Category: poetry

i write about you | a poem

i write about you
intermittently
somewhere
in between consciousness
i remember fuzzy feelings
wondering whether it’s time enough
for you to love me
to make sure my stiff heart now dusted down
pumps in beats that are echoed somewhere within the cage that
holds your heart
i love too strong
in breaths like sighs
in whispers passing wind
in cracks of fireworks
and city-wide carnivals
i love in sweaty moments of indiscretion
in the unity of perfectly laced shoes
in tiny hands that need to grip thumbs
love me in odd places solitary spaces
spaces that invite
rather than leave unrequited affections
for ruled gray lines of spiraled loose-leaf

other side of the mirror | a poem

look at me looking at you
mocking my smirk, reflecting my teeth
exposing a body of vanity
exposing a body of insecurity
let bathroom lights catch only my good side
the three of the four that manage to stay lit
this is the skin chosen for me
large illuminating eyes
newly discovered birthmark 
nose i learned to live with as a moody teen
cheekbones that stand proudly: gifted from my mother
abdomen that mocks the look of toning
childhood scars, an inherited browning over time
ingredients laid bare in front of –
me looking at you looking at me

Tears. #Orlando

Tears will not come to me
I fight them. For shame. I fight them.
When the faces of the innocent roll like tape
And the wake of their memory are desperate phone calls
Amidst shells of screams, and mothers who scream back miles away.
Hot coals in the hands. Hot flames on the breath.
Life is snatched; a bloody breath in darkness
Reverie joy becoming the nightmare no one can dream
No one can dream
My tears are meaningless in their testament
Because I am angry. More than anything. I am angry.
The cocktail of human failure fails us all
It is the unsuspecting who pay the toll
What a fucking waste. What a fucking curse.
What hell on earth we all partake in.
How we continue to deny each other, while we share this same planet.
Tears stifled by the purest rage
And the roll of tape faces leave saltine rivers.
In the all the pieces the mortal body left across the floor
May souls find the rest in the peace they deserve
And when I cry, they are not my own.
They are for you, my dear, because I cannot cry.
The heart cannot take it.
Rest easy, I pray.

things we carry, chapter 2: autopilot

this is when you attempt to feel the world around you, but cannot
this is when you attempt to douse your nervous system in extra stimulants, but nothing

and there you sit
so many things to be done, you’re thinking
so many orders to give and many more to receive
so many things to say and things to hear
so many items to cross off
so there you sit

unbothered and numb
numb and unbothered

not even the dark roast and quickening heart beat gets you up

you have managed to move your body just enough
just enough to get you right here

so
you don’t move at all

fuck it
we’ll try this again tomorrow