Completed an internship for "Fiction International Magazine" as an assistant editor on their latest issue "Refugee", 2023

My poem, "A Sunday Morning in Hofstetten", was accepted into the San Diego Poetry Annual and additionally featured in a SDPA writer’s retreat/spoken word poetry event, 2021-2022.

Published a novel, "Glass Cabinet: An Anthology of Poetry and Prose", along with some of my peers, including three of my own pieces (‘Me, My Words’, ‘Last Night’, 'What Makes a Mortal’), 2021.

“She has salamanders sleeping in each of her eyes.

Sewn of twigs and tortillas and torture, she’s

Dressed in a bulletproof vest and strips of cellophane.”

"Perhaps we obsess on the condition of our mortality, filled with fear and fascination. Perhaps we immortalize each other with wistful words and scream into the empty abyss of time— going nowhere, but anywhere's better than here. Perhaps we draw each other closer because we know we can't, and living on borrowed time is a burden easier to bear when it's wedged between our bodies."

“We ensnare the Sun and ride it across an apricot sky until our bodies are bathed in dripping gold, glowing grand through the night. See us– incandescent– swimming in pools of swirling stardust, spitting in Jupiter’s red eye.”

"When the sun began to beat down, Albert had flopped down in the tall grass under the tree to curl up and take a nap.

His mother had joined him a moment later, pulling an orange from the large pocket in her overalls. She deftly peeled away the skin, splitting the tangy treat into sections. With sticky fingers, she popped one in her mouth, and handed another to Albert, who sat up and took the orange slice with eager hands.

Sinking his teeth into it, Albert felt the tangy elixir burst on his taste buds like an explosion of sweet sunlight. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve before greedily diving for another piece."

"The air stank like rotting flowers— thick and stifling. It sent tingles racing up Mia's spine, though the summer day was hot and humid and Mia could already feel the beads of perspiration collecting on her forehead. It was as if when Death had come for her mother, it never left. As if it was still trapped in this attic, among all the other cluttered old things that lived up there— frozen in time. As if it slumbered here— stirring silently in the shadowed corners, simmering in the saccharine scent of heady old lady perfume, slipping deeper into the maze of old memories that lingered in the room like ghosts." 

“Carob curls splay across satin sheets— I like how they feel in my fingers.

A stifling stillness envelopes our embrace and every trembling breath sounds a symphony.”

“In the black world his eyes are darker still

Sharp as the Stygian owl stare that

Shaves skin from bones and savours the moans

Searching hands that sift through shifting shadows.”

“Hands that wreak war and dream of decimation hold my heart in mercy. There is peace now, both full and entirely empty. If I close my eyes and listen, I can hear the ocean churning. Crashing with corpses. The seagulls soar somewhere overhead, their talons wrapped tight around shrieking souls, delivering them out of this life like a bastardized version of the storks that brought them in.”

“Here I am.

The keeper of secret things,

Collecting what ancient knowledge brings.

Here I am,

The wily wordsmith waning.

Left behind,

A silver tongued snake explaining.”

“Tip toe tender, little lass of mine leaping,

Step light and hum your trilling tune.

Caer Ibormeith waits bonny and sleeping,

Her swan song lilting o’r lullaby lagoon.”

“Darling, I am floating away

On the ocean of my mind.

Where land is only legend

Or a wisp of hope in the wind.”

“Day labors and gives birth to bewitching night

And isn’t she perfect?

White birds beam against an inky lake,

Stars spinning in a pure black sky.”