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 Sep 2015 Megan Grace
brooke
8:23 pm
 Sep 2015 Megan Grace
brooke
you stopped talking to me
because you landed yourself
a girlfriend, but didn't tell me
so I went three months wondering
why you never responded to that
one text, after weeks of hearing
you talk about how you were
going to move to Colorado
and, I dunno, I'm kind of
mad about it because
her name is Joy
and my name
is Brooke and
she falls in blonde
tendrils and, well,


I don't.
(c) Brooke Otto 2015

can't escape instagram.
 Sep 2015 Megan Grace
brooke
today i read aloud to
alyssa while she cleaned
the machine, between the
purge of the steam wand
and the loud grate of the
burr grinder, I welcomed
a strange catharsis expended
into the shop where my words
filled up the sinks and found
sanction in release, most of all
when I read about Chris--who
has long since left my heart--
but that was only a lie, he
is still there, these poems
are still here, still in the
thick of my spirit,
waiting in cracks
waiting to heal.
(c) Brooke Otto 2015
 Sep 2015 Megan Grace
brooke
she doesn't deign to think
the sunflowers are beneath
her, because she's part of
the earth too--her mama
says. With corn rows in
her hair and fingers too
adept for snap peas, she
might be queen of her
backyard and the land
below the bridge, far as
the river can be seen from
4' 3", but her long legs tell
her that they'll grow, that
no cupboard will be too
high, no horizon that
ends, just open lids and
cucumber perfumes
butterscotch lozenges
in every coffee table
bowl and Somebody
along the way whispers
that she'll have it all.
(c) Brooke Otto 2015
 Sep 2015 Megan Grace
hkr
spittake
 Sep 2015 Megan Grace
hkr
i spit my love like seeds from a watermelon. my mother tried to teach me differently once, teach me that love was giving away the fleshy bits of yourself; my father tried to lead by example, baring the hairline cracks in his pride whenever she threatened to leave. i don’t take after either one of them (i never did.) i could never give myself away completely, like my mother. but i could never keep completely to myself, like my father. i tried — oh god, how i tried. but the dam of my ribs couldn’t hold back all that love forever, nor would it dare burst. my feelings leak out in spurts. so small, so fast, you could miss them if you blinked (and you wouldn’t be the first.) i used to collect them in a jar. now i just roll them in wads of paper & shoot them at your head.

you think i hate you.
for noah
 Sep 2015 Megan Grace
hkr
stripes
 Sep 2015 Megan Grace
hkr
don't look her in the stripes
she says...
*read
between
the
lines
 Aug 2015 Megan Grace
brooke
men touch me
like auctioneers--
with moist, fleshy hands
sweating for a bite, grazing
my scars with excuses, *******
the succulents on the coffee table
all under the rug with their
dusty presumptions,
hawking beneath
the skylight
with a hunger
for the bedroom
seventyfiveeightyeightyfive
(c) Brooke Otto 2015

i hope this poem sounds as gross as I feel about this
 Aug 2015 Megan Grace
brooke
am i so wrong for wanting to feel right?


am I so wrong for wanting to feel right--
to go without an ounce of distress, to feel
like the corner of a couch was a cove and
not a prison, or that the ***** of his nose
were the side of Humboldt and not a cliff
edge I want to throw myself off of

because i feel trapped.


because I feel trapped--
i alluded to a rabbit in a cross-hair
when my mom asked. The rabbit knows.
The rabbit knows it's been caught, it doesn't
feel right.  She freezes. She tenses. She's unsure.
She's grounded amongst the long weeds and bulrush,
is he waiting? is he watching? When he touches her
shoulder, what is he saying? When he stands between
her and the door, is he a threat?  Is it presumptuous to
think he can enter without invitation? how many
doors in a house require a request to entry?
just the front? the bedroom? the heart?

I feel small.

I feel small, like my body has shrunk and consists of
significantly less matter, less much, less stuff
which is scientifically impossible, matter can neither
be created or destroyed--but I can certainly be rearranged
in space, so I melt into the backboard, become one with
the paisley pillows, find solace in holding my own hand
solace in my unassuming nature, in my rapid bunny
heart--
and
therein
lies
the
problem.
(c) Brooke Otto 2015

boldness. I'm looking for boldness.
 Aug 2015 Megan Grace
hkr
& i can feel my heart
hardening
in my chest
.
maybe one day, i'll
spit it up
in bitter relief
Dear thickness,
Dear bold flesh I call shelter of leg,
protection for this body I call home
Dear thighs.
You are more important than you think
more crucial than you've been told
more space than I know what to do with and
more vocal than most other girls' quiet but
your prominence is nothing to hide
your existence is not an apology ready to be given,
your presence does not want to be covered
the way you suffocate yourself into a pair of jeans is
a talent unlike any other
or on hot summer days when skin comes out to
kiss itself between your graces
leaving marks as evidence
what some would call chub rub,
I call magic,
an inability to resist touching,
Thighs.
You never let clothing,
or temperature,
or weather come between you
you are passionate lover,
the proud I always strive to be
the unapologetic beauty I wish was all of me
you maintain the confidence I have to dig for to find within myself
you have so much potential built into the many layers of thick
I cannot tell you enough how important it is
Some say you save lives and
I would have to agree
but still
I know that there have been times when I have neglected you
moments where I have been blind in acknowledging your worth
It is not an easy feat to love the parts of yourself we are taught from
such an early age to hate
magazines have always said be small while
you have always aimed for big
trends tell you to grow in when
all you've ever wanted is to grow out and
expand into a galaxy built of freckles and skin,
you are human as human as gets
I have made you into a warzone on more than
one occassion and for that I am sorry
I am sorry
for more than one reason
I am sorry that this world has twisted your greatness into embarrassment
I am sorry that people have tried to make an apology out of your density
I am sorry that we live in a society that keeps telling you to shrink
I am sorry for all of the times I have wanted you to.
It has taken me years to be thankful for your holy,
you are the answer to my every prayer for health
you are living proof of survival,
Thighs.

This is my proclamation of appreciation
This is my asking forgiveness
I never meant to make you feel anything but needed
Thighs.
you were not made to be thin
you were not meant to be shy
you were built to be the loudest voice in every room
head turning, eye catching, without remorse
you are never silent
even when I am
and for that,
I love you.
inspired by button poetry prompt #1: write a love letter to the body part you hate most
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