if I am not there in your gathering,
there is no sadness,
there is no sadness..
stories of ours, of our closeness,
aren't less,
they are plenty.
I have turned
my mornings into evenings sitting in your courtyard.
[that is I have so many times passed my time there.]

left cup runneth over/

right cup half empty/

if I add my left cup size to my right cup size what will I get/ DD + D = DDD/I've never been great at math/but this is no/miscalculation/

I am 36 DD confined to a 36 D bra/

(D)Disgorges over the underwire/

D--you flaccid beach ball/I wish I could reinflate you/part my mouth around your ******/and/
breathe/

no one can tell/unless I wear a tight bodice/then/you are/obnoxiously evident/

I am afraid of introducing you to my future boyfriend/will he still want to undress me/will he still want to make love to me/

will he still want to touch you/

you/

sea urch/in/the palm of my hand/

even I am hesitant to hold you close to me/

you/

strangulated bagpipe/

moulting pompom/ B-O-O-B/
what's that spell/
what's that spel/
what's that spe/
what's that sp/
what's that s/
what's that/

what is that/

what/

who are you/

you/

waning gibbous/

my metaphors wane, also/it turns out there are only so many euphemisms that can be assigned to an/ill-proportioned breast/

itsy bitsy titsy/

you make me/

sad/

you/

teardrop defying the laws of gravity/

or/
is it the laws of gravity that defy the teardrop/so that it never falls into/
place/

I've noticed only/beautiful/things/
fall/

shooting stars/

autumn/

my left *****

I've grown to love
the sound of my name

swaddled in the contour
of my cupid's bow;

rolling off the tides
of my tongue;

humming
like earthquakes
in my vocal cords

my name--

Jade,
after the precious gemstone.

~

A girl named Jade
beckons the moon
so that it sits
between her palms
brings it closer to earth
through her camera lens,

photographing celestial portraits,
each crater immaculately reproduced.

She grows bouquets
of bluebells in her lungs,
poetic eidos
ringing
from her mouth,

fingers pulsing
against the typewriter
like the oscillation
of a butterfly's wings.

The soft hiss of verse
dissolves on the reader's taste buds,

each stanza an exhalation of
profundity--

unforgettable.

Maybe you were the one
to walk away
but
there will always be
a part of you
that mourns.

Her name etched
onto the surface of your ribs
like they are tombstones

(and they are tombstones).

You lie in wait to be
haunted

(because that's the only way
you'll ever see her again.)


A girl named Jade--

ferociously loyal

but she also declares
her own worth,
recognizing those who will only
abbreviate it.

She is a melodic composition
of sunflower petals and stardust--

but that does not make her fragile;

for her bones
are cast with iron;

mind the crown of
Athenian wisdom;

heart a pounding sea

where water lilies float
and leaches drown;

And of her soul?

A girl named Jade
wears her soul
in an aurora borealis
of purple light

(just as she was always meant to).

⚠️Trigger Warning: The following poem contains subject matter pertaining to self-harm ⚠️
~

The inconquerable crusade
of the razor

plucking at my nerves
like they are violin strings.

My fingers go numb.

I promise myself
this is a song
I will never sing again

(but, oh, how I love the music).

⚠️Trigger Warning: The following poem contains subject matter pertaining to ****** harassment ⚠️

~
Wearing mirrored sunglasses
is not a fashion statement
but a statement of
*******.

Did you think
they would bury
your sinful leer?

That I would not
catch you staring at me
as I walked
through the parking lot?

That I would happen upon
my own fearfully contorted
reflection
instead of your
girl-hungry glare?

That I would be silent?

For silence is a language
I discarded long ago.

Later,
after blowing me
an array of kisses
through yellowing teeth,
you yell from
your car window
and accuse me of
staring first

when we both know
I just stared back,
my eyes arranged into dog fights.

Lick your lips
at me
like I am prey
and you will
unveil both the She-Beast
and her bite.

I will not be stalked--

Instead,
I stalk away,
spitting the word
"creep"
over my shoulder.

Behind me,
comes the snicker
of a hyena--

but I know
that hyenas
snicker even when they
have been wounded.

I ensnare you
in these words
like the animal
you are.

Remember--

my poetry cuts deeper
than the teeth
of any carnivore.

The poem is
Mightier than the

pervert.

How I'd love
to spray paint the words
"*******!"
upon your white picket fence.

I will destroy
your every
perception
of
p̶e̶r̶f̶e̶c̶t̶i̶o̶n̶.

Oh,
pardon me.

I retract my statement--

we don't rhyme
where I'm from.

Atlantis shall rise again.

She will spear through the currents,
until the helms of her cityscapes
cleave the tides
that have entombed her.

In the beginning,
it hurts
as she guillotines
the barnacles
and bottom feeders
congealed upon her brow.

In the beginning,
she bleeds--

she bleeds--

but

she heals.

Shrugs the brine
from her rooftops
and hails over
the men and women
who sunk her Queendom
all those millennia ago.

As the moonlight
crescendos through
the stained glass,
timeworn prophecies
written in the jagged contours
of greek lettering
reveal themselves upon the pillars:

Atlantis shall rise again.

Ophelia's throne reclaimed
only by the one
who has treaded
The Great Deluge
and survived it

only by the one
who is fluent in
the language of drowning
but has not bowed
to the hurricanes

by the one
with hair like raven feathers
and dark eyes spun to gold
when they look into the sunset

by the one
who is named
after a gemstone,
the most precious
of them all--

Atlantis shall rise again

and

I shall rise with Her.