Poetry

Body 

My body 

the one I don't really like anymore 

maybe I use to like her 

when I was younger and no one really cared 

if you had stomach fat or things that jiggled or a flat nose

(i mean)

the work goes on

(in shouted songs & permanent marker protest signs

in places i'm not sure if i can still call home)

the cause endures

(in all the children born to these times and

I am a notebook

spiral bound

spinning down the length of the paper

twisting

turning

twirling

until I hit the bottom

and then I spin back up

the lines passing by quicker and quicker each time

What am I? 

A doormat for your shoes? 

Cobblestone for your steps? 

Am I meant for nothing more 

than a book, open pages, 

assigned by your english professor, 

i hear your battle cry

winning.

i feel the tremors

loss.

they think delicate,

but snowflakes don’t shatter

bulletproof glass?

they think delicate

draw.

We run back to your house,

The lights are still on,

And they cover your freckled face,

Like it's the sun.

The grass brushes our feet,

And the wind catches in your hair,

It rings slow and steady,

Matching to my rocking.

A folded shelter forbidding the entry of you.

Blinking once-

Twice,

Awakening to days whose foggy mornings 

bow to the dark hoofs of the midnight horse. 

Covering myself in thick blankets, attempting to 

divert the cold that 

Icy feathers 

Biting frost 

Snow stained red 

With years we lost 

Freezing blankets of winter snow 

Gnawing hunger 

Kings brought low   

YWP is the reason I

Keep refusing to take off the nail polish

Chipped and speckled like stars,

Smiling when I see the flecks of gold

Within the flecks of turquoise

Blisters rub my skin,

Shed my bones,

And tear my fingernails to shreds.

Crippled into misery, 

I find myself dripping…

Farther–

the mornings are misty, 

cold and dark. 

my head hurts as I haul myself out of bed, 

put on clothes that clearly don't go well together, 

and set off through the fog of dawn.