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Lowercase Dec 2015
I googled my username
and the word "poetry" together
to see if you could find my poems
to reread when you miss me.
I paused a second too long
over the bottle of painkillers today;
I'm frightened.
Lowercase Dec 2015
Standing at the kitchen table
Breaking broccoli into fegs
There’s a child clinging to me
And I think
This could be my life.
There’s the background sound of a child saying mommy
And she’s not calling to me
but she could be.
I snap a broccoli stalk
And think of letting a little girl’s dreams flutter away
Of being what was expected of me
A pretty wife
with a husband she grew to love
Trading recipes and not research
Good women
don’t have careers.
I could be happy, maybe.
Snap
another piece of broccoli in the ***
and four children
maybe five
My mother smiling at me
saying I knew you’d be okay in the end.
I don’t know.
It might not be what I want
But it’s something I know I’ll miss never having.
Snap
Last piece in the ***
And I leave it on the stove to simmer.
Lowercase Dec 2015
As a seven or so year old
I hated windy nights
for how they whipped
the poor trees about,
their branches flailing,
because it reminded me
of being dragged by my hair.
And that's how
a bleeding heart is born.
Lowercase Dec 2015
I remember wondering
why anyone would smoke
knowing it would **** them.
I suppose I assumed that
it was for an Instagram picture
of a morning drag and coffee;
for friends and ten minute breaks
But I think it might be learned apathy
because who the **** cares about lungs
when they won't be the first part of you
to crumble into useless, unbeautiful ruin.
Nowadays I feel a lot like a smoker
for someone who's never touched a cigarette.
I'd end the poem here
but I wish, I wish, you wouldn't smoke
and I hope I don't die.
Lowercase Dec 2015
I fancy there's music in my veins
for I must bleed in melodies and sonatas!
to give you such pleasure in hurting me.
Lowercase Dec 2015
I love you
because I know
you want
to take this from me
and say
“Let me do this for you.”
even though
I know and you know
you can’t.
It’s a nice sentiment, though
made nicer by the fact
we both know
“It’s okay. I can.”
Just hold my hand.
Lowercase Dec 2015
All those irregular verbs
and the difference between au and de la;
Vocabulary forever just out of reach
and trying to wrap my tongue around foreign vowels.
Baby, that’s what loving you feels like
because I’m not fluent in whatever language this is
so all I know how to say is I love you;
How you make me feel is a universe beyond the observable
and I’m trying to cram stardust into three old words.
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