i'm not impervious to the fact that
if the universe allows
i will grow old and die one day
i know that my skin will draw back from itself
the way picasso drew on canvas
and vines and creases will work their way
into my once fair and smooth skin
but when i go i want long flowing white hair
that brushes my back gentle as a feather
and lingers behind me like a second goodbye
hair that i can twirl into knots absentmindedly
an braid while bored in church
i want ink stains on my hand from the spilled
ink of writing poetry and stories
notebooks filled with the words that came
out of the sharp movements of my hands
and my hands
i want hands soft but worn
like my mother's favorite winter coat
i want hands that have held and let go
i want hands that know what the hell they're doing
i want toenails painted the most obnoxious
shade of red and mascara packed on like a
suitcase going on a trip to heaven
i want to be that old lady with the cats
because, let's face it, we all know i'm already
that old lady with the cats
they'll be named names from literature and plays
and i'll hope their names match their counterparts
but if they don't i'll love them anyways and
hold them with these hands that will have held
onto so many things before
when i go i want to have lived
and i want to have lived really really good

Please tell me why I only
Seem to be able to write poetry
When I'm drunk or half asleep
Maybe it's because I loose my inhibitions
And no longer care what people think?
But that shouldn't matter anyway.
And honestly?
I DON'T care.
I'm good enough on my own
By my own
I'm worth enough
For myself to be myself
If that makes any sense.
I don't need anyone to
Tell me that I'm good enough
I know I am.
It's not my fault that some don't see it.
Come on,
Spread a little bit of self love am
I right?
I know when I say my name people
Don't blink so
Why should it be any different when I tell you
My pronouns.
I'm not an animal in a cage
In a zoo,
I'm **** good enough as me
And I don't REALLY need your approval
Honestly you're lucky you even got my
Name
Because most times I forget to introduce myself so
Why should the rest of me shock you anymore
Than my name does?

You can call it what you will,
decant your lies into a chalice,
paint a picture in bright pastels
overshadowing your malice,
but I know.
And until I die, let it be so.

Stammer out half-assed excuses,
push it all under the bed,
maybe then you'll numb the conscience
killing you from in your head,
but I'll still know.
And until we kiss, let it be so.

When you reach the top, remember
those you stepped on to succeed,
though I'm rooting for you, I'll be
laughing while I watch you bleed
because I know.
And until I taste your blood, it's so.

Yet I truly cannot hate you,
were it me, I'd do the same.
Understand, it's simply circumstances,
passing you the blame,
and this I know.
But until you break, it must be so.

It was a bright and beautiful
brand new day
as she crossed the courtyard
with a lullaby on her lips,
saw the swans take off and fly,
then slowly descend
dipping their delightful necks in
the once still water
that was now surely stirring.

A sweet tune tantalized her tongue
as she hummed
something that bordered on forgotten,
it was powerful
but only echoed,
imperceptible
in her unconscious mind.

A fire swept through
her anxious gut
as she struggled
to recall
something she was certain
was important.

A dog barked.
Bees buzzed
about their honey making business.
She was certain
even anxious
she would not forget this,
but she missed
the magic of her musical muse,
and cursed herself
for not remembering the tune.

Time obscured
dawn’s radiance
the day died
a brilliant turquois
to dark blue and blackish
death,
and stillcont.
the song would not come.
It hovered within
her breath.
It beat beneath
her soft blossoming chest.
A tear fell
as she struggled
to unforget
the song she had lost,
but even in sleeping
and waking
the wonderful melody
would not return.