Boisterous applause
on the black of the pan,
bubbling eager
for bayou born hands.
Dark dusty skin
like the soil of homelands,
spiced with the method
of mother of mother.
White men on crosses,
black faces in photos,
of family from graveyards
or just beyond grasp.
exhausted linoleum,
faded by traffic,
of church shoes,
and paw pads,
by ambles
and drawls.
Apr 16, 2016
Apr 16, 2016 at 3:51 PM UTC
Words
form tight
and wild curls,
like the hair of
my father, or jesus, they
stumble from my lips and leap
into anxious air. I don’t know what
face they’ll wear until they are long gone.
Apr 14, 2016
Apr 14, 2016 at 8:25 AM UTC
There's a raccoon inside me,
I've never liked raccoons.
He nuzzles my heartstrings when I feel worthless,
and cackles maniacally when I believe that I'm worth it.
Whenever I'm bold enough to speak he claws my vocal chords closed,
leaving me dumbfounded with an obvious lump in my throat.
I feel his grimacing face and beady bandit eyes in constant stare.
He hisses angrily when he catches me unaware,
of just how afraid I am.
His grubby paws pander to my love of cancelled plans.
I guess you could say we're selfish,
because I relish the nights spent alone with him.
And I'm positive that he does too,
because he knows I'm often too weak to leave my room,
and disdain is a dish that makes a feast for two.
I really like raccoons.
Aug 5, 2015
Aug 5, 2015 at 5:07 PM UTC
His housewarming gift was a night of sweaty sheets
peeled eyelids
and restless tossing.
He lives beneath your bed,
contributing to the eerie feeling
that gives your domicile its familiarity.
Always awaiting a conversation,
but you're just so busy that he has to wait for nightfall
to whisper in you ear.
He will rarely show his face,
maybe because he's shy
or introverted.
He's lonely,
and desperately would like a friend
because you have more than enough space under your mattress.
Jul 13, 2015
Jul 13, 2015 at 7:17 PM UTC
a day in the life: valedictorian at the school of hard knocks,
already committed to humdrum state university--full scholarship
she laces up her shoes, buttons her top, ever so slightly to balance
the constant feeling in the pit of her stomach
like that of a roller coaster moments before the big drop
each car horn and bird chirp plays into a miserable melody
raining down upon her withered teenage face like ashes of anxiety
burn-holes her already tattered clothes until they resemble swiss cheese
she breathes heavily.
each step is a hurdle,
each word a quarrel,
each conversation an uphill battle
every potential relationship another personal waterloo
dimples and straight teeth mask the dread coursing within her skull
just as her long sleeves and wristbands hide the things she shouldn't do
her body lackluster and tired, as if she hadn't slept for days
or maybe just worn from escaping the holes she finds herself in daily
or from her Jackson Pollock-esque arm motions when she splatters paint
because she thinks she can never paint else anything right
she opens the door with her right hand
her left hand remains in a fist, squeezing tight
her sweaty palms make holding the door a challenge
but it's best that she not let go.
Jul 13, 2015
Jul 13, 2015 at 1:52 AM UTC
My room
is full of elephants.
Trumpeting prophets,
whose footprints have been lost
in the gusts of greens and groggy eyes.
Or thrusts of thought pumping jagged sighs through lips left ajar.
My face
is full of fleshy hands,
to hide in when the sand is dropping.
standing water lullabies, my mind’s collecting flies.
Pillow fists and sheets to choke, my skin’s already turning blue.
With wistful tunes from ceiling fans, I’d rather stay in bed alone.
My eyes
are ****** yet again.
With salt at least Its genuine.
But fruits fermented, grass ablaze at least I can escape.
Id love to hide, to run and run, I see myself hitting the ground.
To scrapes and scraps of memory from nerve endings gone limp.
This room
is full of elephants.
I try to cover ear canals.
This silence is uncomfortable and I look down the ledge.
I hate to be a ****** and I never mean to ruin nights,
but if I stand alone tonight,
I’m terrified of what I’ll do.
Trumpeting and trumpeting,
please dont leave me in this place.
Im clumsy and can’t trust my feet,
I’m aiming for the grass.
To hug me as I contemplate,
the dawn is a cacophony,
and Im just getting home again,
to feeling out of place.
Jul 12, 2015
Jul 12, 2015 at 10:13 PM UTC
I think of you when I’m on the toilet.
Okay.
Maybe that wasn’t the best place to start
I think of you when I’m walking too
Wishing you were taking the same route
By coincidence
But hoping that it was by choice
I think of you when I make breakfast
Cause I would gladly make enough for two
When I have nothing better to do
I count the hair on my forearms
And I wish you were here to help me count
I was never really good at math
Or science
But I’m really good at thinking
I swear
And I’m pretty good at grammar
Because you
Are the person
About whom
I have been thinking much lately
I ponder you like politicians
In Astana
Ponder budgets
Like artisans in Rwanda ponder baskets
Like the UN ponders nations
Like farmers ponder precipitation
I roughly calculate
I could have solved around 200 Rubik’s Cubes
Give or take a few
In the time it took
to figure out you
So now I’ll chew my fingernails well past the white part
Even though you can’t stand it
Because I don’t want you thinking that I’m thinking about you
Jul 2, 2015
Jul 2, 2015 at 7:29 PM UTC
Currently
Grasping the fraying rope
At both ends
Firm hold
Keeping us
From splitting in two
Just as I ought to
Currently
Worriedly pacing the floorboards
Before mortars
Waiting for a knock on my door or
A phone call if you’re savvy or
An SMS like a daddy
Angry and in all caps to his daughter because she defied her father and stayed out longer than she oughta
And I’m currently
Physically staying in place and
Mentally running away, 3 p.m. train to a better day
Like the teenage girl who was ****** cause she had to be home at 10:30 and it wasn’t even a school day
But hey
I digress currently
Hurriedly thinking of everything beautiful in life to decide
If it’s worth it
The answers sit unaware like prey
The questions come back like predators and they’re lurking
If Jesus was a thief, should I be stealing or learning
Is thinking helping or hurting
It sounds good on paper but the feeling’s disconcerting
Bending and turning
Waist deep in a swift current currently on bended knee
Scanning skies for an elusive heaven
Waiting on something, but not too surely, for if salvation decides not to come to me
I’d walk anywhere to the crystal stair
To get me where
I want to be
I’ll get there eventually
Even though I’m not there yet I won’t let it start disturbing me
Currently
Jul 2, 2015
Jul 2, 2015 at 7:29 PM UTC
Shh
Wandering tongues lynch themselves before thoughts can slip into words
pupils impregnated by motionless anticipation
and the fluttering of flies on the corpses of stomachs
don’t stutter
don’t stutter
don’t stutter
shhh
Calm
let glands spew waterfalls down brows
and browse for options yet remain still, remain silent
I was always taught to
shhhh
retreat to familiarity, fermenting in the stagnation of bedrooms
and errant thoughts, and regrets, and remembering
I don’t think this is going to work out
I dont think this relationship is healthy for us
I think we should
shhhhh
close mouths so the belt welts bruise less
You are simply fleshwounds to blues and blacks that bubble beneath skin
eyes low, chasmic, crimson, grin and giggle
follow footsteps to paper faced ledges and the defiant plume of burning leaves
Ive grown to love
shhhhhh
Schwinns and wind, and ballooning confidence
headphones hugging haphazard hairs scent of remnant shampoo particles
and hungry breath, peppermint camouflage so lips can kiss scars
craving solid land while lost in waves of stone
distant skin and grin and eye contact
Ive grown tired of
shhhhhhh
winding car rides, surrounded by noise
playing the quiet game
Jul 2, 2015
Jul 2, 2015 at 6:52 PM UTC