the world outside our
window a jarful of beads;
capped, jangling.
All tagged Writer of the Month
the world outside our
window a jarful of beads;
capped, jangling.
I am like the strand hanging from the sleeve
of an old sweater—I snag on the same
sound each night. Keep pulling, I will fall apart.
It has no words but demands
A name
Say it soft
She’d scoff and say “You’re not like me”
butterfly earrings swinging, as she says this
Like her tattoo, the paint is faded and chipped
You and I
have prayed for change
To be loved for who we are
To be seen in truth
To be caught as we fall
We fell together
The way one sinks into a couch
During an anime marathon
we sat three feet apart
Whispered thoughts, My eyes strained
to memorize the glow of her eyes in the dark
In the same breath she tells me that she is
the more stable of us in our relationship`.
because she doesn’t linger too long
on her issues-Doesn’t bleed
onto others
They wish to repossess me
like I wasn’t demon first -
finding my way back through my ancestors, my coven, my guides.
Wanting control
direct this dissonance of life
laying lifeless in the death of ego I know.
I choose to attack them/ one by one/
feel like I’m accomplishing something
pero(but) I ignore sweeping everything
neatly into a dust pan/
My sternum whistles,
My heart booms and says
I’m still here,
Open and ready for you
The air gets wrenched out of my
voice box
Still -
I amplify it, sharpen each blade
I wield every unfinished scream like
throwing stars
Before he went south, she said Get down
on your knees and beg for forgiveness.He did not. He had nothing to beg for.
He did nothing wrong, said nothing wrong,
but they believed this white bitch when she said he whistled.
these teachers are also the ones that say
if we don’t learn from our history,
we are doomed to repeat it. doomed for one community
to merely exist as footholds
because of the color of their skin again?
I have to ask myself what children do
ask my students what they do
add some nostalgic twists
like the ending of cassette tapes,
the introduction of CDs and dial up internet
and voila: my childhood
people who follow directions
brown skin
people who don’t follow directions
brown skin
More protests are followed by threats.
Threats are followed my tear gas.
Tear gas is followed by rubber bullets.
Rubber bullets are followed by real bullets.
Bigfoot is just speculation
but then again so is the clitoris.
Like just because Kyle
treats your body like a labyrinth
doesn’t mean it is
My bisexuality is like my eyeball,
as in, I can’t see it
but everyone in high school could,
like I didn’t use a mirror ‘til I was 19
loving you then
was peeing my pants at a joke:
sure, i was
a little embarrassed
but i couldn’t help it.