Aug 01

mother weaver

Aug 01

When they tell me to dance

graceful filigree, I wanted to be beautiful like them
but when I tried to dance, they chanted

posture, posture, posture

I am a wobbly skyscraper ready to fall
among a world of mini glass villas

they are tiny rosettes in full bloom
stems arcing upright, princess petals flushed
with prim smiles and sleek hair like oil

and I, the errant ugly palm tree
whose dry leaves are stubborn in nature
the frothy pink tulle looks ridiculous,
out of place, against my lanky trunk

the harsh voice of the teacher punctuates my name
all wrong, all wrong, all wrong
the smack on my rump doesn't sting, but
the disapproval behind it aches

too old to be cute,
too clumsy to be elegant

and when they ask us to split ourselves
open, triumphant smiles in the mirror
I stumble, still attempting to shrink myself
sweaty bar in hand, 
Jul 28

Singed Summer

Jul 21

Spun Ivy

Isn't it wonderful when a story springs and spins and is spun until it spans out all around you? Midnight searching for a life to be lived in the even breaths between words and lulled into a sunshine haze. Strolling by the narrator's side, I did not see the violent bend ahead through the rough part of town, where the ivy steals your shadow, whispering as if plotting to pour the pavement a glassful of your sanguine blood, create cakes of grime and empty souls screaming, your bones ground into powdered sugar to finish it all off. I could not tell whether we would make it out this time, but the thrall of the letters had already held me captive in the chromebook's white light, your hand gripping mine as our white knuckles grasped one another in a clammy embrace. No, I would not leave you here. 
Jul 19
poem challenge: World

Won't you please, sir, put on your mask?

The world is temporarily closed
or at least, the world as I know it.
On the news, I hear of a world still open,
open to a careful reemerging from their bunkers.

So you say the world is temporarily closed
due to COVID, or due to ignorance?
I've seen people saying it's their right
to not do their part in this battle.
The sheer stupidity has cost lives,
but for you, are they just ever-growing numbers on a screen?
Because what are mere pawns when you are king?

The world is temporarily closed
but mine may not be "temporary"
if we move to an open one for the sake of living
outside of this bubble they keep popping.
I know I will never be the same again
because a year in a life is all it takes
to crush the bones of my soul
and rearrange my lost shards some new way.

The world is temporarily closed
but is that any excuse to close your mind,
Jul 08
poem challenge: Open

spider queen

the spiders spin you webs
to veil your eyes and afford you
silk dresses and a throne of silver
you thought you were their queen
but don't you know spiders?
my darling, they will crown you
with a diadem of venom
a prisoner in her own throne
close your eyes
they whisper sweetly
as they suck your youth
from your cherry blossom cheeks
and eat your dumpling soft skin
mouth dancing with savoury strawberries
look at your fine silk gown
can't you see it's your chains?
think of their saccharine words
can't you see it's the guillotine
poised over your regal neck?
look at you, my sweet
they will vanquish your ever lasting beauty
you are stuck in their web of lies
if only you would simply
open your eyes
Jul 01

A Shot in the Night

a shot in the night

shattering the starry sky in all it’s silent glory
the idle conversation of the evening birds up too late
and the cricket’s dying symphony hushes
as i wait for the sparks and the fiery smoke 
that flit off the edges of ignorant happiness
to appear on the horizon of rooftops and streetlights
although, 1:06 is an odd time for fireworks

I instinctively clutch my blanket closer
seeing a midnight gun glinting with moonlight
and the metallic bite of a bullet as it launches
embedding itself in the space just above her collarbone
slumping onto the gray shadows that rush like vultures
gathering ‘round in a prayer circle to feast on her dying soul
while the maniac in black grins, polishing their solid death
with bubblegum surgeon gloves without a single smear of crimson
tossing it on her bloodless cheekbones 
the satisfying crack skittering up their spine
Jun 29

Why Do I Write?

Why do I write?

Because I want to
create lives and experience 
the soft murmur of lovely description
scrunch between my toes
the lightning of raw truth
condensed into the same letters
as the rigid flexibility of plot
weaving so seamless
they don't realize they're crying
til the tears have blotted the page 
the pure pride radiating
heart thumping on the page
when it's alive

So, why do I write?

Long story short,
I write because I can
and some days, 
when there's a rainbow
adorned with clovers
shining over my head,
because I need to
Because it is my right
as a writer​
it is a part of what I am
Just one of those things
that isn't why or how,
writing simply is
Jun 26

fallen angel

a fallen angel
broken wings folded around the shards
of the hell that clung to her emerging scales
she plummeted toward the earth
and you didn’t care
so she pummelled the ground
and you let the ground pummell her
the once brilliant feathers 
so white you saw rainbows
dyed by the ink of tears
she wasn’t supposed to be able to cry
but her eyes know now
they shimmer like brunt diamonds
their swords poised with betrayal and hate
taken from the curvature of her ribs
filled with everything you let her do to herself
you promised you wouldn’t
one at your head
at your heart, your throat
and sharpened by years of denial
but just as you closed your eyes
the metallic tang already filling your mouth
ruby sparkling on the tip of her tongue
they metal strikes, impales soft flesh
and you open your eyes to see the rubies
crown her queen
before she slumps on the ground
Jun 24

Taking Out the Trash

Summer heat has hit
curdling languishing laughter
into a relentless aura of inward hostility
Huffs and annoyed sighs between 
words shaved down to the bone
the vain sun's long gone
but the heat has seeped into the floorboards
like poison ivy creeping up dinner chairs
slipping in the pulsing veins on my neck
sucking all the love out of even My Little Pony
that yammers ebulliently on the TV screen
brittle patience cracks, sparks flying off my tips
one catches on a loaded grenade
fracturing the evening cool
let's hope as we take out the trash
the attitudes go too