The Rainy Days 

Sometimes I long for the rainy days. 

The melancholy days. 

The stay in your pjs all day and drink tea days. 

The I have an excuse to do absolutely nothing days. 
The rain and clouds outside my window clear the fog from my brain.

 Making space for other things. 

Things unseen. 

The things that usually go unheard in the din of my racing thoughts. 

The quieter, timid thoughts and feelings. 

The kids that don’t raise their hands in class. Not because they have nothing to say, but because they don’t think anyone will understand it. 

The insightful ones. 

The dreamers. 
The rain makes the seedlings of creativity blossom.  


Thursday Morning Love Poem 

I always smile when I clean my glasses 

Wiping away the smudges left by your face when you kissed me 

An imprint of longing 

A remnant of tenderness 

A tiny reminder of yesterday’s joy 

And something to look forward to 

Excitement for the next time you pull me close and my glasses get smudged 

A Poem For The Wild Women Who Are Not To Be Fucked With

They tell me I’m wild
Unrefined, stubborn, and mad
Imply I need shaping
Polishing, Lacing, Smoothing
As if I’m a thing made of porcelain
They whisper, smile, and hint
That I should be fragile and exist only to be seen
That my limbs should be lengthened
My curves should be straightened
My hair should be washed,combed, and pinned                                                                        
But I am not a doll
I do not exist for your games
And I will not be tamed
My fire will not be smothered, calmed or snuffed                                                                    
I am a wild woman
Mountain girl
Born, bred and raised to run through this world barefoot
Covered in dirt
To let the wildfires within me burn until my whole being ignites                                        
Love me if you dare
But proceed with caution
Don’t stand too close
Or you might be consumed                              
Love me please
But don’t try to tame me
Don’t try to change me
Or you may go blind from the same glow that draws you in
Like a moth burnt to a crisp
Nothing left but the stench of charred carcass and dreams
Destroyed by the one thing he loved the most but could never understand                  
Don’t try to shape me or fix me
I don’t need sutures and I’ll rend you from your seams                                                  
Because I like being flawed                              
I treasure the cracks in my porcelain
And I long to
Taste every taste
See every sight
Fight if I must fight
And stare in awe at the beauty and the horror of this world we call home                  
I like needles in me
And kissing strangers in the dark
And jumping off cliffs
And I don’t have a religion
God left us alone a long time ago
And my moral code is loose at best though I do attempt to not consciously fuck anyone over
Still I can’t say there aren’t a few carcasses of hearts left for the buzzards along the intercontinental highway of my life
And I love making people tell me their deepest darkest fears and perversions
And I crave life!
I want  to take it all in
And everything in between and leave my mark no matter how black
On this universe                                                  
I long to
Tease you, taunt you,and fuck you if I damn well please
And if I love you
Oh how I’ll love you
Like you have never been nor will ever be loved again                                                            
My wildness
Makes me
So don’t ever try to fucking tame me
You can love me
Please go ahead and love me
I might even love you back
But you’re not the first and you most likely won’t be the last
Cause I fall easily
And I tend to love with insane, reckless abandon
And this usually results in a broken heart
But I treasure that too
Because scars are interesting
They give us stories to tell
And I want to tell stories no matter how sad
So yes I certainly am wild and maybe a little bit bad
And sometimes I’m lonely and just want to be held
But not by the bondage we deem polite
My corset is purple not pale like the hands of a man or a doctrine to keep me in line
And my hair might be messy
My skin a bit pale
My hips a bit curvy a little extra to grab
But I’m a free woman
Not just a slab
Of meat for your consumption
Nor a doll for your shelf
Nor affirmation for your self loathing
And if you try to break me I’ll put up a fight
So if that doesn’t suit you
I bid you sir, good night                                    
Hear it here :

What Is This Word Happy? 

In honor of National Poetry Month here is one poem from me and one from my cowriter Joe Reese on “The elusive nature of happiness.”


                         By Serrana Gay 
Happiness is a sneaky bitch 

She creeps up on you when you aren’t looking 

And slips away in the night just as silently 

She teases 

And taunts you 

Always leaving you wanting more 

And we blame her 

Slut shame her 

Call her a whore 

Like we do to all the girls who don’t love us

But maybe we should ask ourselves 

What made her leave?

Because in reality 

We make our own 

And maybe just maybe 

We didn’t want her as much as we believed

Cause if we truly did

We would have treated her better 

Given her reason to stay 

Not been out drinking quite so late

Not kept working at jobs we hate

Tended the garden where she lived 

Smiled more 

Surrounded her with more people who cared for her 

Maybe then she would have stayed 

Not flitted off to flirt with someone more enticing 

Leaving us empty and alone 

Maybe if we appreciate her when she is here

Say thank you 

Tell her she’s beautiful 

Practice gratitude every single day 

Maybe happiness will stay 

For more than a day



Or year 

Maybe if we notice her 

Her mysteries 

Will become clear                                                   




           By Joseph Reese Anderson
Happiness rises in the air like smoke 

Reach for its twisting tendrils 

Grasp at it’s curling whips 

You cannot hold it 

You cannot own it 

You can only be enveloped by it 

Breathe it 

Soak it into your clothes

Happiness sometimes lingers when it’s gone 

Hangs in pockets and crevices  

You can pry into them in nostalgic moments 

Be gentle around the smoke of happiness 

Greedy inhales may choke you 

And smoke disburses in the reckless cough


His eyes widen as he looks at me 

My body bared before him 

“You are perfect” he whispers 

Perfect eyes 

Perfect lips 

Perfect laugh 

Perfect smile 

Perfect hips 

Perfect tits 

The manifestation of womanhood 

The image of beauty 

Like no one else he’s met 



A dream 

And he really truly thinks 

That this is complimentary 

This praise of my physique 

That it makes me feel good 



But what they all fail to grasp 

Is that being seen this way 

As a supernatural being 

An image of perfection 

Leaves little room for being human 

For mistakes 

And fears 

And insecurity 


And cellulite 


And zits 

And jealousy 

And madness 

And even love 

Because with the expectation of perfection comes dehumanization 

And though they mean well 

Mean only to praise 

They never seem to see 

That I am not a goddess 

I am flesh and blood 

And anger 

And awe 

And desire 

And flawed 

Whole and broken and real 

Perfect is a fantasy 

And perfect is not what I want to be

I just 

For once 

Want someone 

To really see 




Just be mine tonight 

For a moment or two 

Illuminated only by the light 

Creeping in from the street 

Through the crack in the curtains 

Skin glistening in the glow 

No need to worry about tomorrow 

Just breathe me in 

Let go of what lies 

Behind or ahead

And let me lay my head 

On your chest tonight 

Inspired by The Decemberists “All Arise”


Morning again I feel like it is always morning 

Like no matter how much I try to cling to 


She eludes me 

A lover who strays with the dawn 

Creeping out my window and down my fire escape as the sun cracks the horizon 

Turning grey blue haze into glistening morning 

Darkness merely a fading memory of her soft caress

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