The illusion of elegance,
copied from her mother.
Childhoods left undealt with,
but she wears her traumas
around her neck in that
beautiful southern style
passed down from her mother.
Enforces her new rules,
ignoring the past that got her there
for a new sense of priority.
Her pearls are lost,
sold long ago by someone else,
and she has forgotten
what they stood for.
Jun 14, 2020
Jun 14, 2020 at 10:57 AM UTC
My grandmother always told me that
I had to watch the words leave me mouth because
I am a pretty girl and we do not say ugly words.
I’ve always had to take caution with my voice.
When I was walking down the hallway in ninth grade
A boy called out “Hey yo, nice ***
And when I whipped around,
I resisted the urge to call him a ****
Because I wanted to be a pretty girl,
I have always wanted to be gorgeous and
I can’t say ugly words if I’m going to be.
When I was waiting in the vice principals office,
After my “best friend” stuffed a letter into my locker
She called me a **** a word I’d yet to hear,
And made me feel like I didn’t deserve to breath
Because I was just a ***** right?
The ironic part is she’s still the prettiest
Girl I’ve ever seen, who used the ugliest words.
When a boy who must have been 12 years old
Called out to me “Hey, yo, girl, come here”
As I walked across the parking lot,
Garbage bag in hand and I had to tell myself
That the appropriate response wasn’t to
Call him a ****** but to ignore it and walk faster
When love came towards my head
Just barely slow enough for me to move
And the words “What the **** caught in my throat
Because I still needed to seem pretty
Even when my body was shaking,
I couldn’t say ugly words, or I’d be ugly too,
So I just stood there and waited for
The shaking to stop in my bones.
I have always wanted to be a pretty girl,
And pretty girls don’t say ugly words,
Right?
Jan 29, 2018
Jan 29, 2018 at 4:49 PM UTC
The silence is too much
I hear myself think...think...think
About nothing important
But I scour my brain for it
Fight at the little thoughts
Like how much water makes
Your cells over-hydrate and explode?
What if I replaced coffee creamer
With Windex tomorrow morning,
How much time would the ambulance take?
Would I be okay?
Because I don’t really want to die
But yes I do, for just a second
Bring me back to life
Defibrillators against my chest
Don’t shock me as much as
The silence, because it rings
It’s not even silent
So how can it be so invasive
I think about the consequence of
Lighting a candle and leaving
It there by my bedside all night
How quickly would I
Knock it down in my sleep
I’m so afraid of burning to death
And drowning,
Though I guess one solves the other
I mean if you push a burning person into a lake,
Say a witch tied to a stake,
Are you saving them,
Or does that make you a killer,
See she couldn’t swim up,
But at least she isn’t burning,
And am I the witch or the fire in this scenario?
Probably both, though I’m also
A lake because who else
Can put me down better than myself.
And I pushed my own **** self in
Because “I don’t need a hero”
Every feminist bone in my body screams
While I’m tied to the railroad tracks
How did I get here? Wasn’t I just drowning?
I guess I took a crosstown bus.
But I was the only passenger
Because it was completely silent.
Nov 11, 2017
Nov 11, 2017 at 10:42 PM UTC
I meant to write you a poem,
It was going to taste like
Lemonade when it rolled off your tongue
Bubbly when it kissed your lips,
Just as I wish I could
Make myself do again.
It was supposed to smell like
Lemons and honey when
It was breathed out
The words were going
To flow like my hair
When you run your fingers
Through the tangles.
It was going to sound like
The thoughts I never have the time,
nor breath, to get out.
It needed it to be everything I wish
I could say to you once again
“I love you”s and
“Please hold me”s
That get lost in the translation from
My brain to my lips,
so instead I press them
Against yours, but not today,
Today was different, yes,
not at all the same.
I was going to write you a poem,
Instead here is line
After line of thought
That taste more
Like black licorice
It feels like the words
I scream at you
When I think it’s been going
Way too smoothly lately
For us to truly love each other,
We cannot be in love,
If I don't want to hate you
All the same time.
No this poem is not sweet,
It feels like the grit
Of brick pieces in
Your bloodied knuckles,
Because we don't know
How to be nice too each other
It's always more fun
When you don't like me,
You scream at me, I know
Because it looks like
Every other relationship
I've seen in my life.
I'm sorry, I can't write you
A cute poem where I
Compare your eyes to flowers
Or roll lemonade kisses off my lips.
I don't know that kind of love.
Nov 11, 2017
Nov 11, 2017 at 10:26 PM UTC
I painted the cracks in the sky with starlight
As the sun began to set, afraid of the dark.
Waited for the shimmer of hope to appear.
The moon hung there, sharp and bright
It called my name from it's place so high,
"I am not the stars, we shine so differently,
come with me and I will light your world
not just the path that lies beneath your feet."
So I spent all my time chasing moonlight,
letting it tire me out in hopes of just
getting to see one more sunrise in my life.
And I can't say I was lied to, not at all,
for the moon did light my whole world,
but with everything so bright it was hard
to see exactly where I was supposed to go,
I do much better with my starlit paths.
Sep 16, 2017
Sep 16, 2017 at 9:08 AM UTC
As a child my lips kissed
Every honeysuckle my arms could reach.
I believed,honestly and truly,
That if I ****** every sweet drop out
I’d find happiness hidden there.
Every bush was bare by the time I left,
I was still searching as I became a teenager,
I search now, not in plants,
In people. I believe I can find my happiness,
By pressing my lips against others,
Filling myself with their energy and filling my mouth
With sweetness are not so different.
I haven’t seen a honeysuckle bush in years,
But every now and again,
The familiar taste is on my tongue.
Aug 17, 2017
Aug 17, 2017 at 11:09 PM UTC
The world seems so bleak
Once you rise off your knees,
Your sides are bruised
You apologize, for flinching
Apologize for existing,
When it's two in the morning
You haven't slept in days
Thoughts are racing in your brain,
Your head aches, pounds with
Your heartbeat , it's sped up
Adrenaline barely wearing off.
Grip onto whatever pieces
of reality you can find,
Secretly wishing you slip away
Just this one time,
To avoid this pain in your ribs
Make it the last time
You have to hope they didn't break,
The last night you lay awake,
knowing life would be a bore,
without the odd validation
Of laying on your bed,
Ice pack held close to your body.
Maybe you're a little too ****** up,
What does that matter,
No one would notice anyways,
They all think you're fine,
That's what you tell them at least;
Everything is fine, don't worry,
Cry yourself to sleep humming
Old lullabies from years ago,
Hum yourself to sleep,
Or maybe, just daydream
About how life used to be.
Jul 18, 2017
Jul 18, 2017 at 6:55 PM UTC
We sat on your doorstep all night
Singing songs from our childhood,
Laughing at the references we missed.
You never cared I was off key,
I loved how you couldn't keep rhythm.
I believe if we stayed there forever
We might just be perfectly okay.
Then you realized how much my
Voice strained to get the notes,
I began to get distracted by
Just how off your tapping was.
Love became frustration,
Melodies becomes arguments.
It didn't take much to long
To silence us completely.
Now you've come to me,
No one else can sing our songs.
I came back to you,
No one else taps the beat of my heart.
We're trying so hard to fix
What has been destroyed.
So we sit on your doorstep,
Singing new songs,
Only hoping that can fix it.
Jul 16, 2017
Jul 16, 2017 at 8:11 PM UTC
He calls for her in the night
From his place on the kitchen floor,
Broken bottles scattered about his feet,
He picks up a piece of one,
Holds it loosely in his closed hand.
She comes to him reluctantly,
Her footsteps whispers on hardwood.
He tells her to sit with him,
Amongst his shattered discards,
She lowers herself, silencing protests.
His hand brushes her leg,
Beckons her to come closer.
She swallows her fear, glancing back
In the room she'd left is her life,
Her joy in this nightmare of a house,
There is a wooden crib,
A small boy stirring inside it.
She's almost lost her boy once.
She moves closer to the man,
Her body trembling with knowledge
Of what comes with their closeness.
His hand moves up her nightgown,
Grazes the marks he left before,
He was fond of leaving them there
Beleiving it claimed his territory.
She shakes, gives him her body
Only hoping it stops his anger,
That she can protect her baby
If only for one more night.
Jul 13, 2017
Jul 13, 2017 at 7:26 PM UTC
She is a goddess,
A star filled extraterrestrial diety.
Her hair is made of sunlight,
It shines over her shoulders,
Cascades down her back
In golden brown rays,
Her eyes are fields of grass
They blow through my mind,
Grow in my heart like weeds,
Taking over every thought.
Her body is made of mountains,
Valleys that dip perfectly,
My hands know them by memory
Finding every piece in the dark.
Her words are magical,
They echo despite her whispers,
Ring so loud they become screams,
I just can't listen anymore.
I had her for such a short time,
She loved me,
I forgot that meant I needed
To love her back.
Jul 9, 2017
Jul 9, 2017 at 10:13 PM UTC