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  Oct 2017 girl diffused
Allison
We were drinking coffee when
depression showed up at the door of the home we built, pounding.
Eviction notice in hand,
your soul parceled out into donation bins.
Foreclosure sign,
caution tape around the chest that I slept on for a year.

I sit out in the sun
to bleach the tan line from my ring finger.
I hold cold cups and shake strangers’ hands
to erase the mould of your grasp from mine.
I want to sear off my palms.

I miss even those nights when you looked at my fire and laughed.
So I make you coffee (but I know I make it wrong);
your ghost in this house still criticizes.

I made you coffee every day because it was all I could do;
my only way of getting into you, a vector.
As the hot brew flowed past your heart, I watched,
like a child at Christmas, hoping you’d feel my love.
Hoping the glaze would clear up from your eyes.

I only wish this were a bond that stayed,
that stayed when your mind put plugs in your ears:
when I screamed and screamed that I loved you,
that I’d rock every little thing you regret to sleep.

I went to the doctor about this dizziness.
He checked my ears, he asked why my eyes were red.
This vertigo--a hurricane made by the page turning in my life.
I am a bag in your wind.

The day you left I wrote you a recipe for how you like your coffee,
because you don’t know, but I have it memorized.
My handwriting changes halfway down the page, as I change,
as you drive farther and farther away.

Our love is a child I’ve carried,
now I’m bent over, sick.
Loss took your place in our home,
but it’s unsteady on its feet;
I have to walk it from room to room.

My name has been yours, possessive.
And although these days I correct myself and say ‘I’ during speech,
My thoughts are still ‘we.’
I still think about your lungs when I cough.

So I still make us coffee every day (but I know I make it wrong).
girl diffused Oct 2017
He is raging tide
He collects earth, wood, and glass
Pushes and pulls and
then there is the sudden calm
girl diffused Oct 2017
i only learned value
after i picked
through my wreckage
he left me as a broken house
derelict splintered wood
peeling paint
broken shutters
i fed myself softer things
rebuilt myself on a river
and married the earth
It takes a while but eventually the pain recedes. It becomes acrid first, then bitter, then bittersweet, and finally it will taste like nothing at all.
girl diffused Oct 2017
my mother told me
you christen a home
in her island-country
you take a chicken
behead it with a sharpened knife
slit it cleanly across the neck

let blood splatter untainted
earth and burn incense
let the burning bush
stink and permeate the freshly
erected walls, seep into the wood
seep into the tiling

purify it
make it your own home
somehow
somehow
i think that's beautiful
In Jamaica, there is an uncommon spiritual practice known as "obeah." In other Afro-Caribbean islands and in Louisiana, in the states, it is referred to as "voodoo." The mysticism and pantheon of gods of old permeate the historical fabric of this ancient and frowned-upon tradition.

The methodical slaughter of a chicken and the splattering of blood on the earth is believed by some to help bless the land that the home would be built upon. The belief was that the blood would purify the soil...make it sanctified. Additionally, it was also believed that in order to purify the home one would need to burn incense. My mother, when she was recalling this tale to me of the people who still do it, mentioned that she had thought of burning incense in our as-of-yet unfinished home.  No incense was burnt. No chickens were slaughtered. It is honestly done with reverence and although the slaughtering is seen as cruel by some or would be seen that way, for an ancient custom that is still respected, one of the few still practiced by some on the islands, it is seen as...a good option. Just a little backstory on the poem's origins.

Also the purification could also denote purifying one's body. As I was writing this, I thought of how we practice certain rituals to do this. We "burn out" certain toxins and cleanse our blood of impurities. We drink detoxifying drinks, hydrate ourselves with water,  go one diets, and refrain from eating certain carbs and sugars. Some of us treat our body as a home to be cleansed. Some of us do not.

I think the juxtaposition of the image of blood, earth, the death of an animal...its sacrifice for the sake of blessing a land, a home, a family in relation to one's body is interesting. My hope is that I married the two concepts together in a way that is understandable to you and that you may find a piece of my culture to be interesting. If you don't, at least you learned something new. :D

xoxo
  Oct 2017 girl diffused
Carl Velasco
I open a
box of insecurities and
add one
more.
The sound of my voice.
The boys in their Vans
have them fully-formed by now,
chests heaving, with splotches of hair
and the usual marks of transition.
I don’t, I can’t have those
things. I meet the requirements:
I am a boy, I’ve tried it all.

But in my bed at night, sometimes,
the ocean hums its wavelength
of monsters screaming, howling
for a rise up, to see more light.
a cloud formation gargles and spits out thunders.
A shiver reaction. Muffled. Loud. The strike
cracks the lips of our skies,
and it confesses some secrets about
its own insecurities; that there is no more
wonder in silence, that there is constant
stimulation and reduced pondering,
that there is a need to get rid
of the bad feeling.

It says,
when the thunder strikes, listen
up and listen long and hard,
because there is plenty of
chaos from your own making, but I offer
you unannounced, unpredictable,
disjointed disruptions of comfort, and it is
I who make you scared of uncertainty. It is I
who make you jealous about my loud voice,
my formed voice, my raspy, powerful voice,
not the boys in their Vans.
girl diffused Oct 2017
My grandmother taught me
how to rinse period blood
out of my *******
taught me how to sweep
the veranda with my clothes
sticking to my skin

My grandmother taught me
how to hang up soap-water-soaked
house dresses, frocks, slips, and bras
on a clothes line and take them all down
before the sky turns too gray with almost-rain

My grandfather taught me how to recite
the times table as I read from a small school book
my writing is small and quiet and does not yet
demand to be read or known

My grandfather taught me that disobedience
means a stern brown eye, a grim mouth,
a sharp snapping crack of leather belt

My father taught me that not all men
are men, that some men are boys
and they will leave their daughters
waiting, legs folded underneath them,
toes curled as they watch for their father's
car that never drives down the quiet road

My father taught me that some men,
some boys will leave and they will close
your front door, leave your third text
unanswered on your phone, and you
will taste their lies on your tongue

My mother taught me to be loud
assertive, that every word holds heavy
resonant power and can be a piercing bullet

My mother taught me how to bathe in water,
burn papers scrawled with ex lovers' names
rinse my mouth with salt and water
flick my clean tongue over white teeth
how to write love into my palms
ritualistically pass it over my body
girl diffused Oct 2017
now swallow your words
for that matter your tongue too
spit out saltwater
1. They tell blatant lies.
2. They deny they ever said anything, even if you have proof.
3. They use what is near and dear to you as ammunition.
4. They wear you down over time.
5. Their actions do not match their words.
6. They throw in positive reinforcement to confuse you.
7. They know confusion weakens people.
8. They project.
9. They try to align people against you.
10. They tell you or others that you are crazy.
11. They tell you everyone else is a liar.

- taken from, "11 Signs of Gaslighting in a Relationship" from PsychologyToday (https://www.psychologytoday.com/blog/here-there-and-everywhere/201701/11-signs-gaslighting-in-relationship)
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