Mama,
the weather outside
speaks hunger.
The air whispers
in chipped syllables,
cradling my bloated stomach,
muffling the laughter
emerging from K street.
Pine trees, brittled
by their barren limbs,
hum to me their
creaking lullabies.
I've seen the sun,
cheeks fat with food,
spit golden scraps
I was never
entitled to.
Perhaps the air
can carry me
through the winter.
Perhaps then
I can finally
dream of feasts.
Aug 19, 2025
Aug 19, 2025 at 2:52 AM UTC
Stilled by a mid-summer chill,
and soaked by pelting rain,
the starlings watch
in somber silence.
A cautious wind
shoulders dry elm leaves,
as clunking boots
crack through open air.
Dark, iridescent
wings flitter, bent upwards
while a father whispers
a silent prayer.
Soldiers carve
through narrow streets,
as power lines hiss
with growing malice.
Aug 18, 2025
Aug 18, 2025 at 5:50 PM UTC
You’re one of the good ones.
You never make a show.
But the preacher swore
they’re coming for us,
so you can guess where my ballot would go.
You’re one of the good ones.
You’re not sassy or loud.
But honestly, why call it marriage?
Your love: unnatural; your vows: untrue.
Hey, at least I voted. You should be proud.
You’re one of the good ones.
You’re not flaming at the heels.
There’s plenty of work
in the city, or out of state
But have you thought about how I feel?
You’re one of the good ones.
There’s no need to gripe.
Don’t you see, despite perception,
we are all shrouded tight
in the tarnished stars and tattered stripes.
Aug 18, 2025
Aug 18, 2025 at 5:46 PM UTC
The bartender says “It’s time to go”
“Because the moon has clamored high
And the sun was banished low.”
They were only speaking to me
I raised my glass, took a swig
belch, “i’m not even empty.”
They grab and toss it in a bin
The crash of glass, the waste of gin
Pollutes the air and that is when
They spoke. It was stern it was cold
“Get out right now! Before I leave
Your chest all gaped. Your chest all holed.”
“I’m a patron,yet you’ve decided
To push me out into the darkness
Lonesome and unguided”
“There are other bars out there,”
“No need to bother us, They said
I bit my tongue so as not to swear.
I made a choice, a simple choice
To sit and stay at the counter.
I cleared my throat and raised my voice:
“Do what you must. Let it occur,
But understand this, we will not be deterred.”
Jun 29, 2022
Jun 29, 2022 at 4:04 PM UTC
Winter is a pleasantry compared to this blanket upon me.
Despite its harsh remarks against the bulk of humanity,
I'd rather experience that than this constricting blanket.
Winter brings forth frost from its diaphragm and unto earth
But with this blanket, of comfortable coverage there is a dearth.
Must I wait till morning to dispose properly this blanket?
Jan 19, 2015
Jan 19, 2015 at 3:05 AM UTC
For T. Adams
Bear with me for another sentence.
I don't mean to make you uncomfortable.
I apologize sincerely for bring it to your attention.
Bear with me for another sentence.
You see my heart is a closet
It beats out dust and dried tears.
My mama told me "Why should I
Accept this when y'all couldn't
Accept Juan" Her boyfriend.
Bear with me for another sentence.
She told me her name was
synonymous to carpet licker
and her body's ****** orientation
was the lockers lined down her school's halls.
Bear with me for another sentence.
His parents deleted his facebook
and banned him from the library
like he was this month's banned book.
Whenever he visits to drop off a book
he randomly chose as an excuse to come
to see the people he is close with,
He finds me and asks me about my day
and I say peachy but underneath his smile
There is a boy who has felt the sting
of isolation. I wonder if his parents know
that the girl from Ohio was forced down the same path
and it didn't lead to a garden of roses and sunflowers.
I hugged him with every fiber of my being
I hope I planted seeds that day
I hope they grow to be roses, sunflowers, the whole God **** Flower Spectrum because there needs to be some beauty in this ****** up world we call life.
Jan 19, 2015
Jan 19, 2015 at 2:26 AM UTC
Dreams are the royal road to the unconscious.
--Sigmund Freud
She slams the door.
Refuses to open it.
My fists makes contact,
over, over, over again,
harder, harder, harder again.
*"I just wanted you tell me
that everything will be okay.
That's all I ever wanted."*
She remained silent.
Jan 19, 2015
Jan 19, 2015 at 12:34 AM UTC
We all have that one movie.
The one we re-watch avidly.
The one where the protagonist
reminds us of our underdog selves.
Or at least the struggles
of waking up in the morning
without falling off the bed.
The clock flashes midnight,
reminds us that we have school
or wherever tomorrow. Yet,
we are engrossed spectators
captivated yet fearful
spectators to our hero's moment
of metaphorically hanging
off a metaphorical cliff.
We dismiss the clock and its
fallical midnight sign,
ignore the super-ego--
we have enough on our plates
from our actual parents
who expect too much
of underdeveloped minds
which are latched onto pleasure--
and continue watching our movie,
hoping that our hero
makes it out alive,
or at least does not fall off
the bed in the morning.
Jan 19, 2015
Jan 19, 2015 at 12:25 AM UTC
In the first grade I proclaimed loyalty to the art of writing.
In the Fifth Grade I inked my hands permanently with poetry.
Jan 18, 2015
Jan 18, 2015 at 8:50 PM UTC
Soon it became a habit, a habit I could not kick, like being addicted to cigarettes
Jan 14, 2015
Jan 14, 2015 at 10:53 PM UTC