I could gift you broken dishes Stained in crimson and ecru You Would hold them in your soft fingers Pliant / tenderly caressing the cracked edges Of old bowls and plates empty of Nourishment or reciprocity Pricking your hands, stealing Beads of your life Your voice, your calm Deep shades of ruby red Drizzling downContinue reading “You”
I turned our pictures face side down And stopped playing the songs you sent me Removed my favorite necklace With your smiling face etched into the locket From its home around my neck Breathed a new scent that I had begun to forget And others seemed to miss I placed it inside my jewelry boxContinue reading “Exaltation”
Wistless men frighten me — ambitious, powerful men with the world at their fingertips and my chest in their palms. They leave me to ache with longing, and my skin turns a sick, green pallor. These men and their dreams cut me so deeply that I am left frequently bleeding fear onto my fresh, whiteContinue reading “The Other Woman”
“his is my personal musings on what in my life is changing to such a degree that I was initially riddled with fear and panic, but am now feeling more like a hot-air balloon merging with the clouds, into the sunlight. But, like, not about to burn up. And if I am, like I would be reborn from the ashes of myself. Not to wax poetic about it, or anything.”
I think about the sun sometimes. Being her. Perhaps exploding with her, our brilliant light streaking through the universe like a crashing orgasm, leaving the planets and stars shaking, thrashing about contentedly.
Som days I look like my dad… distant, and very selective about my outward show of emotions. Other days, I seem to hold my mother more. Co dependent and relentlessly empathetic. I hope to soon look like myself. A self actualized version of the nappy headed girl who could not find a place to fitContinue reading “Some days”
This one I think is meant to be performed. When I wrote it, it sounded like a monologue. Someone telling whoever would listen how she fucked up her plants.
Written one night when I couldn’t fall asleep and I was tired of the way I was writing my old poems.
Written when trying to challenge myself to identify who I am for a poetic bio. #Fail
You’ve stretched out over six feet of spaceThe only six available in a tight cramped hospital roomThe timed whir of machines processing their functionsManufacturing life for the fathers of crumbling daughtersWakes you from the slumber you keep attempting to stealBetween Catholic prayers bleeding through overhead speakersAnd the methodical ticking of another plastic heartbeat IfContinue reading “Does every poem need a title?”