Jan 16

Chase for Equality

When I was younger, I though that I lived in a world where everyone got along and everyone was treated equally. 
I would read books about the struggles of those fighting for their rights, and thought that it was over now. 
That they won. 
I never thought that I could still get discriminated against because I was a woman. 
I never thought that my friends would get yelled at in the streets because of the color of their skin. 
I never thought that my next door neighbors would get so many more opportunities and get valued so much more because they were men. 

Well, I guess ignorance is bliss. 

I learned the hard way that I might not always be as welcomed or respected for who I am.  
But my fear is that someday people wont get the luxury to learn the hard way. 
My fear is that those rules will be set in place from the first time they open their eyes, 
and that it will be all they ever know. 
Dec 21

Girl /ɡərl/ noun: nail polish, object

I was cleaning my room the other day.

Piles of papers and notebooks,

carrying secrets from faraway lands,

whispers from the lips of a fourth grader

carried to the ears of nobody.

Books were stacked up in towers,

shoved into corners behind desk legs and bed posts.

I wrestled one free from behind a shelf.

Something fell from above and rolled onto the floor.

An object of lost memories creeping like shadows around the edges of my mind,

reaching its tendrils out and tugging at my thoughts.

I picked up the glass vile in my callused hands,

running the solid, cold silk along my cracked skin.

I twisted the baby blue cap off.

A wisp that soon became a wave of sharp odors pierced my skull.

I lifted the brush out of the summer’s sky.

I let a drop roll like a single tear from the bristles, onto my finger nail.
Nov 15

Dear America

Oct 06


Pain has become my reality. 

The salt washes through my body. 
I'm not fighting it. 
I breathe it like air. 

I'm in the air. 
My body smashes into a pit of gritty sand. 
I feel my body reacting, 
fighting the saltwater that burns my lungs. 
It comes out in bloody, sandy chunks, 
and spills onto my new world. 

Black laces around the edge of my vision, 
sending tendrils across my eyes. 
Everything is white. 
My arms tense, and I sense movement. 
Am I doing this?
Can I move? 
Now there's something else. 
is it color?
What does color even look like, 
and how am I supposed to know? 
Something black and...
that's it. 
Its blurred, and I can't tell. 

How does my body obey when I can't even think?
One arm. 
The other. 
One arm. 
The other. 
Jun 26
poem 0 comments challenge: Orlando


I woke up to a gun shot. 
Bright orange noise ringing in my ears. 
My eyes opened for the first time to blood.
Bleaching the horizon on all sides
of a bigger cube than that which I had shattered. 
I lived for the first time to people with ignorance
running through their bodies like a virus.

They turned their backs on the things they couldn't fathom,
in a burning fit of terror, 
and then they forgot. 
They forgot, and they let it happen again.
And then they forgot. 
And then they forgot. 

And now I can't forget. 
Because the blood that stains the horizon
is all too real.
And the screams in my head still ring in my ears. 
that will never forget. 
But the shards from the sky will become too sharp.   
And they will cover the blood on the horizon. 
And I will forget. 

Jun 05

I Remember

She said that I could see her in the stars. 
That she would be with me always. 
That I could look up, 
and she would be there. 

She said that I could see her in the sunlight. 
Streaming from my broken window, 
dragging it's fangs across the crimson floor. 
That I could call out for her when I needed, 
and that she would be there. 

But I can only see her in the darkness. 
A whisper. 
Reminding me of what I have lost. 
Reminding me of the pain I still bear. 

I can only see her in the black ink
that spills from my up turned palm, 
welling inside the crevice of my conscience, 
flowing through the mouth of the teeth that bite me,
gnaw at the strands of my residual vitality. 

I can only remember her as moonlight. 
The way it dances and flows softly over skin. 
Just growing colder the closer you get, 
May 22


She was orange. 

A softly burning fire, 
or the bittersweet taste of the sunset. 

She was blue.

Like possibility:
a high peaked mountain shrouded by clouds. 

She was red. 

A leaf on a brittle branch-
just about to fall. 

She was white.

A single droplet of rain.
A dove in flight. 

She was black. 

The shadows cast by trees in a forest,
the water hidden under waves that crash against moonlit earth

She was a mirage-

Not quite there. 

She was a whisper-

The sigh of an old tree in the wind. 

She was a ghost. 

I turned around-

She was gone. 
May 11
poem 0 comments challenge: Certain

This I Know

This I know. 
It hurts. 
All of it. 
The stabbing, blind pain, 
moving through the night
like forgotten shadows. 
I hate it. 
The lingering fingers of guilt. 
It consumes me. 
Following me like a ghost, 
washing over, 
a black wave. 
It is me. 
filling each vein in my body, 
except for one
trying in vain to hold onto something. 
I am a bomb. 
waiting for the right spark, 
to explode. 
I am a whisper. 
a silent slip of breath, 
moving unnoticed. 
I am a shout. 
that no one hears, 
voice raking my throat
as long fingered hands, 
grab at my neck. 
I am a bird, 
riding a hurricane
that was expected to be a breeze. 
I am not real. 
How could I be?
How could anything be?
This is real. 
More real than ever. 
And it's terrifying. 
Apr 27

Falling Asleep

She stands, 
a beautiful swan beneath the willow tree, 
draped in white mist, 
wrethed with dead flowers
that sit upon her head. 
She's tugged her chocker of thorns
once too hard, 
and rubies slide down her neck
beading into patterns on her pale skin. 
She slips one bare foot 
into the ice cold water
of her bleeding subconscious. 
The rocks in her silken pockets
weigh her down as she sinks, 
sinks down to the mud, 
the mush,
the parts that no one wants to see. 
No one loved her, 
so only the willow tree watches, 
as her raven black hair dampens, 
and sinks beneath the glass-like water. 
And all is quiet. 
Nothing stirs. 
But inside the mud is a wild fire. 
A black fog, slowly creeping. 
Her eyes grow heavy as the pain overwhelms. 
She falls into a flaming sleep.  
Apr 25

I'm Sorry

I'm sorry. 
I was wrong. 
Maybe there are some things, 
that a person should keep to themsleves. 
But this time, 
I don't want to be right. 
I don't want you to hate me, 
like I always knew you would. 
You tell me to laugh, 
but you must know 
that laughter doesn't come easy. 
It's unnatural, 
the way it just spills. 
I haven't spilled much of anything
in a long time. 
Now I've spilled myself. 
Now I'm just a mess on the pavement 
that is too broken to fix, 
and too ruined to even clean up. 
And I can't laugh. 
Not without you.
I'll never say this to your face, 
but I need you. 
So I'm just sorry.