for how many years
did i try to speak through my eyes
for the words i wanted to scream
were forbidden and unwanted
how many times did i scream
behind steady eyes
that if you really knew
all that you claimed to know
you would hear what my eyes
are so clearly telling you
i could read your eyes
              and his eyes
              and their eyes
clear as day
yet none could read my own

I started a poetry reading podcast! Simple where I read my own poetry, have my friends read theirs sometimes, and maybe do some fun impromptu poetry!

https://anchor.fm/galemccoy

Ep.1 & Ep.2 is out! My podcast is available on: Anchor. Spotify. Google Podcasts. Breaker. Radiopublic. PocketCast. And soon more!

I had a dream
where I had a sodalite heart
a precious stone that looks as if
earth was flooded and shrunk
only a few greenish-brown islands could be seen
white clouds swirled over the rough waters
a storm in the making
in the dream
I lost my heart
leaving a hole in my chest
where flowers had been growing
fed with the waters of the sodalite heart
to keep them from wilting
I looked everywhere
under my bed
in my clothes hamper
I asked my cat
and I asked the mirror
no one else was around to help
meaning no one had been there to steal it
I must have left it somewhere
or dropped it along the way
in my dream
I found the heart
laying on the ground
before the foot of the door
when I woke up I remembered
the sodalite heart I had bought last summer
I lost it within that very week
I knew exactly where I laid it
but it was never there
or anywhere

Im a plant
too much sun and I wither
too much shade I wilt
keep me by the window where you work
where the morning sun is filtered through blinds
where you wont always be
but will be consistently enough
place me where you forget me
but remember just enough to smile and water me

I am a succulent
not a hardy cactus
but a rosette
too much attention
too little attention
a drop of water at the wrong time
and im dying
then gone

I never felt more alive -more free
then I did on that night summers drive
we drove for an hour on a mere whim
to a place I used to live
a place so full of
isolation
-of disgusted faces and sharp judging eyes
-of seasons changing from a single window
-of holding onto what little you could
-of learning how to live without

as I drove with windows down
your hand riding the wind outside
nothing looked the same
nothing had changed

I parked in a cornfield on the same road of my grandmas old farm
and we spun in circles in the middle of the road
listening to our brand of music from tinny phone speakers
I guess we must have driven a bit too far
to have seen the name of another state on the screen

my body is a prison
i want to go go go
but the thought of moving
is a dreaded and feared one
i feel heavy
and tied down
obligations are a chain
that i must pull
but fear to touch
i need to keep moving
to reach a destination far away
but right now i am too tired
i shouldnt force it
but i am afraid
that i will never get up again

i will sit on a mantle of my own making
sip on wine I made myself
wear a gown of my own inspiration
pluck the crown from the mud at my feet
walk with the knowledge of my deeds
I will no more abandon my thrown
as small and neglected as it is
it will grow with me and i with it

and I fell so hard
I broke all my dreams in half
lost my motivation in the fall
couldnt pull the string
to a parashoot I didn’t have
  
and I fell so long
I forgot the sky
chasing its reflection
into the depths
of an unmoving ocean
where I made my home
knowing water was not air
  
and still I watched the sky
warped and filtered through
waters not made for me
thinking I would never see it
as I did before I drowned
  
and I ran out of breath
I forgot I still had
                 and swam
                 and reached
and Im still reaching
even as I fall again

i learned from a young age
that no one wants to hear
what you have to convey
so you must say it with words
or failing that never say it at all
i learned from a young age
that i must listen to everything
everyone else conveys
but to expect the same returned
was just far too much
i learned from a young age
that i simply did not know
how to be taken seriously

Unpack the worst thing that has ever been said to you, what in their life made them treat you this way? - a prompt given from jillian rabideau's writing live stream

"she's never going to change. she'll never learn"
my mother's eyes on me
stone sea blue-gray and staring right through
i fled round the corner into my room

another round of the same words-the same eyes
the same ways-every goddess ****** day
and that scream
this woman, so hysterical
didn't recognize her child that night
she saw a mirror she couldn't smash

i. let the flower crumble in my hands
my hand moved of its own violation
no petals just fine powder
ill make a new lipstick to wear

ii. i take my coffee with chocolate now
my hard liquor with water
down my wine like a shot

iv. these festering bugs are my halo
muddy feet to mark the path to avoid
good nights rest in a cesspool

iii. jaw popping like a *****’s gone lose
if i cut my tongue off today
i know it'll grow back twice as long

v. red in my pocket and it's not even blood

people say they are
nothing more than traits and behaviors
taken from others
like it makes them unreal
is that not all we are
borrowed pieces from
everything/everyone we’ve ever known
putting together the puzzle pieces
with no guidance no box art
till the thing you created is

You

-many parts combined into an original whole
-inspired and influenced by everything

“i touch it | my hand comes away scalded | i hold it | crumble it between my fingers | wipe it off onto my jeans

when the page turns | it holds the same words as the one before”

is it trust or negligence
to move forward when lights blind
to believe
/there is road ahead
/you'll survive the fall
/impact will be swift

when I think of myself I’m never here
I think about who I am
and I think of
closed doors/white walls/music in my head
/patterns beaten into carpet

and I think of
sitting on the bus/living behind my eyes
/blank faces staring out of windows

and I think of
bright worlds/mundane things with people who don’t exist
/wielding a dagger of words/of misunderstandings
and tragedies/surviving and growing stronger
/of smiling in the face of peril

and I think of
betrayal/****** /being missed/growing wings
/becoming goddess/becoming wind/being loved
and feared in equal amounts/of people who don’t exist
still being there

and I blink

-it’s the same small white room
with a window that changes seasons by the hour



I think I don’t know who I am

where a storm brews
where the crows linger
where the people know them
but not by name
far away from where they had fallen
long ways away
from where they will rise once more

for now
they sit in the corner
of a place they love
building wings from feathers
left behind by the crows
who stare unbothered on the road

the first pair of wings were too small and ragged
a thing of pride but no structure
not meant for flight but holding them gave hope

the second pair took years
knowing the basic formula now
each feather painstakingly placed

the third pair was an experiment
a challenge to push the limits
to use instead of the pristine second

the fourth was a throwaway
born of desperation and frustration
with these they flew and fell
  
the fifth pair was a copy of the second
but fine-tuned and reinforced
and with them the crows left

you poisoned the tree
now eat its rotting fruit
the maggots in your stomach
must eat

reaching deep down in
grime between your nails, between your fingers
trying to reach all the way down but
your arm doesnt reach/ your arm doesnt reach/ your arm doesnt–
but you still reach
because there has to be something within your reach
instead, something reaches you
your arm is no longer there
a jagged toothed thing took it away
  
…
  
you reach in with your other arm

I met a woman who set flame
everywhere she stepped
and mourned the ashes that
remained

your name suits you
                                , I claim
no it doesn't
                               , phoenix replies
your name suits you
                               , she retorts
yes it does,
                               , I agree
blowing out her flames

you spit dead flowers at me
they spill from between your teeth
I put them between the pages of a book
one I’ve only read once

if you had a mouth full of fresh flowers
I wouldn’t have stopped to listen
isn’t it fascinating
to see the decay in the veins of a petal

one day you’ll spit your last petal
will you replace them
or let new ones grow from the dead
I guess I’ll find out
with a new book in hand