shall i tell you of my womanhood and the unpopular things that leave me sitting alone at parties, the 1960's splashed angrily in my face, and my hands now wet with mascara tears. but i am still not going to graduate school and i still don't want my entire life boxed into a career. i… Continue reading poem: dear 2018
Tag: free verse
poem: grey early afternoon
i think about him all the time. all of him and what he represents he is in me like smoke and rain even when i don't want him. it is early afternoon and foggy: i am trying but he is still inside me
poem: 1:42 a.m.
i make up all the wonderful things he says to me i think he fell into my mouth or maybe my mind and he only came out fictional. i think staring at my black dorm window is unproductive, as if all the lovers are merely out there and waiting like saints in the smoke, while… Continue reading poem: 1:42 a.m.
poem: why won’t people look me in the eyes
why won't people look me in the eyes what is so wrong with me that only ghosts ask 'are you okay.' and even they are grimacing at me, thinking oh this one is certainly sub-human certainly not worth what we give out as cash-currency because she [and this is where even i cannot insert the… Continue reading poem: why won’t people look me in the eyes
poem: the first boy
his eyes are sparkling liquid chocolate brown. a cliché description but when he looks over at her and whispers something anti-institutional her fingers want all of the excited energy clenched into his profile and the softness that comes when he speaks to her alone, purely as academics, of course, and as fellow students in a… Continue reading poem: the first boy
poem: the second boy
with a desperately quick--"wait"--! in the golden brown bricked coffee house with her hair curling over her eyes and her palms warmed to perfect cosmopolitan happiness by hands cupping coffee & hands cupping at fragile hopes which already written themselves into great chronicles in her soul: she can already see them: friends, first, then maybe… Continue reading poem: the second boy
poem: i like abandoned spaces
i like abandoned spaces where people once were and now are not were mist comes in violence over the frolicking dead. but they are inverted space, blanks, where i can breathe; their dead ancient souls are closer to mine then the souls of the living this hot, heavy population that fills up my chest like… Continue reading poem: i like abandoned spaces
poem: when i say, mother
when i say mother, the depression is back she does not see how i can be stripped as a person and made whole as a writer both of it, all at once, like some black eulogy cut along my wrists and my fingernails the pen lines in my skin so pretty in print
poem: introspection
can we consider the importance of introspection, carefully, our minds lavvied in milk sunlight and the webs and weeds lolled about our fingers; the rats and things now in our pupils, now in our dusty, heavy eyelids caught down by the bedsheets, the watery linen sheets, the edges still stained with the heat of our… Continue reading poem: introspection
poem: i held a peach carcass in my hand
i held a peach carcass in my hand: the wet, warm body above the streets where rain-soaked cars flung themselves like missionaries across the rain-soaked plastic globe, the one that once lived in my mother's attic, before i destroyed her. i put my bloody fingers in my mouth and watch the flesh drip like rain… Continue reading poem: i held a peach carcass in my hand
