Aya Baker

Aya Baker Mar 2014

you are not in love with me, i want to yell,
you are in love with a fictional caricature.
the one i present, the one i script perfectly so you see no flaws
i hide my bad habits in the quirk of my brow,
falsely innocent when i shrug and say uncle,
so that you'll laugh and back down.
you'll forget about this, partially distracted and looking away,
and in that time you gaze off into the distance i will hide:
the lies i tell my mother about our relationship
the gumdrops i used to take from the sweet shop down the road
the breath that is stolen from my lungs when i cry silently at night.
i rush to bury these things in the knapsack i carry (stuffed full as it always is),
a literal weight on my shoulders.
you look back at me too soon.
i raise my brow.

Aya Baker Mar 2014

do you like girls, check yes or no

i'd never seen anger like that. it was a living, breathing thing. it was tangible,
a separate entity from the tiny woman that towered before me.
it lashed out.
i fell.
its claws and screams left its mark on me;
my skin stings, my ears are ringing.
i would hunch into myself if i could, if it would mean everything would stop.
but my mother is determined to beat the gay out of me.
if i cry enough tears perhaps it will dilute my being into a single heterosexual figure,
another easily labeled and conforming thing,
a printed, approved statistic on sterile paper.

TW for homophobia.

Aya Baker Jan 2014

suicide

she was pale-limbed and spread so perfectly like a story waiting to happen:
reminiscent of a butterfly dead in its cocoon that may have had
hope breathed onto it like life, full and bursting
but then reality dragged it down, stuck its wings together
as it thrashed and thrashed
and never really experienced the world the way it was supposed to.

the police officer that had found her thought it was a tragedy,
but the doctor performing the autopsy simply looked upon her corpse
as another matchstick in his matchbox.
there was no difference, between this dead girl and the next, to him:
it was all a matter of perspective.

Aya Baker Jan 2014

>> to : you <<

And when our journey has ended,

And the dreams can begin,

Know this, my friend, my sweet;

That this is how it always is.

Endings are sometimes (though rarely) better than you think.

30DPC again, I apologize for the spam. This time it's a five-line poem to the last person I texted.

Aya Baker Jan 2014

Untitled

The curve of her shoulder blade were the same valleys in her eyes:

Long summer days drawn out by even longer sunsets.

I can still hear her laugh, feel the tickle of grass where she sat beside me:

His was a memory long gone.

She kisses me on the mouth, once, twice:

Her breath brushes my cheek. “Don’t worry,”

She chides, as she always does, though she knows this is of no help at all, nor am I to take her seriously:

I will heal in my own time.

My hands drift across her upper torso- what beauty, how pliant;

I try to admire every bit of her, as he did not do to me.

She bites her lip, knows it will not be long before I have to go:

Since that autumn two moons ago, I bid my farewells early.

Since that autumn two moons ago, I curl up in bed feeling lonely.

Since that autumn two moons ago, when his teeth clacked against mine and his hands were the apocalypse I could never dare to fight;

Since.

For 30DPC, I was to flip to page 8 of the nearest book, then use the first ten full words in the poem. The book that was nearest was John Steinbeck’s Grapes of Wrath. The words taken are, curves, beside, his, mouth, upper, lip, was, long, and, since, teeth. Trigger warnings for non-consensual ***/****.

Aya Baker Jan 2014

Untitled

Kiss her eyelids,

My son: Learn to cherish her

Like she much deserves.

Another 30DPC. This time I was told to write a haiku about anything.

Aya Baker Jan 2014

When life gives you lemons,

Burst and explode and simmer on my palate:

They tell you you’re undesirable, not like the others,

So spit in their faces, blind them so.

Trying out a 30 Day Poetry Challenge and I was instructed to write a three-line poem about lemons without ever using the words: lemon, yellow, round, fruit, citrus, ****, juicy, peel, and sour. So this is what I came up with.