Posted in fragments, Poems, thoughts


Break my bones;

Even with a shattered skull

I will still have my morals.

-Eva M.M.

Posted in fragments, Poems, thoughts


Bent light



through my eyes,


past the bend

of your shoulders.

– Eva M.M.

Thanks for stopping by and sharing your thoughts with me.  Have a wonderful day.

Posted in fragments, life, Poems, thoughts, travel

The man with the red boots.

Remember when we talked about Romeo and Juliet ?

You said , ” Hopefully our story ends better than theirs.”

I say, ” If it’s going to end then I don’t care how it ends. ”

The truth is, they are overrated. I would want us to be remembered as something better.

Tell me what you think of these :

Bone and bone.

Blood and blood.

 You were the water

but I was the flood.

The ignorant American and the bilingual Irishman.

Fuck it, this list sucks,

the rosy cheecked girl

and the man with the red boots.

– Eva M.M.

” The pen and I, we are one. If its ink would cease to flow, my ink would cease to flow.”

Thanks for stopping by in addition I had a question for you though I would also love to still hear from you about this poem. I was wondering if anybody would be interested in a Q & A type post. If so let me know below or on any of my posts with any questions you have for me. Anything is fair game and if it seems enough people are interested I will consider tossing together a small Q and A post. Thanks.

Posted in fragments, life, Poems, thoughts




upon my skin.


r voice

seeps right in.
-Eva M.M.

Thanks as always for reading and stopping by. As always feel free to ask me anything in the comments below as well.

” Me and the pen, we are one. If its ink would cease to flow, my ink would cease to flow.”


Posted in fragments, life, Poems, thoughts

Hell/Heaven bound #’s 1,2,3,4


In hell

with you

we would be

in heaven.

We went walking

by the water

and we kissed.

Damned to hell

we were heaven bound.

In hell with you

tongues tied

we would be

heaven bound.

Dante forgot to write us in,

you and I,

But we spoke of the swans 

and the twisted nature of modern day feminism.

Slothfully drunk on each other’s lips

we fell sleepily into the fifth burning ring.

Dante may have forgotten

the quiet boy and the melacholic girl

but damned to hell

we were heaven bound.
– Eva M.M.

” Me and the pen, we are one.If its ink would cease to flow,my ink would cease to flow.”

Hey everybody so I am officially back from my wonderful trip to Ireland and plan on catching up with you all by doing a few posts based on my trip there.For now though, I will remain vague and let you wonder more and more about the nature of these more recent posts, which as much as I wish I could make myself what to share them with you in a more honest manner, I need to share the words with you and let you feel their weight but have the real nature and who they are about remain forever between me, that person and anyone who somehow  unpuzzles it all on their own. 

Posted in books, fragments, life, philiosophy, thoughts

1984 excerts.

Nothing was your own except the few cubic centimeters inside your skull…infront of him lay not death but annihilation. The diary would be reduced to ashes and he himself to vapor…How could you make an appeal to the future when not a trace of you, not even an anonymous word scribbled on a piece of paper, could physically survive?…He was a lonely ghost uttering a truth that nobody would ever hear but so long as he uttered it,in some obscure way the continuity was not broken. It was not by making yourself heard but by staying sane that you carried on the human heritage…When there was no external records you could refer to, even the outline of your own life lost its sharpness…how can you establish even the most obvious of facts when there exists no record outside of your own memory?…the innermost heart, whose workings were mysterious even to yourself, remained impregnable…we are the dead. Our only life is the future.we shall take part of it as handfuls of splinters of bone… If you clung to truth, even against the whole world, you were not mad…can man forget that he is human?… I want everybody to be corrupt to the bones…the animal instinct, the simple undifferentiated desire: that is the force that will tear the party to piece….. Splinters of bone…” 

* From George Orwell’s ” 1984″

** Photograph by: Masao Yamamoto.

Posted in fragments, life, Poems, story, thoughts

oblivious ( i gave you…)

” I think I just might hate you for peeling away everything I thought I knew –but — but how would I know, after all, I live in deceit.”

He stands, stretching his legs. Oblivious.Goes on another day. Oblivious.There is always work to be done and dreams to be caught.

There is always the sweet kiss of oblivion

against your ruined skin.

I think I just might  love you

for stripping away everything I thought was there to protect me from going after the power of flesh.

And was this just another game for me

and another life lesson for you.

I am always wishing you all the best

and letting you hold your hand to my throat

while I cry and try to help you all the more.

Maybe I am better off admitting that I was never here to heal you

for how can I heal you when all I do is hurt?

Why am I always chasing after people who only spit in my face and tatter my skirt?

I gave you my words.

I gave you my mind.

I gave you my heart.

and after all of that

you left


that I had also given you

the only thing I cannot regret giving you.

-Eva M.M.

” Me and the pen, we are one. If its ink would cease to flow, my ink would cease to flow.”

Posted in fragments, life, thoughts

Reflections on my vulnerability #1

All things in their place and time

even the haunting notion of forgiveness

because, I think, we both lost ourselves in the intensity of sensuality.”

I sit, saying to myself, cupping my fist in my fist, clasping my fingers around my pale knuckles and clenching.Some wind runs itself through my spine. A wicked bird streaks itself across the silent spring sky. Blue.In the distance, the moment is dismembered by the bladed cackle of an ambulance wailing against my blank canvas. I lift my legs from the earth and curl my arms around my knees to shield them from seeing. I watch and the sky murmurs.Blue. I was told in the adrenaline of vibrant and rough-hewn conversation that I am vulnerable.Those words both the razor to my skin and the stitches that will heal me once again. The mundaneness of hunger, its casual indifference towards sorrow, reminds me that I am still alive. Alive but I am fear. A mother walks by pushing a stroller, glancing over at me nervously. Does she see my feathers fall from my perch? I unravel myself, stepping onto the paved park path. “Move forward.” I say to myself. I am resolved. I have forgiven you though I can not yet forgive myself. I walk home next to that algae covered blue.

All things in their time and place.

All things are given their due.

-Eva M.M.

Me and the pen, we are one. If its ink would cease to flow, my ink would cease to flow.”