victoria-7Whisper

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In ProgressYou don’t know what it’s like to dig and dig and dig in the dirt with bare hands / digging toward fecundity / I am trying to find the honest words
13
Mar 20, 2017
This Is Not A Breakup PoemThis is not a breakup poem / This is not me liquifying when I open my eyes in the morning / This is not my furious animal tearing at my chest to control the thrashing inside
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Feb 24, 2015
Switching formatsSo this isn't a poem, but I wanted to share the tumblr I've created to house all of my poetry. My tumblr contains some of the poems I've posted here, as well as edited and completely new poems. From here on out I'll almost exclusively post on tumblr, so if you have an interest in any of my work I urge you to check out the link, and perhaps even follow. Thanks! / http://victoriannpoetry.tumblr.com/
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Aug 19, 2014
And He Had Fingers Like Tree BranchesHe made me into a god; only calling on me before the impact. / Did my lips taste like salvation? / Was there holy water between my legs?
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Jul 25, 2014
For Girls With Crooked SpinesLet’s not make this pleasant. / I don’t want to sigh or breathe my memories into you; / I want to spit them into you.
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Jul 25, 2014
Us in StanzasUs in Stanzas / I sat down on the bench next to you and noticed you were smoking American Spirits instead of your typical Marlboro. I asked how you were doing and in the middle of your explanation you told me you really just needed a friend instead of something romantic. I smiled politely and silenced the scream in my throat as you read me two more of your poems. Then we got burritos. / My friend hesitates when he confesses to me that he knows you, and you’re ******* crazy. He tells me that you once tried to open your veins in front of him, and release all of the poetry inside of you. I call you and you don’t answer. I spend the night worrying about you in a way that makes me sick, but not as sick as all the beer and **** By the time I realize I haven’t eaten all day I’ve been on the floor of the bathroom for two hours, as my best friend holds my hair. In between my violent retches I flawlessly recite Yeats’ “No Second Troy”. It’s funny, the things we remember.
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May 3, 2014
Untitled 31I am made of saltwater and glass / and I am a hundred years old. / I breathe in your cigarette smoke
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Feb 4, 2014
Untitled 30Body like an old house / Rickety frame from where / The termites have made their homes
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Feb 4, 2014
Untitled 29We do not call ourselves poets / We bleed when the light does / Proof of our existence
14
Feb 4, 2014
Untitled 28 (Haiku)Please don’t let me know / When my lips have ceased to be / The last ones you’ve kissed
3
Oct 30, 2013
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