lately i look so sad
but i write with such hope
and i am afraid to know
which part of me i can trust
my body or my mind

i stumble back to my confusion
of blankets and realize
i'm not even certain
if my heart lies
anywhere in the great jumble

Here I am, an Educator, new-formed
And on the verge of ideas and thoughts
That I’m told are too lofty, too grand, for their
Purposes of having students graduate at Funding’s Earliest
Convenience. Administrative charms
Have already told me not to display
Myself and my passions with honesty. I must teach
Like I am greater than them,
Like I approach our stories each
Day with a very very serious
Focus on structure and style and each
Incredibly important
Comma. But I know the Truth.
The Truth is that the richest
I’ve ever felt was when my educational harvest
Had received its lowest return. I first thought, “How shall
I punish? How shall I repay
Your bad behavior's damage with more damage? Your
Misbehavior doesn’t deserve my toil;
Your disrespect was just as bad as their
Records said it would be!” But then my reason
For anger crumbled, and I let love strengthen
My tired and trodden heart, as
I decided to speak to my students with the honesty their
Lives often lack from authority. Intentionality, Honesty, Truth. No amount of years
Will change what I’ve learned in Year Zero: to let love increase.

you give
a lot more
likes on my selfie

than you
give to my
attentive words.

i get
a bit more
sense of my self-fee--

thank you--
now i know
what you preferred

have you ever noticed that you never
see famous female poets who look
like marilyn or nicki or ari?

even the girls today whose words
are celebrated can't sell their rhymes
without selling their bodies.

i guess the new femme fatale
might be less feminist than i thought:
when your looks can ****, they ******
your ideas.

when your lips pucker like roses
and your body is angelic--
we let you take our libidos to heaven
but not our minds.

i don't wish to be invisible
but i wish they'd never seen me
or heard my voice.

i wish to be known and i guess
also to be loved
without anyone ascribing a sense
of beautiful or ugly to me.

please!
i wish you would expose me
for the brave comment
for the snide remark
for the gentle mention
for the valiant mistake
that i am.

but--stop! don't do it,
my pretty face is my shield
and if i weren't so scared
i would've already destroyed it.
i would've made my invisible visible
and you would all see what i am,
really.

don't do it

i wish i could do it for myself:
to be naked but not afraid

frightened about addictions--
mine feel far less dark
because they blaze from a white
screen

lower the brightness. i can't
bear to feel my eyes
dissolving like my dull white
scream