When I have a daughter,
I feel I'll have to make some decisions.
For the sake of simplicity,
Let's equate them to poetry.

Limericks are one way to live,
With structure, but fun left to give
Though we'll love each other,
I'll still be her mother,
And that part, I hope she'll forgive

Or we could live like haikus,
Simple and structured,
With emphasis on order.

Why don't we live freeverse?
No rules, no rhymes, no reason.
We don't need those things to be happy.
We'll have each other, after all.

This is simply speculation,
I'm not especially certain
What I'll do when I have a daughter.

My face is caked
With pigment, baked
In glaring lights, and I,
Can't wait.

My stomach churns,
Adrenaline
Is coursing through my veins,
but then

"5 minutes!"
Someone shouts, my head
perks up immeditely
And when

They beckon fervently
For me
And I cannot contain
My glee

Step out onto polished wood
Look out into the aisles
See faces staring up at you,
You're here to make them smile

I have the power to make them laugh,
To make them shout or cry,
And my nervousness is gone now that
I know their hearts are mine.

its not fair for the sky to be mean to the clouds for crying so much

its especially unfair because the sky cries every night too

silver sparkly tears washing off blue eyeshadow

but its ok when the sky does it because the sky pretty-cries

the clouds ugly cry

and thats not okay with the sky


its not fair that no one likes it when the clouds cry

because the clouds only cry because they are heavy

and want some of the weight to go away

the sky cries and everyone loves the sky

maybe because the sky is older

and can smile again when it is done

because the sky cries to get what it wants


but the clouds dont know why they cry

they cant help it

they are so heavy and it hurts so much to carry all the raindrops

and the sky does not care

the sky says, “but you look so light and fluffy

so i think you are not heavy at all

i think you just cry because you want people to talk about you

and you know unless you cry

no one talks about the clouds”


the clouds try to hold their raindrops in now

even though it hurts

and they are very heavy

because they live in the sky and they must

do what the sky says

when the sky is watching


but of course they cant hold it all

and the sky gets mad when they let out all the raindrops they were holding

so the clouds try to explain “I’m sorry

the rain was heavy and i had to let it go”

and the sky does not listen

the sky says “you are so dramatic

you do not have to cry so much

over something so small”

but the clouds do not understand

because the clouds have never had a reason to cry

not a big one or a small one

they just do


so the clouds start holding more and more and more raindrops

they dont let themselves have thunderstorms anymore

it hurts so bad

so

so

so

bad

and the sky still does not seem to understand that

the clouds just want to not be heavy


the clouds wonder if the sky will miss them when they are gone


they suppose that the sky will be glad to be rid of the rain


and then the clouds go away forever.

They wring my neck like rubber, and it’s harmless,
They say, as I’m writhing on the ground,
Throat crushed,
Chest heaving,
Mouth a fountain dripping wine.

A testament to sins chosen by those
Never condemned
And though it isn’t fair,
There is a reason that they are not the ones
Dead on a cross

They would not die for our sins; no, they live for them.
And the wine we spill, from every artery, alcohol
Burning, turning
Our insides to rock,
They drink to have a good time.

To a God that isn’t there I pray while the others listen in,
And they whisper their pities,
But I have not asked them
and they cannot provide an answer to an question nonexistent
They can only wait, and watch

The day they find wine in pools on the dirt,
Perhaps they’ll find it in themselves to look up
And see that the face of that God,
The one to which I pray and to which they spit empty confessions,
Is not there,
Or perhaps just does not care

Perhaps they will fall to their knees as wine drips down their own chins,
Finally, finally they will understand what it means to bleed
Catching the wine in their hands as it run off my fingertips they cry,
Not because they wish for me to be whole again
But because they know I will linger.
A stain.
A testament to their unpardoned confessions,
Their plea for innocence where they deserve none.

Or perhaps,
They will take pleasure in knowing
That the nails they chose to drive into my hands finally cracked bone.

Falling down is scarier when you can see the floor
No floor, no bottom,
No bottom, no promise,
No promise, no risk,
No risk, no danger
          

                  No danger










No danger











                                                                    Bang.