layersi.More Like This
i met a girl today
who was not golden-haired or blue-eyed,
who was not straight-nosed or full-lipped,
who was not long-legged or slender.
instead i met a girl
who sang full-bodied notes in both soprano and alto,
who spoke like a king and walked like a queen,
who had a body curved like the moon.
and that was okay.
i met a boy today
who was not muscular or broad-shouldered,
who was not charming or charismatic,
who was not tall or dark or handsome.
instead i met a boy
who had a memory like an elephant,
who wrote like an angel and drew like Monet,
who could churn out sums like a calculator.
and that was okay.
take a good look in the mirror:
and remember that what you see—
the imperfections and perfections;
the roll of love around your stomach;
the diverging forks at the ends of your hair;
the delicate sprinkles on the bridge of your nose
—is only one layer of who you are,
all of it
(all of you)
is okay, too.
to the woman who drowned herself in the bathtub.i.More Like This
to the woman who drowned herself in the bathtub:
in the magazine I own that published your story,
they blurred out the crime scene photographs,
erasing your face and
the full curves of your breasts.
some part of me wonders
if you would have wanted this,
or if you would have liked for
the public to see you in your final moments,
half-soaked in grey-looking water,
your hair in strings, glued to the porcelain,
eyes closed and mouth gaping,
no breath stirring, no bubbles rising.
sometimes when I look
into the depths of my bathroom sink,
I hear your voice
(or what I imagine it to be--
after all, we never met).
you sit on the edge of the toilet seat,
and chat to me about the weather.
I would give anything to hear your real, living voice,
to ask you what you were thinking
as you lowered yourself
into the tub, queen of the tendrils of steam,
and let your lungs deflate like old birthday balloons.
on the news they say that your autopsy
revealed three quarters
of a bottle o
Pavement TreeImprisonedMore Like This
In an alien place
Of conquered nature
Of manufactured air
Hands of steel
Envelop my roots
My leaves are choking
My children fall in vain
In a cage of stone
A beauty for others
And their blind stupidity
I die each day
I slowly fade away
To the kidnapped earth
On my knees
I am shaking terrified
In this madness
In this false reality
I cry and plead
And hope for resurrection
By beings so arrogant
Power PlantSilently I standMore Like This
Under the fused sky
My metal body
My mind pure and sterilised
I, the enabler
I, the promise of new light
I, the provider
I, the world’s synthetic heart
Sparkling horns of steel
Burnt shadows in the ground
Through my intestines realized
I, the creator
I, the mechanical god
I, the destructor
I, the danger overcharged
Pray to me now
Your addiction to my blood
I, the lie assembled
I, death of the unrefined
A Garden Full of Butterflies.When youth was sun and cloudless skiesMore Like This
and a garden full of butterflies,
and daisies waiting to be chains
in meadows where it never rained.
When lambs jumped joyous every spring
and I heard every bluebird sing
and all the adults told the truth
in the dream that was my youth.
When Santa granted every wish.
When my pond was filled with golden fish
and a cow leapt high to reach the moon
and Grampa sung a funny tune.
When paper dolls danced in a line
and sugared bread to eat was fine,
and adults never gave me rules
least not before I went to school!
When time was just an honoured guest
he flitted in – but took a rest.
Moving not, he watched me grow
in Happy-Ever-After glow.
All of this, it was my Truth
in lengthened days, where dwelt my youth –
when youth was sun and cloudless skies
and a garden full of butterflies...
godyou asked me how it could've possibily beganMore Like This
how each star earned its first breath
or what saturn's childhood was like
and in me, I have the answer
I see it in a forest's gasp during a december cold
or midnight's shy laughter
in a time-worn wall; its heart full of fables
and there was that time the river had told me;
gossiping excitedly behind the backs of the slow minded stones
who were unable to understand her rapid words
and I know how it resides inside people, nearly tangible it is so alive beneath their skin
felt in the eager fingers of lovers; exploring
in a hiker's satisfaction and he thrones himself atop the moutain.. his mountain
or in the lips of a father, pressed against his daughter's forehead
(as if he is shielding her mind of the evils he fears will enter)
but mostly it has been in you
(I think I saw it the most ripe when the moon had placed its hand upon your
face and you had gradually eased into that whisper o