Sometimes, I wish I hadn’t just been the backseat of your car,
Intoxicated. My first drunk hook up. My first. Period.
I picture myself being champagne on Valentine’s Day.
I picture myself being you, nervous in the car, holding Starbucks
because you know I love coffee. Sometimes, I picture myself as her,
calling you a stalker and ignoring your calls,
but then I see myself. I call you beautiful,
turn you into poetry, laugh at your bad jokes,
I see myself as I become your drunk Wednesday night
when you’re sad. I see myself as I say no,
I become a “this is not a good idea”
and you a “we’ll deal with the consequences in the morning.”
We laugh because this hurts too much.
You take her out for dinner and I burrow money
for Plan B because you forgot you don’t like condoms
and clearly have no idea how children are made.
I have already named him. He has your curls and
my anxiety. He is smart. Except, I never wanted kids and
you would be a great father. Instead, you tell her
the beach reminds you of her and I cry in a McDonald’s
bathroom with my friend as relief floods through me that
the test comes negative. I stop talking to you,
move forward, meet someone new and before long
see myself becoming you. Because isn’t that the cycle?
Bad men turn good women into bad women who turn
good men into bad men. I’ll set him free so he can hurt
someone like me, and I drink red wine as I read her
poems about him and me.

To impeach or not to impeach: that is the question
To bar myself against his merciless beliefs
Or to deal with a worse evil by the name of Pence
His speeches of deportation and his turning of the laws
With his tiny hands and orange face is deplorable, despicable!
The destruction by the racist himself to LGBT+’s civil rights
Has wrought havoc for the transgendered, has instilled fear into us
To impeach or to keep
Pence, a sidekick, a partner in crime to the man in question, a worse evil
Hatred of us, boiling beneath his republican skin
Conversion therapy becoming an option, scarring and scaring the youths
Homophobia on the rise after the biggest triumph for us
Laws passed in June of 2015 no longer holding meaning
This man spreading his opinions to the new generations
To keep Mr. Trump would save us from a meaner man
But what would save us from the man who helped make America racist again?
There’s misogyny, bigotry, and racism filling the office
Violence, arrogance and white supremacy filling our country
Supported by Russia, the KKK, and racist republicans
Trump has taken this land into violence, fear, and hatred of one another
He has made public shaming against those with disabilities appropriate
And his voters have accepted this America as a great one
People are beginning to revert back to their prior nativism views
But to us Pence is a worse evil
Threats, pain, and fear still running deep within our communities
Shootings, violence, and property damage are just to name a few
Running rampant in our communities, egged on by this Vice President
Though Lord Voldemort may be terrible
Behind him is a line of Red Racist Bigots to replace him
Due to this, the Evil Man will have to be kept
And impeaching cannot take place

1 second, 2 seconds
3 seconds, 4
i can't breathe... I'm
clutching my chest trying to
stay off the floor
5 ticks, 6 ticks
7 ticks, 8
how could he...why couldn't
he just learn to appreciate..
what he had.
what he had.
me. me.
i can't breathe.
BUSY. stay busy.
count again. again.
1 click, 2 clicks
3 clicks, 4
my heart is beating
my chest is sore
count. count.
please keep counting.
stay busy.
5 Mississippi, 6 Mississippi
7 Mississippi, 8
my knees are weakened
and my vision's filled with hate
9 taps, 10 taps
11 taps and 12
12...12.... what comes after 12?
13. right. 13.
13....14....15...16...
do you think he'll even miss me?

You know the way your phone slips from your hand and your heart drops?
The feeling of your heart skipping a beat as it shatters against the floor?
When I lose control, I experience a similar feeling
I lose control of my surroundings, sending my head reeling.
I panic and lash out in fear of the unknown
It’s like sand slipping from your fingertips at the beach
I lose myself in a storm of emotions and as I reach
For the little bits of myself, I can see in the chaos
They remain walking backward, afraid of who I’m becoming
My heart is drumming against my ribcage, ready to burst
And I’m terrified of the pale face I can see in the mirror
My reflection speaks for itself, wild eyes that know no bounds
Ears ringing, full of all the sounds
Of each voice that torments me around the clock
I’m ready for it all to stop but instead
I see myself hurting my loved ones
Becoming this animal that I cannot tame
And I remain the only one who can feel how I feel
Because unlike shattering a phone…
I cannot replace myself and this is all I know

I'm supposed to be an artist.
I'm supposed to be a writer.
Everything that has happened to
me I have taken
and made it kiss my *******
***.
But this I can not make into
art.

I can not take this memory
and deface it with my hate
and pain.
I did this to myself.
This was a decision I made,
sat in the shower,
and cried for so many
hours thinking about.
This was not forced upon me.
But with her expected
delivery date arriving,
I want to make this some
beautiful piece I can
look back on.

Not cold hands and instruments
put inside my body
pushing and pulling.
I can not make this art.
Staring at the clock and
watching the seconds tick
by to distract myself from
the pain.

I can not count seconds
to forget her now.
I can not count hours
To forget the suction sound.
I just...
I can not.
Make this art.

The reality of my abortion
it too cold and hard
and real
to make this into metaphors,
into some abstract
piece about how life
was taken out of me.

I didn't cry that day.
I didn't cry that week.
But when out of habit I went
to rub my stomach
I flinched. Pluto was gone.

I could feel her sweetness
and strength. I could feel
that I was not ready for
such a strong love,
I was not ready to look
my child in the eyes
and know that I could not
take care of her.

I want to honor her memory
for the strength that she has
passed on to me.
I named her Pluto for she was
such a small planet to me.
A sweet companion to guide
me through the pain that I was
enduring.

I don't think I was supposed
to have her.
I like to think that her
purpose was to make me
stronger. To make me a better
person.

I haven't dropped out of high
school yet because I want a good
life for any child I decide
to care for. I haven't ended my
life yet because
then her's would be a waste.

She grew inside of me for 3 months.
Caused me some intense nausea
and cramps.
She was strong, and bowed down for
no one, stretching my body apart.

I cry for her often.
And I don't believe in much.
But I know in whatever after life
or reincarnation that I may have,
I will see her again.
I will hold her someday.

But for now, getting a tattoo
of my little planet
in the palm of my hand will
have to do.
She had a beautiful soul,
a beautiful burning will.

Maybe I can make this art.
Maybe I can make her smile
knowing that I will always love her.