Jan 08

if i die

take a sip of my blood,

and feel my tears on your tongue. 

if i die, cut my heart out and 

translate it like the rosetta stone. 

decipher the scriptures on my bones. 

take me to where you feel most calm,

and extend your spine like an arm,

pick me up from where i lay, 

breathe me for one more day. 

it is not the task but the expectation

that breeds my faulty hesitation. 

and god only knows where i am,

forgotten in a lonely land. 

a pen in my hands is as dangerous 

as a gun in yours, scratching initials 

into hotel floors.

splinters under my fingernails

remind me of all the times i failed.

and if my voice is stolen,

lay me to rest, the way i’ve chosen.
Jan 08


her eyes hold the secrets of children,

her smile speaks their truth, 

her life lies between the fine lines 

of the pages, and her heart 

sings the songs of the forgotten ones. 

she can fold you up small

and sit you on her lap, 

making you a home underneath the 

wooden floorboards of her domain. 

She can make the coldest of nights feel warm with one laugh, and she can share with you the knowledge of a thousand generations with just one embrace. 
Jan 08


she walks with the poise of 

every woman who came before her—

her energy bounces off of the walls around her 

and strikes every living thing with 

a sense of belonging. 

She speaks in such a way,

that makes the words have a new meaning,

like they were crafted especially to come from her voice. her mind. 

oh, her mind. 

A beautiful concoction of love and loyalty. 

And once she sees your soul— embraces you— nothing with stop her from keeping you safe in the chambers of her heart.
Jan 08


she stands tall,

words rolling off her tongue and 

onto the pages below her. 

She shines as a paragon,

a strong willed leader.

Her mouth makes words 

have a new sentiment—

an elegance— even among 

a silent crowd. 

She dares you to speak out. 

She forces you to understand your truth. 

She is the one I hope the children 

of the future will worship. 

She is the Warrior of Women,

the Conqueror of Bias,

the Defeater of Of Ignorance 

and the Ruler of Thoughts. 

Listen to her with opened minds,

and she shall stretch them so far

that old thoughts do not so much 

as recognize your brain. 

Jan 08


Her eyes open and close,

adjusting to the light of her room. 

She watches the fan circle a few times, 

her mind stirring in the early morning hours. She watches the shadows dance on the ceiling, moving across the paint like phantoms. 

She breathes in deep, counting the breaths of her love next to her. 




She reaches to her right, her hand dusting the table next to her with a sleep-like heaviness. 
Jan 08

waxing moon

his shoulders stretch, 

just enough for a child’s heart 

to rest carefully on the edge of his 

collar bones. 

His arms are weighted just right, so that

an embrace from him feels like


His hands reconnect wires and heartstrings like he could do it while asleep. 

He bleeds his veins into his family. 

Into their own tendons. 

He pokes and prods at the gates 

between here and there. But

he knows his time is not near. 

He knows he must stay and whisper 

his sweet nothings into the ears of 

His three stars. 

He is the moon,

Light and dark,

known and unknown,

always changing;

but never leaving.
Dec 15

La Luna

she used to be amorphous,
she used to pour herself like wine 
into a glass and become a new shape. 
she used to cascade down rocks and leave 
bits of her soul in between crevices and cracks. 
she used to be inexorable, ineffable. 
but now i see her and i am overcome 
with the feeling of loss. 
like she’s gone somewhere without telling me. 
and i shake in my bed, under ten comforters but still somehow cold, just wishing i could grasp her warmth in my own hands and whisper to her as she sleeps
’please don’t ever grow up without me’
Nov 29


Nine months since the baby has seen her mom,
But she doesn’t speak like us,
so she’s gone.
And who cares about the animals,
being torn apart by poachers,
acting like cannibals
standing on shaky ground,
because the ice can’t handle the warmth of their paws.
And Trump has yet to make a sound
We’ve got policies after policies, protecting white murderers,
But when a woman screams for help,
Our country would rather torture her, 
Then lend a hand, 
and capture the man,
who gave her the baby
that she can’t take care of,
But she can’t get rid of it,
Cause people would judge her quick,
And he is suffering alone,
Cause the mirror doesn’t show
what should be shown. 
He knows this body isn’t his but somehow it is.
And this is the country that we now live in,
And only some are paying attention.
Nov 13

vous devez penser que je suis seul

vous devez penser que je suis seul ... et je le suis. Je m'ennuie de la façon dont tes cheveux me chatouillaient l'oreille. vos pieds froids sur ma cuisse me manquent. et tes ombres sur les murs de ma chambre ont disparu. vous devez penser que je suis seul. et je suis. 

you must think that I am alone ... and I am. I miss the way your hair tickled my ear. i miss your cold feet on my thigh. and your shadows on the walls of my room are gone. you must think that I am lonely. and I am
Oct 26

I like early morning

I get scared of speaking and i don’t like tomatoes. 
I don’t have a ‘type’ but I do have typewriter. 
I sleep until nine am and i work six days a week. 
I cant drive but I can skateboard and 
my fears seem to chase me in the light. 
I have four pets. 
Two dogs. 
One fish. 
One chameleon. 
I havent yet achieved my dreams and i like milk in my tea. 
My true love was sculpted by Athena and my enemy, Ares. 
I am a Cancer, although i was almost a Leo. 
I was born late and since then i’ve only been early. 
Making up for lost time. 
I hate math but i love art. 
And you probably didn’t care about the things i’ve said in this poem. 
You probably don’t care to get to know me, 
Or care if i like pineapple on pizza (i do) 
You probably aren’t contemplating my choice of caps and Punctuation. 
Athough now you probably are. 
But i felt the Need to write this.