julia-annWhisper

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These Walls*This poem is a creative response to / The Yellow Wallpaper / by Charlotte Perkins Gilman.*
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Being SelfBisexual girl, confused by so much but understands / self misguided in youth, no / idea what to do forced into a life blurred
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The Bubble RideThe little girl virtuous and naive sits in the emerald blades on the hill. / She dreams of remote landscapes while gazing up at the / perfect sapphire skies, the clouds make figures that
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My WinterAt 4:30 on a Saturday the only / light is from the hovering orange / globes that vast across the evening
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Blank SlateThe silver drops / cascade down. / Golden, rouge, sepia;
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Hoopin'It whirls around touching my body / at all times, grazing my skin / leaving minor scratches behind.
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CreekInfluenced by the Creekology* / The beer cans decorate my dulled land. I’m jaded by the un-bothered creekers. Cigarette butts speckle my ground like confetti on New Year’s Eve in NYC. / I flow rapid as I turn corners, slapping against rocks, carrying the beer cans of those too arrogant to bring back their own trash; allowing my minnows to swim in and out cutting their fins and scales on the aluminum forcing their crimson into my waters.
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ThoughtYou are a thought, sometimes simple, / other times complex. You lay with / me those sleepless nights embrace
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Last NightHe sat on his bed as though waiting my arrival / his hard stomach exposed, strong arms ready to hold / me for the evening I stood in his legs and dropped
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