I don’t know how to write a poem, not a good one at least
But I can feel one
Trapped in the darkness between my lungs and ribs
It echos like a storm, until my bones rattle and splinter
Until flesh is torn, again and again and again
My body wasn’t made to handle hurricanes
My hands can only hold on for so long until they tire
I can’t write a poem, but I can feel one
In my wrists and fingers
Vibrations from inside my chest cavity that fill up the absence
And ripple out like water
It’s the just the aftermath, wrecked homes that look like splints from up above
But that’s the closet you’ll ever get to the storm
May 31, 2020
May 31, 2020 at 11:28 PM UTC
March was the swelling, the cracking, grey clouds on the horizon ready to swallow
April was the storm that washed us under, held our heads down and told us to count to ten
May is the aftermath, the leftovers, the flood and rain have passed, but what now
What do we do with all the scraps and broken bits
Do we just make fires and wait
Like Noah in his boat
Watching the looming clouds
And counting to ten
May 2, 2020
May 2, 2020 at 12:42 PM UTC
How do we take control of our story once we’re dead?
How do we write the wrongs that men have written
Over and over and over again
Seared into our minds like a brand
You see, we don’t see you for what you were
We only see you as how you were told
Just another hedonistic woman in history whose own downfall was herself
Its all out of your control now
Your image is wrecked and ruined
You’ve been forgotten and ******
By both the gods and the people
And the worst part is
Is that no one can ever truly fix that
And it makes you think
How many times has this happened?
Again and again and again
Apr 15, 2020
Apr 15, 2020 at 2:28 PM UTC
Part I
Oh, Alexandria
Your historic halls line our imaginations
The Muses themselves blessed each and every one of your books
You were the mother of knowledge, who took in all and shared your wisdom
New ideas were formed under your roof, older ones translated and kept alive
Your downfall didn’t come in one catastrophic fire, no
It started before and after, a slow and painful death
It was the death of knowledge itself
Where military might and politics take over
Where hate for the different is sparked
And all that is considered sacred and important for humanity’s health
All that keeps us alive
Is pushed aside
And we fall
That is the death of Alexandria
That is the death of humanity
Part II
Death seems like an unmovable thing
Something which cannot leave or go to or change
This may be why we think of the scrolls of scholars and poets as only ash and smoke
As some greater that we will never reach again
But that’s not true
Because Alexandria’s death didn’t stop us
In her wake, we’ve continued to grow and create
To change and move and make in the face of death itself
We are resilient, we are stubborn, we are the fire that never goes out
That pulses in our veins and keeps us going
And we will continue to do so long after Alexandria is gone from our memory
This isn’t the end it’s just the beginning
That is her glory
That is our rebirth
Apr 10, 2020
Apr 10, 2020 at 11:03 AM UTC
Sweet youth, drinking wine
Amongst the gods
May you fly up to the stars
So your beauty can be forever immortalized
As one
Apr 9, 2020
Apr 9, 2020 at 7:07 PM UTC
Most of the time, I don’t think of you
Maybe it’s because of your age
Maybe it’s because we’re safer now
Or maybe it’s because I live in always-sunny California
But when that sky does darken
And the rain comes down
I’ll hear you
Like some primordial call, dug up from the Earth or my bones
Sometimes-I’ll even see you, but just for a moment
By now, I’ve forgotten what your face looks like
But I can’t ever unlearn that power
Its no wonder you used to be the king of gods
Apr 9, 2020
Apr 9, 2020 at 7:04 PM UTC
There’s no better time than now to celebrate
Even when it feels like the world is ending, rejoice
Rejoice for life, rejoice for living, never forget
That we will always be able to fill our cups
Our sorrows will always be replaced by happiness
We will always be here after the storm
Apr 9, 2020
Apr 9, 2020 at 7:01 PM UTC
Praise be to Sappho
Noblest of poets
Lover of words and women
Who gave us that language
So we could love women
As well
Apr 9, 2020
Apr 9, 2020 at 6:59 PM UTC
My life may have been taken from me
My names just a shadow of another
But these hands can still hold a knife
And take a man’s life
I can crown myself
And become my own god
Of blood, of sacrifice, of vengeance
And if I fall
Let it be by my own hands
Let them them slit my throat
And let no man even think
Of touching me
Apr 9, 2020
Apr 9, 2020 at 6:48 PM UTC
I’d cut open my ribs for you
Kidneys, bladder, stomach, bones, heart
Would all be my gifts to you, my prayers
Eat them, use them, break them, I don’t care
As long as you keep your hands in me
I’d be the worst sinner
Hell has ever seen
For you
Apr 9, 2020
Apr 9, 2020 at 6:29 PM UTC