’t Be An Amateur

I’m an herb that burns slowly,

fifty-percent THC

not a tea

to temper,

I toss realities,

slow you down

so you can see,

so you can think

so you won’t be the same

with me

and without me,

you’ll be hurting,

so don’t take me


I have an after effect

that’s enlightening

or traumatizing

any way you have it

your world will change


if you keep

on smoking me

– B. Brown

(art by Cliff Briggie)

Pull After Pull

she will soak
the sleepless night
with her praise,
as glistening sheets
where they may
fleeing from folds of limbs,
bids that bend,
moans and yips
that rinse the walls
amongst rain scented
pillow cases
that cup and caress
strained faces
the moon,
she will rush the room
push and pull
and you will float
and you will drift,
and come to shore
where you may
– B. Brown
(image courtesy of Pinterest)

As Can Be

I caught you staring at me,

as if I were a thing of beauty

as if these scars didn’t maul

the silk of my skin

as if you weren’t afraid

to freeze in the blizzard

of my gaze,

as if there wasn’t blood

smeared from my chin

to my cheek

as if my lungs weren’t soaked

with the tar

of my angst

I saw you

see me as I was

before hand

you saw me

as the woman

I hoped 

to be

– B. Brown

(art by Aby Mackie)