Poetry

The seat was uncomfortably stiff and dirty, yet the only way to get home.

I write to shut out the world.

I want to get lost in my own worlds 

Not thinking about life and what’s happening in the world right now.

I write to escape to a whole new world where I have control of everything.

My grandmother never cut flowers with scissors, raised her nonexistent eyebrows plucked beyond all veins of recognition, blinked one eye fishlike & said a knife was all she needed.

Colors 

 
A poem by Sunfawn, written for writerfromva 

Once upon a time, 
Quite a few years ago,  

When magnets are placed the right way

They connect

When they're placed the wrong way

They use everything in their power to stay away

From each other

They resist

With a force

Our eyes set upon wealth—

We count our dollar bills;

our materialistic skills. 

We avert our eyes from health, 

“Aging” backwards, 

We'll march with cardboard signs

rainbow letters pretend

that we're happier than we are 

because we understand

the depth of this hole we've dug ourselves

into

the fire we've fed 

As girls we’re taught many things at a young age. 

We’re taught what’s considered “ladylike,” and what’s not, 

Keeping us in line to better fit society's mold.

I hold my prefrontal cortex with the shame of

sinking, water lilies seeping from my lips into the grey-green

marsh I call (uselessly) 

home.

My mind hisses with the strain of too many canned-up voices

saying

Half winter, half spring. 
It's like the seasons were cut in half 
Severed at its ends 
Last year, winter 
was freezing cold. 
Like how it 
should be. 
This year, it's 

the fabric beneath my soles brushes against the concrete

cut and cut by the rough edge of this stone world

i come across a bill

raising it to my nose i breathe life and death,

that faint, mysterious scent that has

Happiness is a cup of tea

Steeped to bitter perfection
 

It is humming along to a favorite melody

Slightly off key (as usual)

Happiness is a sad smile

Shared with an old friend