Marsha Singh Jul 7
if you asked,
I'd slide your shirt
down your shoulders;
I'd hold you. I'd heal you.
Christie, I feel you. I know you –
your nature, the real you. I'd kneel
here. I'd shield you. Christie, I need you.
A word game I played with myself. Sometimes, I just want to make something pretty.
Marsha Singh Jul 1
the world aches to de-
light me, shakes her
wild hair and flirts; she
also lies and beguiles
and sometimes she hurts.
After sleeping on it, I feel like this is the poem I should have written, but I just can't bear to put the other one out of its misery.
Marsha Singh Jun 30
the world aches to de-
light me – it shakes its
wild hair and struts; it
also lies and philanders
and sometimes it cuts.
Marsha Singh Jun 16
They think my nerves are cold
steel; they call me unnn-real, like
I'm a big deal; they think I'm all
fight, that I've gained deeper in-
sight. Like I'm alright. Like I don't
cry. And all I did was not die.
I had cancer. Then I didn't.
Marsha Singh May 27
I like when you
invent fire, when
you discover the sun,
when you say hush woman
hush, believe this – we are one
Marsha Singh Mar 20
Next time I wake from sleep
for keeps – from deepest, darkest
slumber – I may come back a little
bird to visit in the summer; my
quetzal pomp, green feathered
grace, singing through my hunger –
when I am gone, I may come back
your pretty bird, a wonder.
Marsha Singh Nov 2017
Not my stop, but
still the thought of
leaving makes my
heart feel hot – to cross
beneath the buzzing light,
softly into this crisp night.
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