you and i are fretful, wary fish--
old souls. anxious beings.
sometimes i think that you and i are part of a whole--
the two fish tied together by the rope.
as the song says,
*"i wanna ruin our friendship,
we should be lovers instead;
i don't know how to say this,
'cause you're really my dearest friend."*
but honestly,
i crave you in the most innocent of ways.
if i could kiss you just once,
simply sleep next to you and be at peace,
that would be more than enough for me.
we made a pact -- at thirty we will get married
just because we can.
but it hurts --
i know it doesn't mean the same to you
as it does to me
i just want to marry you someday
live in a house near the Atlantic
and the rooms will be full of cacti and succulents
the scent of baked goods will waft out from the kitchen
where we will be battling the cats
for space on the table to let the macarons cool --
vanilla bean, rose raspberry, chocolate peppermint
some days, this is all i can think about
and i could never admit that to you
Nov 12, 2015
Nov 12, 2015 at 11:36 PM UTC
There is incessant noise
in the city—as if the blinding light
blocking out the sky was not enough.
They never spread their wings, but oh,
do they spread far and wide; but their songs
are nothing to shake a tail-feather at.
The squabbling and screeching
of fighting roosters, the mimicry
of baby cockatiels finding their voices,
the chattering of gossiping hens,
hawks that stalk the night
only to swoop in screaming
at the first sparrow to cross their paths,
the mourning doves who wake alone
to cry and moan their songs of melancholy.
They remain awake and call out into the night
longer than the old owl in the park.
The ****** of crows bear witness
to the clamor on this night; looking on—
as the Eyes of God—
in disgust and judgment.
These tall, fleshy creatures see fit
to complain of the calls of pigeons and gulls
when their noise is the farthest-reaching plague
that keep all awake at night.
Mar 23, 2015
Mar 23, 2015 at 11:05 PM UTC
We cast protective spells like a sweet song,
keep a bag of stones and herbs above our beds;
I bathe opal in moonlight all night long,
to keep myself at peace and rest my head.
On the Sabbats, we call to Mother Earth,
guardians of the North, South, East, and West;
give the ash and water back to the earth,
these rituals, from mother I learned best.
Burn sage incense to keep evil at bay,
and it helps my anxiety lessen;
We call on the Triple Goddess to pray,
from Book of Shadows I learn my lesson:
*No matter how your tattered heart may ache,
Never throw your love spells into the lake.*
Mar 23, 2015
Mar 23, 2015 at 11:01 PM UTC
Your soul was always isolated from
the world around you—from the very beginning. Time
alone was something you valued (as should we all)
but your isolation took on many forms—many
hungry shadows looming over you at all times.
A collision of iron and steel left you
immobile, and by the standards expected of
women, useless: your womb would never swell,
and you would never experience the pain of
bringing a child into this cruel world.
The fractures
and the wounds healed, but you
never recovered.
In the face of impossibility, you still
tried in desperation; leaving you in cold
unfamiliar hospital rooms, where all you
can see is an alien landscape; where all you
can think about is the reasons you are here,
and the reasons your baby will never be.
It is a pain in your heart that leaves you gutted
like the iron handrail that embedded itself
through your ****** The bed is soaked
with your tears and your blood; it is the pain
of knowing that you will never hold a baby
who sees you as God; you will never experience
the love of a child, glowing with innocence.
Mar 23, 2015
Mar 23, 2015 at 10:58 PM UTC
All is silent among a desert
of silver-grey, pock-marked with craters;
the view of the stars from here is the same
as it should be from mountaintops. But over the horizon,
cradled in the breast of a star-freckled pitch-black sky,
an azure baby swaddled in a milk-white blanket:
our home.
And from out here, big-baby-blue isn’t so vast.
How humbling it must be for your home
to be the size of your fist.
How humbling it must be to be an ant,
a speck of dust, floating around aimlessly.
Don’t our troubles seem so small, now? But when
you come home, it will all come rushing back
just like your craft in freefall. You will be left
reeling,
begging to be launched again.
Silence, darkness, and a beautiful view:
something everyone should experience.
The view of the Earthrise from La Luna.
It’s tranquil out here, in the Sea of Serenity;
Do you really want to go back home?
Feb 4, 2015
Feb 4, 2015 at 11:38 PM UTC
I learned my place quickly. See,
among the kids on the playground, I
was never fast. I was a joke among tag-players;
it is no exaggeration that I never tagged anyone.
But tag-you’re-it was the least of my worries.
I learned my place quickly, chased down
daily by a pack of boys from my class. To this day,
I couldn’t tell anyone what started it. I kept to myself:
They were wolves, and I was the rabbit they were hunting.
Run aground, pebbles kicked in my face; it was
just like the bullies in the cartoons—
But when it’s one little girl against six boys, I couldn’t find
the humour in it:
Cartoons like that didn’t make me laugh anymore.
I learned my place quickly. “Boys will be boys,”
Was the response from teachers when I came back inside:
crying, covered in dirt, shaking the pebbles out of my shirt.
“It just means they like you.” Yet I couldn’t grasp how
pushing me to the ground, kicking dirt and rocks into my face
equated to affection. If that was how boys acted then I
would rather die than have a boyfriend.
Their antics were validated on principle that they were boys,
and so their dominance in society was assured from day one.
The rest of us, the prey, had to deal with it; I would be sent to
The principal for this principle because I became desperate
and would hide in the woods just to get away.
I was reprimanded and shamed, while the boys got
a gentle slap on the wrist,
and a reminder:
“Play nice.”
I learned my place quickly.
Feb 4, 2015
Feb 4, 2015 at 8:02 PM UTC
Envy is not green but
something perhaps a little more sickening to me
than chartreuse and a spoiled ego.
Envy is when i see boys walking by,
looking down at myself again, i see my curves
and i hate them.
i don’t want them.
i want to look like the boys.
Envy is seeing other girls more androgynous
than i;
girls with broader shoulders
and with more angular faces.
why can’t I look like that?
i hear voices deeper than mine:
tenor, baritone—
and I shred my throat
day-by-day,
trying to come close to the pitch.
Envy is the aches in my body when changing
my posture from legs to shoulders;
from changing my stride
and preventing my hips from swaying.
i want to look like them.
seeing these people makes my insides feel
like they’re being twisted with a red-hot fork;
and it hurts, oh God, it hurts.
it hurts to know i will never look
like how i see myself.
Feb 4, 2015
Feb 4, 2015 at 8:00 PM UTC
it takes a village to raise a child:
to rub the rust from years of wear,
to teach him not to cower in the face of adversity
when the other boys come around with bats aimed at his limbs.
he must be led back to mother’s house;
she will take one look at his pouting lip, trembling gateway
to his muted mouth,
and she as well as the others will move mountains
to see him smile again, dimples and all.
perhaps he will not zip around the house as he used to,
as a young monkey swinging through the jungle;
but he will learn to find the forms of nebulae in his plum-bruises,
and he will learn that there is more to strength than a strong arm—
there is more to fighting back than striking like a hammer.
Feb 4, 2015
Feb 4, 2015 at 7:55 PM UTC
sagittarius,
you only tell me i'm beautiful
when we are skin-to-skin
and your hand is around my throat.
my body is a temple
that you pray to with ragged breath.
if only i could destroy you
the way you destroy me.
Oct 28, 2014
Oct 28, 2014 at 6:28 PM UTC
dear aries,
had i known what love was back then,
we might have made it last.
dear taurus,
you were always everything
i wished i could have been.
dear gemini,
you are a fiesty, wonderful soul,
i love you dearly, my surrogate brother.
dear cancer,
i still remember the first day we met,
but i cannot remember the sound of your voice.
dear leo,
you are worth more
than your protruding collarbones.
dear virgo,
our horoscopes say we are the perfect friends,
but you are a heartless creature and i am afraid of you.
dear libra,
you are vicious,
picking petty fights over nothing,
yet you are still my best friend.
dear scorpio,
god, what a beautiful, fascinating being you are.
how i always wished to be yours.
dear sagittarius,
i gave you my heart,
and now it has two years
and eight batterings worth of scars.
dear capricorn,
i miss our late night storytelling,
i am waiting on an apology that will never come.
dear aquarius,
we are so different now,
i cannot bear to speak to you.
you are afraid of me.
dear pisces,
whenever i see you,
you take my breath away.
Aug 23, 2014
Aug 23, 2014 at 9:39 AM UTC