No, not all tomboys are lesbians
No, not all boys showing a damned small sign of emotion are gay and/or "weak"
No, not all men are abusers
No, not all straight cis people are discriminative
No, no gender is completely innocent
No, gay men aren't the same as pedophiles
No, gender identity and sexual preferences are NOT the same
No, autism and other mental illnesses aren't an excuse to be a jerk to other people
No, autism isn't an insult nor a disease
No, Asperger's is DIFFERENT from autism, just in the spectrum, but not the same
No, your political views aren't a reason to be a jerk
No, your religious views aren't a reason to be a jerk
No, just because you don't believe in a certain god doesn't allow you to dismiss people who do believe in something
No, just because you disagree with someone's lifestyle doesn't allow you to discriminate them
No, "free speech" isn't what you think it is
No, being a conformist isn't the same as having an "open mind"
still fending off nightmares
with plastic swords
and MONSTER-B-GONE lights.
I was rarely gentle with you.
I blistered our hands with blacktop;
I choked our sandals with mulch.
Yet you remained untouched
by life's failures and faults,
only marred on the skin
by two frolic-scars.
There are seven chin stitches
from a monkey bar mishap,
and three on your upper lip
from disgruntled floor tiles.
But that never halted
your gap-toothed grins.
I fought by your side
during alien invasions,
where broccoli trees swayed
beneath the 1% lowfat Milky Way.
We cradled dirt-stained snowmen
that lasted weeks in the freezer,
and attacked Georgia fireflies
with an army of pickle jars.
I cried when we ate mushrooms
(they taste of rubber and disease)
but gorged on knock-knock jokes
(the cheesier, the better).
We scrawled our promises in crayon
because chalk never stayed;
we composed cricket concertos
and moonbeam serenades.
Dear muse... this is farewell,
we have waltzed the years away.
i drip over the edges, spilling dots of
absence on the hungry earth.
they call me jane doe,
and i am not art.
every evening, i close the door,
close my eyes, disassemble.
slowly, i've become fleeting.
i float, my feet don't touch the ground.
how can i crash?
i fade, i dissolve,
but i've lost the motive to explode.
there's no glory in my death;
i leave no trace of the dramatic.
a man on the train last tuesday
nudged me, apologized, and carried on his way.
he's the last person who's
spoken to me since then.
we hit a notch in the tracks,
the car wobbled.
i stared at him silently,
counting the infinite futures
that suffocated behind my teeth.
i'm dying in my own penitentiary
with the cell door key in my pocket.
To the boy who prefers spending Friday nights at home:
the world does not understand how beautiful silence sounds
As you crack open that book you've been waiting to read,
or plug in your computer,
or listen to music,
or maybe just stare at the night sky from your bedroom window-
(please) remember what everyone else seems to forget;
that being alone does not always equal lonely--
and that sometimes no company is the best company there is.
To the girl who does not speak up in class:
I was once you.
You are not deficient, I promise, despite everyone telling you otherwise.
You might be the only one who will ever know the universes
tucked inside your head,
because they are beautiful secrets you cannot bring yourself to share,
for fear that they might be vandalized.
When you speak,
brine your blood, and seashells
melded into your skin.
You were not quite an ocean
when you said "This is your sign to love me."
My body was like a building;
tall, cold, almost unbreakable.
I was metallic and sharp,
towering over your waters.
I remember taking your hand in mine,
conch and coral shells scrubbing
my skyscraper wrists, and laughing
about how one day you would
submerge every last bit of me.
Your lips, riddled with argonauts,
found my cheek and I cringed
at the coarseness.
You asked if they bothered me
and I finally told you "I
think I love you."
death is a shadow
and i feel him,
some days more than
we first met on a
sunny day in january.
he covered my tiny fist
inside his and squeezed
it like an apology, and
i began to cry.
i have seen his
silhouette every day
he is always on the
flip side of light –
where the sun shines
(sometimes i can only
face the bright side
because i know he has
i write him letters.
sometimes they are
they are odes. but
most of the time, they
(“i was thinking
death is not an
ongoing, he is
in the past and the
future, he is
my present (a gift).
he changes shape over
the course of the day
but always remains.
he is a shadow,
but he does not
he matches me,
step for step.
there are times when
he feels very far
and the separation
anxiety arrests me in
the white beam
i. first light- i met you in a crimson forest.
it was a rose garden summer, and out of a black mercedes
you walked out, your five year old eyes greener than
you reached up to pluck a rose from its stem, and offered it to me.
"what's your name?"
daddy told me that i couldn't tell strangers my real name.
I looked at the rose in my hand.
you smiled, you were a seastorm of now long-gone innocence.
i didn't understand
but I knew.
ii. i forgot about you for
1562 days, 11 hours, and 22 minutes,
my name, but i didn't recognize you
until i saw your eyes.
iii. my father fell and didn't stand back up again.
i screamed, and you carried me home.
iv. i didn't talk for a week.
i stared at the gray of the sky. it was the color of my father's eyes.
you sat next to me in the pouring rain,
why your teeth always chattered
like fingers clicking on a typewriter,
and why your fingernails
looked as though faint, blue ink
had bled through
but who questions anything
at the age of sixteen
and maybe I should have noticed
the lunches you spent
or listening to music,
as you gave away your lunch,
because you said
you were not hungry-
and I silently thought
more for me
and maybe I should have wondered
why you walked through the hallways
with pockets of graphite
under your eyes,
as your knees knocked together
like keys on a lanyard:
and maybe then
I wouldn't sit here with guilt
that eats at me-
like you never did.
sleeve but I don't wear sleeves
anymore so now I have it tucked
underneath my bra strap because
all the pants I own have fake
pockets - and I don't like purses
so I can't carry my empathy with
me anymore (but if I'm honest,
I had always tucked it in a pocket
at the bottom of my bag anyway).
I used to wear flowers in my hair,
a blooming crown all the colors
that I had bleached from my skin,
and now all that's left are horns -
delicate and wilting but still bejeweled
in glittering thorns, red with the
blood of every bitten tongue—all the
words I've ever choked back now
dancing across my glasses and even
I can't see past them anymore.
Clothing and jewels dangle from
every corner of my room and there
are days where I wonder if I need
all of it - days filled with black leggings
and pink sweaters and white shorts
and red bras and matching thongs and
earrings I have no piercings for and
a thousand rings even though I
only wear one (I wear it on my middle
Brightened by only starlight
Field & Sea.
Gravity is only an afterthought
Hilltops become ladders into the sky while
Inferior planets stare down upon the Earth
Jealous of such simplicity yet contemplating grandeur.
Keppler only thought of science
Linear, elliptical, movement…
Mythology had no such thoughts
Neptune & Nebulas both inhabit space
Orbiting across the lonely darkness
Probably never worried about mundane things
Questioning their existence
Right now or for all eternity such as us.
Shooting stars make us joyful while
Terminator is an otherworldly spectacle
Unknown to all those hidden in their houses
Various stars await us outside
Waiting to play like we did before
Xenagogue & inviting
Youthful but ancient curiosities.
Zenith induced euphoria continues until daylight…
it seems nighttime
has never looked this dark
(or maybe my emotions
are just blurring
squinty eyes turn
to my alarm clock:
in the roaring black sea
as the dream
s l o w l y
How can I miss someone
who wasn't even mine?
a rescue cat, fat, days away
from slaughter. Find one mis-
sing half his tail. The pair
will purr in tune; this step
is important. Next, rush him,
him and his rescue, to their
home, and then keep them dry
and healthy. Move deliberate-
ly, with articulation. Shape
the sound. Watch cat and man
sup together, sleep together.
Spring happens upon them, as
it does, and the man and his
rescue walk along the bridge-
less route to the forest and
grove without wind. Convince
him to let rescue race aloft,
to the distant hill-top. And
he will, and he does, and he
is gone. The man screams out-
ward into the meadow, scream
after scream weaving through
stalks of wheat, but nothing.
No clicks or mews. A nothing
against the rust of night on
the horizon. Help the man to-
ward his doorstep. Help keep
him apprised of the treeline
and its shadows. Finally, he,
rescue, appears, and the man
grabs your collar and shouts
and walks and runs and stops.
Rescue has brought home life
the seven seas for you.
for me, you would not
spare a raindrop.
* * *
heavy clouds hung low
trembling promises of rain
-drop by drop it comes
1. Kaleidoscope Skies
Sunlight kaleidoscopes against a canopy of clouds
cascading into gold cyan
glittering like webbed crystals on soft fabric
as it admits defeat against the skies
A roar rips across the clouds
the kaleidoscope is broken
jaded shards shatter towards the earth
fertilising it with broken sunlight
electrify within me
coursing through my veins
between my fingertips
slashing against your skin
I wince at the severity of my voice
Crying onto scorched shoulders
I hope to soothe
the cracks my words created
Surging from their veins
clear liquid rains down
drenching stone and soil
As Zeus cries lightening
Soaking into the green
Demeter's elysian grace
intoxicates the earth
with Persephone's likeness
Mixing with dirt and life
their tears and blood sweetens the air
lingering long a
today i was
i tried to
could only get
as far as sand before the
cratered moon pulled me back again.
You are the people you meet, the dreams you have,
the conversations you engage in and all the knowledge you gain from them.
You are what you learn from these, every single thing that you absorb.
You are the words you speak, the ones you wish you had spoken and those you wish you rather had not.
You are the sounds of the ocean, the smell of the rain,
the sight of a sunset and the taste of that last bitter-sweet kiss.
You are the brightest light and the darkest corner.
You are every step you take along this endless journey,
a collective of all the experiences you have had in your life.
You are a reflection of your heart, mind and soul.
Your feelings reflecting as a window trough your eyes.
You are everyday and have the biggest influence in your own life.
So, swim in that pool of knowledge and absorb what you want,
let the passion colour your mind and reflect trough your eyes,
let the words run troug
in the end
as I burned,
the only answer
was it you
constellations of wolfteeth staccato against her skin.
midnight beckons until she can be still no longer; she runs,
leaps skywards, misty feet skimming smoke and threads of
stormcloud, arrow-arcing up and up until the horizon breaks
beneath her with a clap of thunder and above the aurora is
blooming. celestial goddess-not-girl perched on the rim of
heaven, the music of the spheres calls the planets to
orbit and she waxes timeless amid stars and satellites,
dancing a saturnalia with venus, whirling to the immortal
moonspun madness of the universe and tonight
all the world below breathes alive to her song.
ignites in moonlight tonight
I must thank you for creating
her tangled fingers' slow pace
through the handsome rain Her
trochaic kinesthesia to rhythms
in Stravinsky's The Rite of
Spring Is this how you meant
for us to love you Yahweh
Tumbling clumsily down hills
of sheets into perpetually
immutable silence I could love
you like that I think I've been
practicing on this savanna
for days and months Lost in
her crystal canvas Rolling crests
and troughs And when she touches
me Oh fair Lord I'm dragged into
your city past Gethsemane's
pulsing green and gold
Please hold us together
under this luminous stretch
Oh Father We are live
unclothed Our reflections awash
with the skin of your sun