they leave
and act like it never happened
they come back
and act like they never left




ghosts

I'll speak in my mother tongue
And embrace
the slang of my Brooklyn roots

I won't try to change
My colloquial way of speech
I don't have anything to prove
With the words I choose to use

Because I'll speak my message plain as day,
I'll spit my rhymes
Like straightforward
Old school rappers
I don't need to sugarcoat my words
I don't need to overcomplicate things
With my messages

I'll take pride in my mother tongue
I won't pretend to be something I'm not
I'm just a girl from Brooklyn
Who has a lot to express.

i left your wine glass
on my bedside table

for seven days
it settled in the very place
that your hands had aimlessly
chosen

staining a ring around a mostly empty bodice.

mostly empty?
barely full?

you see, for me,
the wine glass was
my way of having you
stay as long as I wanted.

I saw your delicate
fingerprints stamped upon
the stem and body

just as they were on mine, under a tin roof
amidst a blanket of summer rain.

                                 ......

i washed the glass tonight

as you boarded the plane to the rest of your life.

i wonder if you'll think of me as you sip on your complimentary glass.

rouge ou blanc, mon amour?
rouge comme mon amour?
ou blanc comme mon remise?

-Anna Blake

i wrote a lot of great poetry when i was in love
i wrote even better poetry when i was in pain
i wrote the best poetry when i realized that the two emotions were actually the same.