Jan 08

Playing With Fire

When I was younger, 
I liked to taunt
the candles on our
dining room table. 
I would blow
my breath
towards the flame, 
watch the light
shake and stumble, 
and just when 
it seemed like
the flame would
disappear, 
the light came back. 
I did this
over and over
as the clock
slowly
ate time
and darkness
slowly 
ate the sky. 
 
Jan 08

Motion


After we buried
my grandma
in the soft, easy soil
and threw white flowers
over her
glossy coffin, 
I joined my brother
in his car. 
He drove and drove
and the road was
devoured by gasoline
and wheels. 
I thought of 
Newton's First Law. 
An object in motion
stays in motion
until an outside force
disrupts it. 
Maybe life is the object
and death is the 
outside force. 
My brother snapped the silence. 
"Dang, I'm hungry,"
he said. 
I briefly exited
a rabbit hole
of thoughts
deep down in my brain. 
I somehow managed 
to piece together
a sentence. 
"We have dino nuggets 
at home."
For the first time
in hours, our somber
expressions lifted
and flew away
like Peter Pan. 
My brother grinned
and said, "Heck yeah!
Let's get some dino nuggets."
The absurdity 
of the situation

Jan 08

To The Constellations and Back

Once upon a time,
an ambitious young girl
decided that her modest life
was not enough.
She believed that her kingdom
could not hold her soul
within its barriers.
She left her home,
bidding farewell to all she had ever known.
She gazed up at the stars,
watched as their brilliant glow
held hands to make constellations.
She wondered if one day
she might glow that brilliantly.

The young girl
ventured through her kingdom,
her hand in a perpetual wave
as she began to
let go of her childhood,
tie memories into knots,
and, finally,
leave her former self behind.

She came to a cave,
shaking in the freezing air.
She hesitantly called out,
and was met with a group of ogres.
They watched her, and whispered
of all the terrible ways
they could cook her up and feast upon her bones.
She heard their whispers,

Nov 26

Confessions of the Broken Hearted

I am a thief. 

I have stolen
time so that 
it stretches like
pizza dough; 
I have hid it in my pockets
like a stolen chocolate. 
I have melted and 
molded it to fit
the shape of 
my palm, 
I have stolen 
time. 
I stole it to 
make the 
seconds feel like minutes
and the minutes feel
like hours and
the hours feel like days and
the days
feel like
forever. 

I have stolen 
time so that 
it bends and 
ripples to go by
my rules, so that
we'll never have to say
goodbye, 
so that
I'll never have 
to kiss your 
cold cheek
one last time,
as tears
create oceans
on my face,
and tissues become
paper sailboats, 
lost in the
storm of my sadness, 
and 
I. Steal. Time. 

So that it stops, 
and when 
I look at you, 
our smiles are 
Audio download:
Audio Recording 3.m4a
Nov 06

All Fall Down

If I ever went missing,
my parents could tell the police:
she leaves behind cups and mugs
stained with her lip-prints
(they're like fingerprints,
but instead of DNA you find
swirly moons
made of glossy
brown, matte pink, creamy red,
and they circle the rims
as if marking their territory as hers,
all hers.

If I ever went missing,
my parents could tell the police:
she leaves behind petals
from roses, daisies and
dandelions,
their dewy hearts forming
a trail of beauty,
and even though some people
see them as weeds,
she always knew that
they were worth so much more,
and from her love
came a trail of their
broken bodies.

If I ever went missing,
my parents could tell the police:
she collects words like stamps,
trying to find one of every
shape, size, color, place, feeling,
and will only be happy
once she has them all
Nov 03

Yesterday

I found my former self
in an abandoned alley
in the back of my brain.
She was sitting against the graffiti,
bandaged knees tucked to her beating heart,
trying to fade into herself.
I shouted her name
hoping for any sign of recognition
but all she did
was slowly look up.
With blinking honey-colored eyes,
thick lashes sticking together
like shadows to a person.
I saw the confusion
as it settled onto her face
and knew what my answer was
before she even asked.
"Who are you?" She said.
"I'm you," I responded.
"After you let go
of all the nasty weighted things
that you tend to hold
so close to your heart.

"I'm you," I said.
​​"After you let go."
 
Jul 10
poem 0 comments challenge: Random

over the summit

#SOS18


i straighten my mask
the one of pleasantries
and polite remarks
the one that has an illuminous smile
and i turn my back
fight against the roaring current
that tries
desperately
to pull me over the summit

  break
            free

the others 
they run to my side
they see i need help
they see i need aid
but yet
they too
turn against my current
the one that threatens again and again
to pull me over

it leaves me bait
promises of happily-ever-afters
dreams-coming-true
flying-with-my-wings
but i say to it
"how can i fly if i'm bound in your chains?"

so

i turn away
and i replace the mask
Jul 10

After

for saba

Days pass on like sunsets:
Few drenched and dripping
In beauty,
Most of them cloudy and blank.

Memories fade like jackets:
Details falling and being replaced
Like chipped buttons,
Stitched into something new.

People enter like guest stars on a TV show:
Their presence swept away with disregard
Until they exit stage right, leaving behind whispers of goodbye
And all is normal, as if they never appeared at all.

Food piles up like an avalanche:
Meatloaves and casseroles and cherry pies
As if they are supposed to be miracles, 
And cure.

Prayers are recited like waterfalls:
Each syllable falling over the last
Competing in a hurried dash to reach your ears
And numbly recite verses of angels being lifted to Heaven.

Death watches from behind the bushes:
Mar 28

Old Words

 
The sound of my typewriter
Clicking and clacking and buzzing
Keys pressing down
To create the stories
I guard in my mind.

The sound of my typewriter
Drowing out all other noise
Paper shifting and gliding across the top
The smell of fresh ink
Staining white paper.

The sound of my typewriter
Old and filled with a thousand
Words, a thousand people, a thousand lives
Bought for a fraction of its worth
Enveloping me in its click, clack, click, clack. 
 
Mar 28

"did you want to see me broken?"

*inspired by Maya Angelou's Still I Rise, and the line, "Did you want to see me broken?"


Hey, can I sit with 
you guys?
No, the loser table is
that way. Sorry.


do you 
like to know
that after i've 
walked away
after my smile
has been seen
after my head
has been held high
my grin starts
to fade and 
my shoulders
start to droop
and my eyes
fall
to the floor
as tears cascade
i can't take 
this anymore

what makes
you feel like royalty
the 'friends' that
TAP-HEART-TO
LIKE-IMAGE
your selfies
the admirers wistfully 
eyeing you as if they'd 
kill 
to be 
in that empty
chair next to you
feeling just as powerful
instead of hiding 
like me

when you're all
alone
do you feel 
satisfied

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