will you take my empty hands, 
lead me across the barren lands, 
as I stumble, blind?

will i wave my white flag,
plead lightly, let the words drag,
as your mercy is defined? 

to write about the stars stitched upon the sky as poets do, 
but my fountain pen is filled with bittersweet memories created by you.

a lingering happiness sketches a smiling girl running through
a wonder of walls painted blue.

RELEASE ME. 
CAPTURE ME. 
HELP ME. 
BE ME. 

 

Silhouettes of evergreen trees, 
I desire the lakeside wind
Instead of a delicate breeze
To run through my hair, unpinned.

I stare hungrily, eyes feast
On the lamplight mirrored.
Inky waters rolling east,
Cushion all that was feared.

escape with me. 

A tightly woven web, trapped my limbs as I writhed in agony.
The darkness surrounded me, my screams echoed on the barren land. 
Winter lasted too long, cruelly planting snowflakes in my eyes, to run down my cheeks. 
The glass cage was tinted darkly, no one saw my attempts to escape.

the glass cage shattered. 
                                            the shards ricochet.
                                                                                     scars take the place of my deep cuts.

the imprint of my shackles faded, i let braided thread cover my wrists. 
the ice thawed, i bathe in the glory of it all. 
ivy inhabits my hair, it drapes over my shoulders, proudly slouched. 
now i can be free, sentiment and honesty drip from my voice. 

now i can be free. 
the blade removed from my throat,
my starved lips drink an antidote.
the lock broke in my prison.

(an erasure poem) 
I call to the muses, for I have no words left. Silently I will respond to your beckons. 

Let me study your face, paint it in the sky. Every eyelash, every dimple.

Your hand on my crimson cheek, and I drift to sleep with encapsulated joy, 

Spring dragged on, I spent days in your arms, lying under the sharp sky.

Admiring the hopeless romantics and watching each other blow out birthday candles. 

Playful laughter and slushies filled those days, as the sun set and the sun rose.

Sickeningly sweet, nauseating strawberry pulp rests raw on my lips, thinned. 

I sing the haikus that I wrote on the cracked art table, mourning midday sun.

 

Late April arrived with cool winds.
Your coy smile left me taunted.
Love’s religion, we write our own hymns. 
Every one of my dreams you haunted. 

Our fingers intertwined and palms met.
While the journey was quite a trek, 
Your silent comfort, I’ll never forget.
So I rest my cheek in the crook of your neck. 

Sweet syrup runs through my veins in your presence. 
Failing to dance in summer’s rain, a poetic bliss.
Every moment I spend counting the seconds
Until I see you, under the sun’s kiss. 

My stomach swells with blue patterned butterflies,
Every time I stare back into those sea green eyes. 
 

A weekend away, together with friends.
cuddled close,
sweet laughter.
pillows, blankets and midnight forts left astray.
the remains of my butterflies on the ashtray. 

We share secret smirks at dirty jokes.
balloons of joy, ukulele lessons as the damp campfire smokes.
honey smiles.
rain filled dimples,
a pale sky 
and green eyes.
singing songs 
out of tune,
painting pictures
of the moon.
If this isn't nice, I don't know what is.


 

scraped knees and sidewalk chalk filled our bellies.
Now empty expectations take that place. 
We swallow oppression with a sour look,
but a pretty face.

The corset tightens, three ribs crushed.
And the whalebone cracks as  young girls rip lacey prejudice off their bodies. 

 

sunflowers, scent less
spiraling breeze, relentless 
blushing love, endless
 

A fluorescent lit car, empty with the exception of me and a boy and girl my age. I study their faces, full of mirth. Once we reach the next stop, giggling fills the subway. Together they agree that they will ride in between the two bulky cars, clutching onto only a silver handle and unspoken apprehension. I watch, alarmed, as they leave the subway compartment. Something about the dangerous romantics of it all, left me in shock. They talk to each other as if it was a casual day, while I pray that one of their brown haired heads doesn’t disappear into the tracks. Hands smell of metal (or is it blood?) and they laugh, outwardly denying their parents with their reckless spontaneity. 
 

Three sets of hands hoist the sails, prepare the boat,
laughing, giggling, and struggling to keep it afloat. 

The coarse sand between our toes, and a hunger for the sea,
the waves beckon to us, and our rudder answers the plea. 

Like the earth and the sun, we orbit within the lagoon
and finally break free of the muddy, rocky cocoon.

Wind fills our nostrils and scuttles across our skulls,
skating over the salty palace that belongs to the gulls.

As we creep closer to the edge, pearls of saltwater glaze my hair,
fingertips glide along the waves, and our exposed bellies graze the air. 

The thrill is slowing, arriving at the other side of the sound,
exploring a grassy inlet with only mosquitoes to be found. 

A small lighthouse stands, surrounded by vines and ants,
an ideal setting for a tragic sailor’s romance.