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em Nov 2019
my mama sets her lips on my cheek
but not long enough for me to feel
loved
quick, she says
we must go
this place isn't right for us.
my mama stares  at me in the
doorway
calm, she says,
that boy wasn't right for you.
my mama drives down 1-95
speeding past and cursing out
quiet, she says
that man wasn't good for us.
em Oct 2019
today i sit in the sun, letting myself be warmed by its reaching arms.
i imagine they are the arms of a mother, wanting to hold me, love me, watch me cry and wanting me anyway.

but this is not my sun.
this is my mother.

she strikes me, and i feel the most hurt i have ever known. before this, there was no pain. before this, there was no grief. no unimaginable sorrow.

she puts me in a cage,
watching my shoulders shake
my lips move

please love me
please love me
please love me

she shuts the door
and i come to an end
over and over again
dying on repeat
all because i know
in my heart
there is no love
there is tolerance
and lack thereof
which hurts the most.

i reach through the bars
grasping for my sun
as it grows too dark to see
i scream and shout
mother, please love me

stop confronting me with impossible pain.
em Oct 2019
last night i woke up on the floor. or at least
i think i did, and even that was maybe a year ago because
time isn't real, and anyone who thinks so or lives by the minutes will die before any sane person tells them to ignore the ticks. they don't even realize time doesn't make noise. the slow inevitable marching? that's silence.

i remember when i was about eight or nine, a very young girl in a very blue school, my hands practically glued to the wood in front of my face every day for morning prayer. and hell, i swear, religion is delusion and time isn't real. anyone who prays to anything other than what they can see is only making excuses.

i remember being this young girl and fearing and forgetting and remembering all over the pain i was in. later i learned that this pain was called **** and this **** would be the next seven years of my life before i recognized it in the dictionary.

i did not stray from this pain, i did not stray from the abnormality of Christianity as a way of ****,  i did not stray from the fact that a woman wanted my body as much as i wanted a friend, or a new pair of shoes.
i did not stray from the fact that a woman could ****.

even though i knew Adam and Eve loved each other, i hadn't ever heard of Eve and Eve and Eve and a little girl like me, and so on.
i knew what *** was before this, but of course considered it holy and equally unholy, something my small and shaking hands didn't get to feel.

was i wrong to assume that? maybe.  i think i remember loving it, or maybe only because love goes with *** and *** is beautiful and it happened to make me. was i a victim? of ****? of love? i cannot think much more of this at a time, it makes me feel as though i am crazy.

i have definitely lost control. i have made dents in the walls, smashed and shattered objects around the house, not even my house. i have screamed, yes, and cried till i can't hear myself cry and i have shook and shook until i'm surprised i don't fall apart or bite my tongue off. but how much control did i ever have to lose?

i do not write as much as i used to, perhaps i am too concerned over aesthetic. i am tortured, but what language is that words are words,  however abstract or ugly. i do relish the occasional purgatory.
releasing sin is necessary, even those you never committed.
we all need a little guilt in our lives.
em Oct 2019
it doesn't matter whether you were just born
drowning in a millennials work
or being fed through a tube.
you're already on your way out,
and there is no denying that.
em Oct 2019
the death of a tree
is the saddest thing
to find the long light
in the dark of dawn
is hard work for the leaves
they do not know their fate
and continue their rustling temperament
nestled in sore branches
em Sep 2019
he twirls his beak through my hair
and threatens to ****
he hovers over me and the others
his thoughts he does instill

when my own mind is polluted
with feather, bone, and blood,

i know he has infected me.

this is my crow,
and he awaits.
em Sep 2019
white wolves
dancing in the rain,
massive tongues
dart between massive paws,
hollow songs beneath a heavy moon

all gestures of freedom.
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