Category: Poetry

adrift: the ocean flows around meand though i cannot swimi tread water afloat: the salt in the airstings me eyes and remindsof the tears left unshed buoyed: the sun is warm (not hot)and dares me to findmy way to land exhausted: the water holds me upand pulls me down andstretches out against me asleep: the…

the woman i don’t seewhen i look in the mirrorwants you to knowthat she exists she whispers from the shadowsand waits for the echoto remind herthat she’s had something to say she paints her self-portraitagain and againin shades of purple and greenon a canvas of water and smoke because she has learnedthat this is the…

the goth girls sang me lullabiesas i drifted off to sleep they came to me from the shadowsand scraped their sharpened nailsblack and crimson knivesacross my skin but i had no fearthere was no fear to be hadonly the release of succumbingto the me i’ve always been the goth girls sang me lullabiesas i drifted…

it starts with a wordwhispered into the darkness it starts with a sparkas stone strikes stone it starts with the strokeof an angel’s wing and from there it tricklesinto colorinto lifespreading outlike vines and tendrilsand harlequin wispsinto wavesinto gustsinto flamesthat burn throughthe shadowsand light the corners what had been quietbecomes an exultation what had been…

I used to be so organizedAnd then I told me noAnd put me in a little boxAnd wouldn’t let me go 01.16.25

i have an idea:i’ll sell the bits of my brainthat contain all the unwritten wordsand let you sort them outit’ll save me the time of typingand realizing thatthe words on the pagedon’t shinequite so brightlyas the images in my head 11.26.24

i didn’t used to need you to convince me to breatheit used to come naturally:inhale, exhaleinhale, exhalebut then the weight of moments stacked upone on top of anotherand my lungs became afraidafraid they would seize up at just the wrong momentafraid they would disrupt the natural orderthe natural flowthe way things are supposed to bethe…

The man with the greasy hairwondersas he tries on the shoeif this is the way life issupposed to be. The woman with the overloaded bagsthinksas she looks at the Star(at Woolworth’s)that there were a few too manyUFOsto be so few. And the lights turn onand the gates are raisedand the gates are droppedand the lights…

libraries sound like bookswhispering to each otherbeneath the rolling murmurof the air conditioning libraries are too brightfor the books to sleepand so they chatterrestlesslyof memories and futuresand worlds unseen dim the lights,turn off the fans,and let those poor booksrest 08.27.24