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Dara Brown Jan 2017
The only walls I want are the ones separating the rooms in my house. You know, the ones that divide my rooms and let me know if I'm cooking here,  Netflix and chilling there or simply just sleeping undisturbed .

The only walls I'm interested in are the ones separating the rooms in my house. You know the ones that divide my rooms and let me know this is the space where my daughter plays, this is the space where my husband prays five times a day, this is the space where I wash the grit of the day from my ***** clothes.

The only walls I'm interested in are the ones separating the rooms in my house.  You know the ones that divide my rooms and let me know this is the space where I entertain my friends, the space where I try to Zumba and loose the college 10 that turned into the adult  30, the space where all the corners join and then disappear behind my Christmas tree, where those four corners blend to support the tired leanings of my immigrant family after stuffing their bellies full of my freshly made tamales and leftover pernil

So unless you're taking the tired, the poor, the hungry and building them a respite inside of walls that separate homes, inside of walls that gives shelter, that tell we belong and are safely home
then I have no interest in anymore walls
the wall you build divides you from us the way bathroom walls should keep **** contained to keep your stench from poisoning U.S. and the rest of the house.

Now that is the only wall I can agree on.
Dara Brown Dec 2016
somehow i kept all of your stuff
even though it was spread
en todos lugares
much like my feelings have been
some here
others a little bit over there
yet still ending
like these dishes
& broken
in one convenient place

somehow i kept all of your stuff
i even pieced it bit by bit
de todos lugares
carried it everywhere
intending to unpack
what now resembles
a tight jenga puzzle
shoved into my garage
from things never opened
from every move
my emotions just weren’t ready
to be the wrong box pulled
spilling everything onto the floor

somehow i kept all of your stuff
together yet
en todos lugares
i am the one lost in this rubble

you were such an disorganized pack rat
so worried about hanging on to
every little detail of your life
that when you died
you forgot to leave what little room was left
for me
to grieve
Dara Brown Dec 2016
this razor

it flirts with my wrist
like an experienced man
that's too old for me
yet temps all my tendencies
for the taking anyway
making me wonder
if for the first time
will i feel it?

will it penetrate
and tear me apart
spread me open wide
only to let my crimson droplets
bob ross like
& paint the white
linoleum floor?
Dara Brown Dec 2016
Sometimes yellow is light and soft
like a down pillow or a fluffy kitten.
Sometimes yellow is bright and sharp
like the sour taste of orange juice
or  cool like the crispness felt in the first fall breeze
Sometimes yellow can be inviting
like the perfect temperature of a warm shower
or it can be dark muddy and bland
like the taste of blended mashed cold peas
but most of the time
yellow is silent
it is a morning without sound
that breaks
only with the slow introduction of birds
Dara Brown Dec 2016
Nights in Aleppo
come without warning
never letting you sleep
the fear of the unknown
is too strong
so your dreams are as restless
as the florescent orange lights
illuminating the dark sky

Nights in Aleppo
come without warning
covering you
with a clouded shroud of dust
which suddenly ebbs hope away
like the hazy fading light of the moon

Nights in Aleppo
come without warning
creating a dark silence
that chokes you
thicker than smoke
from a Buchenwald chimney
until the screams and cries
are heard no more
Dara Brown Dec 2016
Every Sunday
we watch football together
& while we yell at the plays
I wonder,
when are you gonna let me
gain some yardage on you?

Every Sunday
You yell,
That fool could have scored!
& while I look at you
I say to myself
Yes, you sure could have by now,
but like that quarterback
you move too slow
I wonder,
why are we still playing
on separate teams
when we like the same game?

You’re such a fool

If only you knew
how badly
I'd like to tackle you
& convert these last 2 points
by letting you hang
Between my goal posts
rush my endzone
and make the best
touchdown of your life

Tell me,
Can we huddle?
Can we discuss
this repetitive play
we keep pretending
we aren't playing?

Meet me at the
50 yard line
Of your bed

Let's scrimmage
Dara Brown Dec 2016
I keep thinking one day
I will be able to muster up the words
I love you
and say them
directly, to your real face

but until then
this photograph
will have to do
in your presence
I stammer and stumble
over the simplest of phrases
leaving my feelings looking like
a drunken cad
walking down the street
with my words
staggering at my feet
unable to be put
one in front of the other
& finally me
ending with my heart
passed out at your doorstep
cause my sense of sobriety
always fails me
around you.
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