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.


i write this now
as my brain swishes
beneathe by crown
as my vision sways
with the teetering room
i miss you
i missed you
and i’ll probably miss you
when my mind comes back again
because there’s no amount of booze
that could get rid of you
or your laughter
or your grip
but i take another sip
or two, or three
cause you know me
i was never the one
to give up easily

– B. Brown

I Believed She’d Always Be

I Believed She’d Always Be

youthfully drowsy, I believed she’d always be

but I felt it, the fragility, the fatigue

the trauma racking mentally, frequently

allowed for it to creep silently, to fester

to make her air thick and her words slick

still, I couldn’t fathom such a stealthy killer

such an intimate thriller for the soul to behold

even behind the scenes, the illusions eased

until the rooms grew dimmer, and they withered

right before my untrusting, denying eyes,

until I was exposed, the smallest one out

stumbling in the dark, no merciful moon

to temper the shock so soon

– B. Brown

This is a poem from my first book, Amnesia. It was a struggle to write the first part because I tore into a lot of dark spaces in my mind. I had to explore and confront that year that poses as only yesterday, when my world distorted and contorted into something unrecognizable. I managed to survive it, though, and come out stronger. But even today, I still wonder how different my life would be if it wasn’t for that plot twist.

(fantasy art: The Drowning Eyes by Cynthia Sheppard)

The Last Mile

she was anxious, excited
upset that she had to come,
that the drive had taken longer,
that the sun was shining brighter
as if it were the proper
time to climb
from the four seater
with a beautiful face
turned dreadful
and grim, with limbs
and whims to struggle composure,
reluctantly entering
a room lit for no reason
morning already consumed,
looking around bemusedly
at two solemn faces greeting,
petitioning courage to smile
she sweeps over and smiles,
I haven’t seen you in a while

and her friend, she smiles
still with years
backed by heavy care,
road of kinship
backed my the miles
of laughter
of shared pain
of still living again
loving again
puffing again, they walk again
memory lane unearthed again
to part again
but towards a final destination,
they weep again

before she goes,
eyeballing the shine
through the window
the green grass
across the road,
leaves flying for show
as if they didn’t know
who withstood
the most loss,
who was famed
through loss,
as she passed
through the door frame
into her world
that would never be
the same

– B. Brown

…heart’s been a little heavy this week

(art by Donna Downey (new favorite artist omg))

You Are Not Alone…


there are things I wish I would’ve done

and things I once wished I could change.

I made some mistakes along the pubilshing

process that almost made me faint




one day, I will

be able to look back on this and smile, not cringe

because I plunged

into that icy surface with eyes wide open

and it’s mine (no one can take this)

that’s why writing this was a challenge


this book had no remorse,

the things that it required of me

to withdraw to think

to stop to think

to cry it out to think

to apologize to think

to forgive to think

to accept to think

to open to think

think, think, think…

it took so much thinking…

and that brought so much feeling…


I spent a lot of time in the womb of my mind…

I didn’t know what I would find…

that I hadn’t accepted my mother’s


that God had came down

and stared me right in the face,

my face,

my mother’s face

and that shit takes the breath

right out of you…

I didn’t know she possessed

the majority share

of the air I breathed

I searched and scoured recklessly

(blessedly, my mother provided

a passion for writing

a gift that keeps giving

one that keeps me breathing

even from over the horizon)

until I found my true keep,

until I awoke and saw

life/death clearly

and it’s riveting

if not motivating

(although the constant awarness

is still residing, haunting)


I wanted to conclude

Amnesia’s presentation

to provide you

with a more suitable representation

of it’s creation and

I know I’m not the only one struggling with this

I can’t be

this is a universal


that keeps on


you are not alone,

(and I struggled with this too)

I tell you,

you are not alone…


-B. Brown






The sky turned inside out,
The sun shook the ground
And the elements grated on me
Even as I sleep,
And I hope you can see me
Idling a hundred floors down,
What else can you see
From that high?
I can cope knowing this
Joke was just taken too
Seriously, you’re up in a suite
Waiting for me,
And they’re all in the lobby
Rooting for me, unearthing
My fortune and faith
Just ahead of me
And I’ll play along, this game
Just hurts however short
It may be, it’s just, you still
Feel so far away from me…

– B. Brown

(image courtesy of Pinterest)

I’m Sorry We Failed You

I thought your good days were just as divine as mine,
that you’re bad days were never anything that couldn’t be scrubbed off.
I thought there were video game nights with way too much soda and
passive days that allowed you to recuperate.
I thought your daughter’s voice would be your escape,
And your tether to this earth.
I thought you had the option of cruise control,
to reach inside and readjust while the body retraced.
I thought there was at least a crutch,
something to blow or, at least, saturate.
To have something so blunt infiltrate and pilfer your estate,
your sense of self-preservation slipping with each downfall,
Each setback was a direct message,
personally received from an abstract happening
until you dreamed of her every night,
without ever knowing what she really looked like.
The words to her melody were at the tip of your tongue
even though you never heard her sing.
You craved her but mistook her for her twin.
And she was the last decision you ever made for yourself,
to show us all you will forever be kept to yourself.


He was waiting for me on the balcony yesterday morning. He smiled awkwardly and I said, “Oh, that’s right. Your bag.” I went back inside, struggled with a black duffle bag and brought it out for my neighbor. He didn’t need me to hold onto the bag anymore. I didn’t ask why. He nodded, then thanked me and I watched him scurry back to the empty apartment. I had to ignore the knotting in my chest because I was running behind.

But I still thought of him and his family as I drove, knowing that most likely, I’d never see them again.

I should’ve said goodbye in person. They were only a few feet away from me. But walking to their door to knock and say goodbye would’ve been another blow to the little girl inside me.

They were one of the few things stable in my life. After everyone had left, they’d stayed. They’ve witnessed everything I’ve gone through since the birth of my child. They were always present, concerned and willing to help me when I needed it. They knew of my misdeeds and still treated me, and my daughter, as loved ones.

I don’t know how to take a hit. Saying goodbye… I just couldn’t bring myself to say it to their beautiful faces. The three children were so bright and lively. They brought me so much happiness even as the rowdy children they were. Their mother was the sweetest soul. She kept that house clean and their bellies full. Her husband was a hardworking man that ran two convenience stores, he gave me a free bottle of organic honey one day. They were a traditional Muslim family who set a positive example for me. They reminded me the importance of teaching our children faith and discipline with a loving, unwavering hand. They were a light in our lives responsible for a lot of the warmth we were receiving.

And they’re gone. Off to somewhere in Texas. And I didn’t realize how much I missed them until know, until I saw their empty parking spot. There aren’t any shoes outside of their door anymore. Their little girl’s chalk hand print has been cleaned from the door. And I’m just now starting to feel these blows. I’m going to be aching for a while…