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Honesty (Saturdays). 6 P.M.
Waking up from a long dream,
June playing in the background.
soft and warm,
as if I’d drowned,
the sun setting now.
The night looks blue
someone is waiting.
Dinner conversation –
the kitchen knife is sharp,
sinks satisfyingly through layers of skin.
now we hold the cards.
The clock ticks,
reading yearstell me my love, what have we learnt in golden years?
how is the heart strengthened by the distance of years?
when I look up the windows are covered with dust.
only my children know the passing of the years,
they tell me their cat had her first litter this spring.
I have not thought of you in almost seven years.
I do not try to remember the song you played,
they tell me the piano has not been tuned in years.
you are where the planets continue to wander.
well, you never counted revolutions by years.
I could not find a mirror that was not covered
with dust, but even photographs will show the years
if you look close enough. I do not look often
and my eyes are tired from the passage of years.
if I look down the floor will be covered in dust.
tell me my love, what have I learnt in seven years?
what I wouldn't give to be like
athena sprung from her father’s head
ii. kaiju blue
we leave our monsters in the past,
they find us in the blue.
the world shifts,
we are scattered among the reeds
on the river bank.
we are not gods nor monsters.
isis cannot save us. does not love us.
we are jury and judge, balanced
precariously on narrow barges,
found lacking. ma'at sighs.
we are sinking.
we are not stronger in pain.
v. a thousand cranes
in the day, the strength is in the folding.
at night they fly out my window,
paper tapestries unfinished.
no matter how long I wait
the world is not ending.
Three Haikus for Luckthe new warmth sends us
on a journey. we begin
by saying goodbye.
the cherry blossoms
if we watch them for too long
will surely fall.
after the April shower
watch the road under your feet.
blossoms are slippery.
neat, or pride,
I was sleep-drunk todayWe were lost out at sea with no hope in sight,
No compass, no map and the night was desert –
Enough water to drown but none for our thirst,
And too many stars awash in the moonlight.
Our limbs had gone heavy and our heads grown light,
Empty as bones but with words still to burst
The skin-thin denials of lingering hurts,
Stumbling blind into anger and fright.
We weathered many a turbulent night,
As if the storm had been following us,
But it was in our minds, like our tongues coerced
To curl around sounds that were never quite right.
So we searched for something of right and of might
That you said existed between our worsts,
You opened my hands and opened my trust
With yours, and we fell like birds learning flight.
I was sleep-drunk today and I talked about you
Or: I talked about me and the story was you.
Years have passed, and as we're wont to do,
We may have forgotten but the story was true.
snails first light:
when night lifts its curtain
– its underskirts –
the earth is soiled with the hot breath
of a billion lovers
condensed on her chilled skin
under the sudden assault of the sky
she trembles and crumbles
rise through her leaking pores
by now the dankness has settled
and armies scattered
in the pleasant afterglow
she wears the must like a perfume
soaked in it
stunning and stunned
and times herself
by the slow movement
across her skin
This is what I will be:on a day like any other,
and every day after that,
I will be dead.
I think it'll be nice.
Not the dying – that's
unpleasant, I've heard –
but the things that come after –
Maybe parts of me will become
parts of other people; maybe
they'll cut me up and share me –
a heart here, a liver there,
a few pints of blood here and there –
my body going places without me.
Maybe I will become ash and
sit pretty in a little box until
the little box becomes sand or
maybe they'll put me whole
into a bigger box and then
put that box into the ground.
Maybe they won't find me; maybe,
if you are what you eat, I will be
maggots and crows and strays and fish –
and they will all be me,
a multitude of me,
crawling and barking and
filling the sea and the sky.
Anyway, it'll be nice.
And people will grieve and cry
until they don't.
(And people will die. And this is what they will be: )
seven ways of being immortali.
some legends are not meant to be forgotten.
just like his name,
has transcended time
in countless guises.
his name is inked into our (hi)stories.
time may twist him
but it will never erase
“Girl, heed my words and stay away,
The boy will bring you naught but trouble.
His wretched mother lay with the devil
And now she has the price pay.
It’s not a price she would prefer,
But though she tried with steel and fire
To spare them both this shameful existence,
Nothing would kill the twisted creature.”
he melted into air
whispers in the wind.
he foresaw this:
the people do not need him.
the land weeps for his return.
Upon seeing that the time had come,
he made visit to Geoffrey, Keeper of Books.
With him he long hours conferred
and through him many secrets transferred,
visions into words into ink onto paper.
His last gift, largely unknown:
the future, to be guarded jealously
by a Keeper of Books.
No one will ever
A message to the brokenYou drown yourself
in liquid sorrows,
letting the salty mess
burn your wounds,
and the sadness
to drip in your mouth,
consuming your words
and you say
you deserve the pain,
but I want to dry your face,
and whisper in your ear
how the clouds cry too,
while they hold such beauty,
and so do you.
It's Okay to be ImperfectThe moon
Stand Against SuicideI know the pain is perhaps unbearable,
But darling, please put down the blade.
Release your emotions through tears and smiles,
Rather than dreading these days.
Do it for the little girl, whose mother can’t be there,
Or for the boy whose father drank too much.
For the boy who can’t sit in elementary school,
Because the bruises from Daddy hurt to touch.
For the teenage girl lying face down in her bed,
Thinking, why can’t it all be done?
For the elderly man looking up at the stars,
Counting the days one by one.
Do it for the children who wonder, does it end?
For the ones who feel left on their own.
For the ones who think, maybe it wouldn’t be so hard
If I didn’t feel so left alone.
And finally, do it for one other person,
The person in front of these words.
Because you’ll never know how it gets better
When focusing on pain and hurt.
Live one more day, dear, for them and for you,
And I swear to you, problems will fade.
I know, for right now, it’s p
I Thought I Needed FeminismI thought I needed feminism, when I was a little girl.
And I am very sad to admit, that this wasn't very long ago.
I thought when he held the door open for me, that he was making a big mistake.
That he was being a pompous ass, and he took my strength for a fake.
And when he offered to pay my tab, I still called him an ass.
Because I thought he assumed I was poor, and below middle class.
Or when his hard work earned him a promotion,
yet I did nothing, and the boss' ignorance to promote me, I believed was a sexist notion.
My friend really wanted feminism when she found her ex-dead drunk,
removed his clothes, and without his consent, had a pleasurable fuck.
When her parents bust into the room unexpected that night,
she said he raped her, and he was arrested without so much as a fight.
Perhaps feminism was there when I walked out into the street in pure nudity,
and shouted the my neighbors “You have no right to judge me!”
I didn't care about the children who were standing in th
These Faded KeysOf all the keys I click
As we speak each day,
It's the back arrow
That's faded most
These white letters
Would surely tell you,
I reply to everything -
But the key reading "enter"
Will be the one to explain
Why it still looks new
I want you to know
Just how much I care,
But I don't want to be close
Out of the fear of losing you
But please remember:
I dedicate these words to you,
Sharing them to the world
Rather than clicking away
At the faded key ~
i want to set your heart on fireor scratch my name onto your bones
like a shadow,
light and shallow
not a claim,
just a memento.
one day maybe you will find,
hidden on the side of your ankle
or beneath your shoulder blades,
the sighs I left behind;
and if you think of me then
that will be sweeter to me
than any burning revenge
could hope to be.
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