In Piecesrum-lust lips make gentle friends,In Pieces2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
words slurred in hands blurred,
burning in between the lines to find
drunken concoction of wilted laughs
and heavy sighs, scented sultry
you are that
rasping in my throat when my voice
deteriorates and I am left breathless
and hopeless and raw, my
muscles ache in memory of the
motions to forget-
we do not let go.
and cold beds call, stability,
metal frames and sunken heads –
rest now, rest with
a prayer on your lips you don't
care to share, a dream in
your mind you'll never get back;
rest and the earth will lend you peace
you will stop. the rivers will clean
your bones; the sand will smooth
your tongue; you will stop, brain blank,
as smooth ivory promises persist.
(interpretations mean less than nothing)
you will stop and rest,
flyover state, flyover heartthere's almost nothingflyover state, flyover heart5 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
left of august, or me -
just fat, humid yawns that
cling to the asphalt and
vinyl sidings of houses
prettier than any autumn day.
chlorined kids rise from the
tanned wake of public pools,
clothed in school uniforms,
counting the new freckles
they've earned like war badges.
the nights i can lay in my
underwear beneath spider web
blankets while my wheezy fan
oscillates and whispers dusty
stories are numbered.
but i'll hold the moon
as it crests over summer's
dying vigil, my arms high
around it's wondrous girth.
i'll ride the heat into the
ashes of three months spent
dreaming in fevered euphoria.
i'll lead the impassioned
thousands down margins tucked
into a waning, wailing cry.
and i won't rest, even after
august is buried between blue
lined composition pages in a
coffin of lead - a memory with no
scent becoming one without a heartbeat.
Directions to the end of the worldTake the first path you find.Directions to the end of the world3 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
Go straight. Keep going.
Past the grocery store; past
the gas station. Leave the post
office behind. Ignore all rest stops,
ice cream shops, and stoplights.
Toss the map – you don’t need
it anymore. The city is dust
behind you; cross the state border;
leave the country. Swim across
the ocean, walk over tundra,
then ice. Keep going.
If you fall off the edge, you’ve gone too far.
renovationsmy mind looks at my bodyrenovations2 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
and says, "i don't like what
you've done with the place."
boys will be boysi was thirteen when my healthboys will be boys1 month ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
teacher shrugged and said: "it
happens" in regards to rape.
he was a gym coach with a coffee
mug that read "world's best dad."
they gave me the one-in-three
statistic on a business card
during the half hour we talked about
sexual assault in class.
that number has become a top-heavy
fraction, though not top-heavy
the way boys like to hear of.
and i have learned that absolutely
no man will bend at the knees,
fold the way i have been told
to fold - for i have a flower
between my legs, and he has a snake.
i was taught to be lusted after
for my innocence, only to be tattooed
as guilty by a trial of my peers
in my high school lunch room.
my heart howls at the moon of knowing
i've had my phone number removed from
the contacts of those who loved me
before they dared to remove my rapist's.
the world may forever know me as impure
without looking at the hands of the boy
who touched me, without realizing that
they have dirt caked on their glasses.
and my war cries can
even a white middle class whore can be savedi wore a g-string to church today.even a white middle class whore can be saved2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
the pastor preached of suicide,
stories of loss pouring from parted lips,
the congregation wide eyed and fearful -
"what if that had been my child?"
i am just another statistic.
but there is nothing like a preacher's smile,
wide and beaming like a full, pregnant moon.
he knows nothing of what's under my dress -
the underwear, the cuts spelling out my abuser's name twice.
he smiles because i am not a statistic.
and as i stand among overfed jesus lovers
with fat fingers reaching for their god,
my lesions cry out to the masses,
whispering my abuser's name over and over.
i wore a g-string to church today,
not because i am unholy,
not because i don't believe,
but because i was out of clean underwear.
emergencyit was another one of those nightsemergency3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
the shhh of the radio
beatles album, abbey road
i cried for the soreness of my
limbs, i cried for you
i never told you my middle
name, i kept it hidden in a box
beneath the stairs, shy of your
love and of you
and baby i don't talk about it,
but i keep it slipped under my
belt like some kind of sick
stigma, water lapping up over
my sides as i overflow
oh goddess of (im)maturity
grant me the strength to finish
this prayer, speaking in
tongues to a god that won't
listen, crying in the dollar
store parking lot
here one week, gone the next
two-fifty an hour.let me save you the trouble:two-fifty an hour.1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
because what i'm trying to say is
i'm not a good person.
i don’t tell valerie about how i planned to rekindle
my friendship with charlie’s best friend last year
just so i could get to him and hurt him.
(i don’t tell her how, in the end, i ended up liking
his friend instead, and charlie dated another
fifteen year old
because shit happens and what was i doing,
expecting things to go my way?)
there are certain things she doesn’t need to know,
certain things i can’t say because
putting it into words what it was like waking up,
that sort of shame that came with it –
it was like – it was like looking into a window
and swearing there’s a monster behind it
before, slowly, i realized
it was a mirror.
what therapy promises me: love yourself, forgive but
never forget, tell us your past
then let it go.
what i learn in therapy: nobody has all the answers.
we certainly don’t.
[I dare you to touch her and not get burnt]i. In winter, I see her seethe under her breath:[I dare you to touch her and not get burnt]3 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
flames of condensation flicker as broken words
are exhaled from parted lips,
smouldering slightly with roaring passion
scaremelt the frost away.
ii. She won't meet my eyes.
Her expression corrupt by anger,
features concealed by depression's hands;
the cracks between fingers let her light seep through -
onwards and upwards - her gaze goes astray
and I say, let me see you, as you are.
yet she'll still shy away
from her true self (living a lie),
loathing the way she's breathing,
loathing the way she's dying more
with each day that passes by,
[she speaks, sometimes, of fights
that she has been in: scraped
fingernails across her face and fists
forcing unconsciousness to flash in front of her eyes].
iii. Insomnia has its strange ways;
invading her dreams and pretending to be real -
when really she dreams of being conscious
when really - she isn't.
It's cruel to give false hope, she says,