She didn’t know much about building houses
She had dreamt about it
And done some observing
But she had no idea about the logistics
The nitty gritties
And so when she made the decision
To build a house
She looked at the blueprints
She had drawn up
And she felt elated
She began to pour the cement
Somewhat carelessly
With inexperience and excitement
She had never built a house before
So when she began to see the cracks forming
She didn’t know what to do
She had to ignore the smaller ones
Pretend they weren’t there
So she could fix the larger
More insidious cracks
Day and night she poured cement
Into the crevices
Pouring with it her love and care
For the house
Willing it to hold
Sometimes it looked smooth for a little while
And she gained hope
But inevitably, it always cracked again
The crevices getting wider and deeper
But still she poured
She had never built a house before
She thought that every foundation
Cracked and cracked
Before it became beautiful
She thought this was part of the process
So she tried to build a house
On top of the cracked foundation
But this just caused the cracks to deepen
And the smaller cracks
Became impossible to ignore
And so
When the fragile, broken house
Finally crumbled
Her devastation
Led to regret
That she ignored the small cracks
And poured so much of herself
Into the big ones
But she learned
That starting over
Is not the same
As giving up

his eyes
were black holes
I was
a scientist
spending
my days
figuring out
what mysteries
lay on
the other side

his body
was was a map
I was
a cartographer
tracing
my fingers
across his skin
I tried
to find
the direction
we should
go

his hands
were novels
I was
a bookworm
reading
between
the lines
willing myself
to remember
each
tantalizing
part

his mind
was a garden
I was
a peaceful visitor
careful
never to intrude
because
picked flowers
are only beautiful
until
they die

my heart
was a thin glass vase
you were
a bull
in a
China shop

she woke up that morning
and the layers has started to peel back again
she picked at them
exasperated and exhausted
she thought she was done transforming for now
she had just grown accustomed to this new self

she was tired from growing
looking around at the molted skin scattered around
the toxic, previously inescapable thoughts
freshly wrung from her mind
the remnants of self love rekindled
carefully tended into a warm, healthy fire again
the memories finally sorted
returned gently to their rightful place in her mind
placed gingerly in their box to accumulate dust
before she would return to them again someday
air them out with a disconnected nostalgia
that can only come with time

and that was when she felt it in her bones
a premonition
an understanding that this was reality
that change would be constant from now on

she had to ground herself in the knowledge
that it would be okay
to relieve the anxiety
of remaining in emotional purgatory
to quell the fear
that she would never feel normal again

so now
when the answers evaded her
and the newfound familiarity that she clung to
melted away with the peeling layers
she took a deep breath
and patiently kept searching

I am woman
I radiate
I am strength and depth
I am flawed
I grow
I exist
I am an enigma wrapped in secrets
I am undiscovered
I am discoverable
I want
I need
I am matter
I am protons and neutrons
I am love
I am dust
I am mortal
I hope
I breathe
I am

I tried to store it away
and it lost its luster
It cannot exist hidden away
It does not thrive in memory
It must be free and wild and pure
to be paradise

pull back the thin veneer
of pretense that obfuscates
this holiday season
profuse excuses of joy and peace
are hollow and brittle and leave
bitter proof of our lackluster compassion

expose the specter
of greed
dormant in capitalism
vestiges of a dying culture
the refuse of an apathetic
American people numb
to the trauma inflicted
by megalomaniacal leaders
consent given implicitly
in the complacency of obedient conformity

will we refuse to acknowledge
the stains on our hands this Christmas
red liquid misting our faces
bloodlust and endless war
there’s no
rhyme or reason
to these
sycophantic intonations
deafening these words of treason
in vain attempts to assuage guilt
with endless iterations
of false hopes and puny gods in
brainless trying to defy reality

we belie our true intentions
our self-serving obsessions
and inane consumption
hazes of the mundane  
in suburban graves

if the greatest gift is giving itself
we won’t find solace in the holy temples
of strip malls shopping centers
and corporate retail palaces
a Friday as black as our fractured hearts
witness the death of humanity
choking out all we were
grateful for the day before

come & find me
i've left my phone plugged
into the wall because i can't feel
you breathe through your fingertips
and i can't read your lips through emoji
your belly-button doesn't look right shrouded
in 8 mega-pixel dust and i want to touch you instead
of a keyboard on a screen and tell you about my day because
even though it's written doesn't mean it's real meet me offline because
i don't want a five second snapchat victory snapshot of your *****-line
i don't want my silly romantic poetry to be re-grammed on your insta
framed against a picturesque city skyline or a stoic mountain lion
with hashtags and sexting doesn't turn me on like the sound of
your voice i can write you letters until my fingers bleed but
they always arrive seven days late and you never cry
when you cut them open with a knife and i'm not
looking for a pen pal anyway or a friend
instead i seek a mirror with glowing
teeth or an outlet to plug
into and charge
me up