Heather Dooley

“The spiking temps spiked a fever for cool commons,
so I made a plate of tapenade, bruschetta, and prosciutto,
with orange creamsicle martinis flowing like a

Zen fountain. It was hard for me to believe
that I woke up that morning fighting back tears
for no reason and all kinds of reasons. It is still...

hard for me to believe that you have become no reason,

at all.”
― Heather Angelika Dooley, Ink Blot in a Poet's Bloodstream

“I remember when all of my dreams were in rainbow.
Now, everything I do I have to Technicolor
because it's all become so black and white...
so subtle hues,
no longer Prismacolor me and you.
I sharpen those pencils,
but they still come up dull.
I shade and shade and shade,
but it all comes up a shady review.

I miss the rainbow
when my dreams were caught
all throughout the day;
and not just late at night,
when I couldn't sleep
because everything was dark,
and too steep to climb,
and only in rhyme because
I have not become THAT gray poet.”
― Heather Angelika Dooley, Ink Blot in a Poet's Bloodstream

“I forgot my key.
The question is:
who do I call now?

Landlords and locksmiths have become more loyal
than you
when you're the only other person that I gave a copy to
in these places that I can only seem to rent.”
― Heather Angelika Dooley, Ink Blot in a Poet's Bloodstream

“He didn't see women as people;
he saw them as trophies,
and that is precisely why

he never won me.”
― Heather Angelika Dooley, Ink Blot in a Poet's Bloodstream