The hebrews. Plagued with bloody backs, and water filled lungs. 
The wispy hair of newborns, soaked in the Nile.
But one still floats. Moses. 

The pharaoh’s daughter. Destined with tragic-rooted riches and suitors. 
her bare, bronzed body is somewhat ethereal, her heavy jewelry, cold on her breasts
But he still floats. Moses

through the gilded waters of her baths, the 
shriveled body of a baby rests in a reed basket,
bumping against waves in a melodic rhythm. her narrow eyes pierce him.
she knows what he is. 

G-D lifts his feathery finger 
And nudges the Nile.

 

i am sick of writing letters. 
torn at the brim, 
the envelope seal seared my tastebuds.
i write to characters and 
cry for help , i whisper to figments of my
boundless imagination
my poems direct a single audience 
with my limiting knowledge .

we leap and break, 
throwing rocks at those who do not
understand us. 
Our audiences.

vocal chords, 
torn at the brim .
hemless blouses and black coffee stain our scripts.
creators are Outcasts.
One day they will listen. 

 

three years ago.
three years I spent
your name on the tip of my tongue, traced down my throat,
washed out with bitter disbelief. 
I never paid you any attention during the first few days. 
you weren't quiet though. 
did the stars write our seating charts? 
I joked about how I was stuck with you.
I thought you to be a heartbreaker, close-minded
and way too cool for me. 
I was in sixth grade,
I was naive. 

two years ago. 
my archived infatuation with you 
caved in.
I learned to hate you.
distance makes the heart break. 

this year.
I feel embarrassed to write about you like this. 
my feelings have marinated in bullets aimed at us
and the lives we left behind. 
I spent this year 
with our seats separated
because even the teachers know how close we are. 
I would never have thought we could be friends like
this. 

Really?
Even though we shattered? Even though we're not close?
Like a dangled carrot that I try not to stare at. 
I can't explain my regrets or relief. 
And I can't express my lost-long-ago respect. 
Because now i've discovered the withdrawal. 
Lucky for you, I will always be there. 
Even though I shattered. 
 

Fourty six dark days and disposable knights,
I struggle to stay above the surface.
Monotone pain and short lived delights,
I struggle to find a purpose. 

I would cut out my heart and wear it on my sleeve. 
I could bathe in freedom and shamelessness.
I could tear myself open and they could watch me bleed. 
I would battle dirty looks my way and faithlessness. 

I write my stories on the tiles above the bathtub
In permanent marker, but they’ll wash away.
That’s probably a good thing, I could use a scrub, 
Flood out my brain, let my mind stray.

Wretching loneliness haunts and guilts me.
It hurts more after I stare into the eclipse.
Give me oblivion over realization, I plead. 
Yet, I can taste tears from the smile on my lips.

One day I'll gather euphoric serendipity in my hand. 
We are built to love and laugh and cry.
Our bodies are fit to suit our homeland.

I cry to the congregation, Hebrew enveloping my tongue.
Rasped and weak, yet I bellow, 
cradling my beast of religion. 
The sterling silver weight I branded on my chest prides me,
The Star of David dangling from my throat.

The existence of god teases me and tugs at my hair. 
Do you mean to tell me that stars are ripped from the sky,
and stuffed into the straight man’s ideals?
I bow to irony, a jungle of contradiction
Beset by the rigidness of belief and the fluidity of divinity. 
Confusion plagues my mind, counting down from ten,
starting with darkness.
 

Water, you run through me. Suffocate and sweep my lungs.
my chipped nail polish canvassed against the curve of 
your spine. Cold taxi cabs, your hand on my thigh.
you cut me with your lethal words, and you dare
to kiss 
my scars. 
i hate loving you. 

but i never said no. 

Concrete, you built me. Vandalized and tore me down.
my notebooks sponged my gowanus canal tears.
i screamed and wept acid onto my pillowcase.
i had a tattooed anger for you, washed over
and over again 
with the taste of your mouth.

how could i say no?

 

(more of a 2am rant than a poem- a little dramatic and unedited to fit how i was feeling)


If only i could artfully rest my scarred body in your arms
While you hold me, and tell me that we’re
okay. 
If only you could hold up my mask while the silver tears
roll slowly
Off my face.
I could sink into you.

She sinks into you,
Her nails dig into your arm,
Her lips pressed against yours.
You can be her shield, her mask.
And I could hold up your masquerade.

But instead i watch as you slowly fade 
and become brighter
As your inner colors show
And the you i had imagined
Wisps 
and
sinks away.

 

you watch me bathe in my own shameless self destruction, wilted guilt and tiresome apologies. 
“if only the blade you pierced me with would have been sharper” i say. “then i could be dead.” 
i choke out my mascara-run tears, and pout my lips. i tug on the hem of your dress and tell you how you ruined my life. 
you decide you don’t want children because of my endless temper tantrums. 

when in fact,
it was my brittle ego that fucked us up. my dramatic declarations.
my pity-seeking soliloquies that i preach to you. 

i wish i could take it all back.