the art of livingthis old woman'sMore Like This
and I'm sure
that half the dresses
at this party
much more than me.
I have shaved,
found a nice
buttoned it up
over my stories.
I take a glass
from the table,
it is filled with
drink for the artists
bodilesseventually,More Like This
the springs will dry
and the mountains
in the same way
the sahara does.
those kind, small
hold your hand
they know how to trust.
monkeys - replaced
I have never tried
to hold a stranger's hand
that could amount to
where would I be?
in jail, handcuffed,
cold on the concrete
where the springs have run dry.
is the sky evergive me somethingMore Like This
I can work with,
the chameleon walks:
I read that somewhere.
and there are scars
at the base of
dog attack or
that is what
we should be
is imitation at best.
has the flower
the breath of a woman
is the sky ever
I think not.
my bottle asks for nothing.
my dog sleeps,
twitching with dog dreams.
we can be more
The Definitions of Love and AbuseMy father used to ask me why women stayed in abusive relationships.More Like This
When I told him about my boyfriends, he always asked me why I didn’t just leave;
just put a note on the kitchen counter one morning before they wake up and never go back.
I asked my father why men abuse women to whom they whisper “I love yous” like apologies. He did not answer.
I found a boy who set my ribcage on fire and illuminated my lungs with every breath.
His fingertips were like fireflies and my body was a warm summer night.
The lanterns on his lips lit up every corner of my being until my body could be seen from space.
We grew up together. I spent more than half of my life loving him.
I never saw my parents love each other and he watched as his parents love devoured them and spit them out thirty miles away from one another.
We were never taught the definition of love.
He told me he would die without me, and I thought that was love.
He told me that he just wanted me to be happy, but tha
Eating AloneThe evening news arrives and I mute it.More Like This
An anchor watches me stoically through
the screen before her facade is replaced by
a body bag being bowled into an ambulance.
Red and black under the white plastic.
The bottom caption briefly reads-
“Drug dealer shot dead in Englewood.”
Then, effortlessly, the image changes to
fabric softener commercials and me
taking another bite of my dry turkey sandwich.
The next day I learn he was sixteen years old.
Televisions hum in every room of the house.
~FEATURE~~ W a t c h e r s ' f e a t u r e c e l e b r a t i n g t w o y e a r s o f D e v i a n t a r t ! ~More Like This
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