hey (:

I’m a tenth-grade drummer and writer living in Brooklyn, NY, and experimenting with poetry. I mainly write free verse, city poetry, dabbling in form (tanka and sestina are my playthings)….A beginner! but hoping to learn. I’m really strong-willed, narcissistic, opinionated, and sometimes overly emotionally detached. (but I’m also very smart and creative and happy and a good friend). so, now you know me as well as I do.

I hate caps. I almost always hate exclamation points. I’m ok with commas and semicolons and I adore parentheses. Dashes are a distant acquaintance. Rhyme and meter are long lost friends. A veces, español es mi amigo tambien. I think texting lingo is the innovative forefront of the English language. I think religion is mankind’s greatest vice, and art our greatest achievement. I go to Stuyvesant High School, which means I’m supposed to think I’m better than you.
(I try not to).
Any other worthless opinions?
Oh yeah. I’m an anarcho-socialist ignostic semi-vegetarian.
music anyone?
Whatever Will Be, Will Be
And Some Of This Good Shit Too

  • Joined: April 2010


Features So Far

First Bunch o’ Features (: / Scars featured in Up and Coming Writers / Untitled featured in Every Little Thing You Do / Untitled Tanka featured in Freedom In Words and Art / Letters and Numbers featured in Layered Up and Every Little Thing You Do / I look back and all around. featured in Freedom In Words and Art / Cemetery Picnic featured in Every Little Thing You Do / Farewell to Arms feat…
Posted over 6 years – 1 comments

Caliper - Literary Journal

My school has a biannual literary journal called “Caliper”… I’m trying to decide which pieces of mine I should select to submit to the journal, preferably more recent ones. any suggestions? / x / Jake
Posted over 6 years – 4 comments


Every now and then moments come to me that prove once again that the future is worth something, and it’s waiting for me, ticking off an endless line of possibilities. I want to write these.
Posted almost 7 years – 4 comments

What is and isn't poetry?

I read a poem by the writer Advocate of Wordz the other day, and it went like this: / Sex. / Thirst. / Power. / That’s it. So, I was wondering, at this point in the evolution of poetry is there still any clear definition of what “poetry” is? I guess the same question applies to other things, such as art, sport, and music…
Posted almost 7 years – 5 comments

Recently Added


Tears cascading to where her ears and neck meet in silhouette / and freezing forever there / next to the park that smells like wood / the s…

December 27th

the lines were down. branches hanging from / telephone wires / like broken cowboys, spurs rattling

Jazz Recital

Feel the cymbals breathe / misty warmth into the / snow-streaked air outside, / your hands tapping / their tongues, / sizzling like / stea…

Tanka #3

Dazed children run through / The tipsy streets of Queens like / Shiny black oil spills / Burn the dark waters they drink / Then erupt into …


Like the dead air of winter / my crisp thoughts contract in the cold and pierce / my harboring skin / striking holes in / conscience / (…

To My Earth

you filled my body with tumbling triplets, / trapping my ears in a net of feeling / that holds me tight like ecstasy / and fills my mind / …

Christmas Trees For Sale (At Chambers and Greenwi…

no, i do not dance with trees at night / (waltzing through darkness while / hair is combed backwards by needles).

Please, Sir #1

He / draws his / Arms / in air / Like / thin black / Sky / scrapers, / Screams / at walls: / “Please / dear Sir / I / just need / A /…

Farewell to Arms

You slept with Ernest Hemingway / last night, his eyes pressed against your / chest like cold / knives as your smile / flickered in the…

Cemetery Picnic

I slept on my grave last night, / crawling through sounds of night / and glass, listening to the symphony / of zealous sighs. / (the sta…

Letters and Numbers

On the small, almost completely overgrown gravel path, I found an apology: / A letter bent like a sailor’s hat and beaten with the bl…

Tanka #2

We wrestle with space / and kiss the distance: / locking conscience like bridges / I grasp her hand tight / in evening’s last throes.
desktop tablet-landscape content-width tablet-portrait workstream-4-across phone-landscape phone-portrait
desktop tablet-landscape content-width tablet-portrait workstream-4-across phone-landscape phone-portrait