All posts in Spoken Word



Jul 2016

The Soken Word – Time’s a Funny Thing

For today’s Soken Word I have decided to play a fun game on your eyes! By “decided” I mean I did it accidentally – it looks really unprofessional – please don’t stop watching – I don’t have time to retape – maybe you won’t notice – except I’ve made this embarrassingly big show of it now. I’m a little out of focus. It’s not your eyes. Unless you started your mid-week booze early, then I don’t know. Maybe it is your eyes.

It’s kind of artsy, though, because when I gesture, my hands come closer to the camera and flashes of red nail polish and red campari are actually in focus. So, there you go. It’s an artistic choice. Why am I still talking? Here’s this week’s Soken Word: Time’s a Funny Thing.



Jul 2016

The Soken Word – Watch for the Storm

Happy Wednesday!! Guys. It’s July 20th. The 20th day. Of the 7th month. Of 2016. WHERE DOES THE TIME GO?! (More on that next week). Welp, I had my Soken Word all written out to share with you today. Here’s an excerpt:

Your word is your bond. You do what you say you’re going to do. You treat people with dignity and respect. Because I want all the children in this nation to know that the only limit to their achievement is the strength of your dreams and your willingness to work hard for them.

But apparently, that speech was already taken. Who knew?! So, instead, you get this one. It’s called Watch for the Storm. It’s about love. And visualizing yourself on a beach. #wishfulthinkingwednesday

Wanna hear a piece about something specific? Email me at!




Jul 2016

The Soken Word – Search for the Light

I don’t know about you, but Wednesdays are my favorite days for existential crises.

Bet you didn’t think I was going there, did ya? Of course, I’m kidding! Existential crises can happen at any time, any day. If you don’t know what I’m talking about and have never had an existential crisis… are you alive? But alas, that’s the question, isn’t it?!?!

Oh no. I need more booze. This week, I am adding to The Soken Word a weekly wine tip. This week: drink orange. (click HERE to see what I’m drinking)




Jul 2016

The Soken Word – I Look Like a Pirate in This Shirt (aka Kindergarten)

This week on The Soken Word I discuss the pros and cons of being an adult vs. being 5.


The ability to entertain yourself in the pool for HOURS

Snack time (lookin’ at you, Ants on a Log)

Pajama sets with footies

Party favors

You don’t yet know about social media

Santa Claus



Only liking cartoons

Not having the ability to use your words

You don’t yet know about social media



Drinking champagne in the middle of the day

(there’s probably more, but none seem quite as important as this one)




Jun 2016

The Soken Word – Boozy Breakfast (aka Pillow Talk)

“The time has come!

the walrus said to talk of many things. Of shoes and ships and ceiling wax, of cabbage and kings! Of why the sea is boiling hot and whether pigs have wings.”

Pop Quiz! (Bet you didn’t see that coming) Can anyone tell me what that’s from?! It’s really such a relief to be given permission to talk about ceiling wax and cabbage… it’s ALL I THINK ABOUT! OK breathe, I’ll tell you. It’s from Lewis Carroll’s The Walrus and the Carpenter (go ahead, click on the link to see it in all its glory). I grew up performing several of Lewis Carroll’s pieces (this one and the even weirder Jabberwocky). By “performing,” I clearly mean gesticulating wildly and speaking loudly and forcing anyone around me to stop and watch. Come to think of it, maybe Lewis Carroll is where I first fell in love with poetry. An epiphany! What a beautiful weirdo, that one.

Anyway, I digress.

This week on The Soken Word, I give you a little pillow talk and switch out my normal wine for… coffee.


If you like what you see, leave a comment below! Or share to all your friends. Sharing is caring!

I’ll show you how this whole “sharing” thing is done: Take a listen to my friends’ podcast Same, But Different (click link). My friends (and identical twins) Whitney and Lauren Rosenthal host a weekly podcast that is super fun and enlightening and a PERFECT way to get you through traffic. They have special guests every week. And, this week, it’s ME! They’re awesome. You should get to know them.

Wasn’t that easy?



Jun 2016

The Soken Word – Don’t Listen To A Word I Say

I’d like to take you back to 2002 for a moment. It was a simpler time then. A time of Britney and Justin and those Nokia BRICK phones. In 2002, I was really into borrowing my friend Nicole’s clothes, silencing my dial up internet so my parents didn’t hear me late-night AIMing, and a boy with the last name Waggenspack. Yep. He could drive. I was also into Nelly. Apparently, 2002 was so simple for Nelly, that when he got hot, he just took off all his clothes.

Which brings me to my point (kind of). It is HOT in LA right now. And I’m from Texas, so I know hot. Here are some fool proof ways not to die of a heat stroke this summer:

  • crash your local hotel’s pool (recommended)
  • ice bath (not recommended)
  • “work from a coffee shop” for 16 straight hours (they probably don’t even have AC either)
  • hire a broke actor to follow you around with a fan (ya, but then you’d have to hang out with a broke actor. Unless you’re hiring me. In which case I’m available.)
  • ROSÉ ALL DAY (** Cam’s pick for beating the heat)

Which brings me to my real point. Click below for this week’s THE SOKEN WORD! #girlpower



Jun 2016

I N T R O D U C I N G . . .


Rose all Day

I’ve decided to use this blog as more of a… well, blog. A forum for all my musings and ponderings, catharsis and wanderings. I have for several years now written and performed Spoken Word Poetry (read: I’m a white girl slam poet). I have also for several years now drunk and enjoyed wine. Negronis. Martinis. A well timed digestif every now and again. Really all booze. It made sense to me to combine the two(s). No, I will not always rhyme. But I will, Wednesdays at 3 Pacific Standard Time. Click the link, pour yourself a drink and enjoy the first installment of The Soken Word.



Nov 2014

Meet me, Cameran, Published Author

Last week, I was in NYC. As in the Big Apple, Broadway, if you can make it there, you can make it anywhere, the city of Annie Hall, Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan, and Jay Z.

I also got the privilege to perform some spoken word poetry at the famous Bowery Poetry Club. And guys, I did it. I really did it. My piece won fave of the night, and now I will be published in their yearly anthology! See pic and piece below for proof.

Screen Shot 2015-04-25 at 9.35.05 AM


Love Looks


When I look at you, I don’t see love.

I see a good night’s sleep. That think I’m constantly craving but can never seem to get quite enough of. I see escape from anxiety and rest for my weary eyes. I see a place to grow my dreams and strengthen my days. I don’t count sheep. I count number of times I can make you laugh. But I lost track somewhere around ‘mockingbird’ or ‘diamond ring.’ The laughter on your lips is my lullaby, as surely as if you sing it to me.

When I look at you, I don’t see love.

I see a cup of coffee. My wake up call. My catharsis. My favorite vice. Rarely do my mornings start without sipping you in, feeling you course through my veins, and kickstart my heart. I should just call you Joe because a cup of you is the best part of waking up.

When I look at you, I don’t see love.

I see postage stamps. Letters from a long distance love. You’ve traveled a long way. We may always have been in the same place, but I have postcards in my mind from St. Patrick’s Day 2008. With each calendar year, the distance fades, but letters still come to mind from four years ago, three years ago, two years ago, today.

When I look at you, I don’t see love.

I see a telescope because when you look at me, you see stars. I can tell because they glisten and shine and reflect in your own eyes. You connect my dots and paint constellations from my flaws. You see the space-like complexity that goes on in my head, and like the moon finds the earth and the earth finds the sun, you make sense of the infinite.

When I look at you, I don’t see love.

I see Shakespeare or Ibsen or Moliere. I see the classics. ‘But soft what light through yonder window breaks.’ I hear iambic pentameter. There’s a rhythm and a dance. There’s archetype in this romance. Maybe I see that I just compared you to Shakespeare, and somehow you still find me adorable. You enable all my quirks.

When I look at you, I don’t see love.

I see my dad’s hand-me-down jacket. I did not expect your arms to fit me so well. A little big, but just enough to make me feel held. Years of history have worn a hole in the right pocket, but that’s OK. It reminds me not to keep you at arm’s length. Time can slip through those holes. But, rather hold you up close, so I can share in your strength. There’s a rust stain from an old metal button, but I don’t mind. The copper color reminds me when I’m careless, you bleed. So I need to be careful with this valuable antique. Because you won’t find it often. It’s one of a kind. It once belonged to someone else, but now, it’s mine. I put my fingers in the pockets and find new stories we’re writing ourselves. I zip up the zipper, and it fits as if it was made for me the whole time.

When I look at you, I don’t see love.

I see chemistry or anatomy or some other highschool science class innuendo. I see myself being emptied out and filled up again. The simultaneous mixing of insides. We blend and blur. Chemical reactions changing who we once were. Sweat forming hydrogen bonds that bind us together as if sharing electrons. You can keep my heart. But, be gentle. Once given, it breaks easy. You can keep my liver, the seat of passion, as long as these sleepless nights and waking dreams continue. I’ll trade you for your lungs, so when you breathe in and you breath out, it’s through my lips. I can be your oxygen and fill you up again. I’ll keep your eyes too. So I can see me the way you see me. Beautiful. When I don’t believe it. Beautiful. When I’m too tired to hear it. Beautiful. When the tears on my cheeks and your chest beg to differ. Beautiful.

When I look at you, I don’t see love.

I see a man. No similes. No metaphors. Just someone broken like I am. I see your hands that are fractured from forgotten friends and paper-thin promises. And maybe, just maybe, they can puzzle piece fit around my shoulders that are weary and worn from the weight of the world. I see your heart that’s been torn out and tossed around like a game of pick up. But, it’s not a game of pick up, but keep. See, we fall in love like we fall asleep: slowly at first and then all at once. So maybe, just maybe, I can puzzle piece fit your heart back into your chest. It might feel a little different now. A little lighter. Because somehow with your basketball heart and my surgeon’s hands, that are neither steady nor strong, we were able to lighten the load.

When I look at you, I don’t know what I see.

But, I know I’ll keep looking.


(sheesh, who is the dude, anyway?)





Feb 2013

Poetry and Pepperdine.

2 weeks ago I serenaded the students of Pepperdine University with some slammin’ spoken word. Yes. There were about 1,500 students there. No. I did not imagine them in their underwear. You sicko. But, I did talk about Peace. Don’t know if it was profound or poignant or poetic. But, it was the plain honest truth.





Nov 2012

Sometimes, I’m serious.