I’m the dog
Sharp of tooth and tongue
That bits every hand
And snarls at all
That walk by it
I’m the dog
With deep and long lungs
That howls at night
For a pull in their chest
That they can’t name
I’m the dog
That doesn’t know
How to play nicely
And is always sitting
In the corner, alone
I’m the dog
The vicious dog
The loud dog
The lonely dog
The scared dog
The weeping dog
The dog
That dog
Sitting in your corner
Always staring at you
Always waiting
For you to give in
So it can eat you whole

Most of the time, I don’t think of you
Maybe it’s because of your age
Maybe it’s because we’re safer now
Or maybe it’s because I live in always-sunny California
But when that sky does darken
And the rain comes down
I’ll hear you
Like some primordial call, dug up from the Earth or my bones
Sometimes-I’ll even see you, but just for a moment
By now, I’ve forgotten what your face looks like
But I can’t ever unlearn that power
Its no wonder you used to be the king of gods

You let the jungle in, dear
The steps leading up to your room
Are covered in dirt and plants
leaves brush past your face
And vines hang from the ceiling
It gets darker the deeper you go
And the growling gets louder as well
If you’re lucky you might catch a glimpse of a spotted pelt
And if you see a pair of luminescent eyes
All you’ll see is yourself reflected back in them

Oh, you poor thing
Only a mess of tears and feathers now
Your innocent halo, cracked and broken
Your newly-found wings, singed to a coal black
How did it feel to be discarded?
Cast out of the only home you knew
Having to fall so far down, so far below
Into a place where no one knows your name
Only a shapeless form on the sidewalk now
And for what, because you changed?
Because they didn’t like this new you,
Even though, from birth, this has always been you?
They just never saw it, refused to see it
Covered their eyes and prayed some more for you
Did it hurt the way they shouted fire?
Holding onto old traditions and ideals
And trying to convince you this was wrong,
That you were wrong?
Did it hurt the way they scarred your body?
They way they refused to listen,
Condemning you without a trial?
Without a voice?
Well, many of us have felt the same
Your not alone in that
But sooner or later you’ll have to rise,
Up from the ashes, dusting them away
So pick up your discarded, broken halo
Stick the ends into your bleeding head
Wear it like a crown, with pride, with bravery
Shed your feathers, reveal what’s underneath
And when you walk into that darkness, you’ll see
Just how not alone you are

I’d cut open my ribs for you
Kidneys, bladder, stomach, bones, heart
Would all be my gifts to you, my prayers
Eat them, use them, break them, I don’t care
As long as you keep your hands in me
I’d be the worst sinner
Hell has ever seen
For you

How do we take control of our story once we’re dead?
How do we write the wrongs that men have written
Over and over and over again
Seared into our minds like a brand
You see, we don’t see you for what you were
We only see you as how you were told
Just another hedonistic woman in history whose own downfall was herself
Its all out of your control now
Your image is wrecked and ruined
You’ve been forgotten and ******
By both the gods and the people
And the worst part is
Is that no one can ever truly fix that
And it makes you think
How many times has this happened?
Again and again and again

I can’t help but be a child of Cain
My hands too ****** to be holy
Too stained to be washed clean

I was once told that we are our own thoughts and actions
So does that make me a ****** for being a bad person?
Is that all I’ll ever be?

The sin is strong in me
It’s the sin of not getting better
Of continuing the hurt
Past down, man upon man, wife upon husband, parent upon child, stranger upon stranger
Blood you keep coughing back up
That won’t leave your body

We touch so many people in our lives
But how many do we scar?
It’s human nature to both love and to maul
Especially on those close to us
Especially when we aren’t aware we’re even doing it

Now, I don’t believe in God
This poem isn’t religious in the slightest
But if I met him I would ask
Is Hell the last destination?
Can we ever get better?
Can our hands learn to be tender and to hold instead of trying to choke one another?
Is there still salvation for us, for people like me?

I don’t know what his answer would be
And I don’t think I’d want to find out

My life may have been taken from me
My names just a shadow of another
But these hands can still hold a knife
And take a man’s life
I can crown myself
And become my own god
Of blood, of sacrifice, of vengeance
And if I fall
Let it be by my own hands
Let them them slit my throat
And let no man even think
Of touching me

There’s no better time than now to celebrate
Even when it feels like the world is ending, rejoice
Rejoice for life, rejoice for living, never forget
That we will always be able to fill our cups
Our sorrows will always be replaced by happiness
We will always be here after the storm

Part I
Oh, Alexandria
Your historic halls line our imaginations
The Muses themselves blessed each and every one of your books
You were the mother of knowledge, who took in all and shared your wisdom
New ideas were formed under your roof, older ones translated and kept alive
Your downfall didn’t come in one catastrophic fire, no
It started before and after, a slow and painful death
It was the death of knowledge itself
Where military might and politics take over
Where hate for the different is sparked
And all that is considered sacred and important for humanity’s health
All that keeps us alive
Is pushed aside
And we fall
That is the death of Alexandria
That is the death of humanity

Part II
Death seems like an unmovable thing
Something which cannot leave or go to or change
This may be why we think of the scrolls of scholars and poets as only ash and smoke
As some greater that we will never reach again
But that’s not true
Because Alexandria’s death didn’t stop us
In her wake, we’ve continued to grow and create
To change and move and make in the face of death itself
We are resilient, we are stubborn, we are the fire that never goes out
That pulses in our veins and keeps us going
And we will continue to do so long after Alexandria is gone from our memory
This isn’t the end it’s just the beginning
That is her glory
That is our rebirth

Sweet youth, drinking wine
Amongst the gods
May you fly up to the stars
So your beauty can be forever immortalized
As one

She carried his head low to the ground
A much more quiet triumph than he would have performed
If given the chance
For she is not a hero stroking her pride
Slaying beasts left and right to feed some bloated ego
She is only a naked woman
Fighting against the hate of the world
But to their eyes she will only ever be a monster

Praise be to Sappho
Noblest of poets
Lover of words and women
Who gave us that language
So we could love women
As well

Ophelia was only remembered for being dead
Floating daintily in a river, surrounded by flowers
A spectacle for all eyes to see and drink up hungrily
But one day she’ll breathe again and rise up from her grave
White dress sodden, makeup askew, long hair soaked and tangled
And she will realize she she is and break free from that image
The one that held her dead for so long, drowned and lifeless
And for once in her life, her short-written life, she will breath with ease

When I first saw the moon-
A beacon in the night
Pulling Earth’s tides
Watching over us
So far away-
I understood why
Wolves howl their praise to her

March was the swelling, the cracking, grey clouds on the horizon ready to swallow
April was the storm that washed us under, held our heads down and told us to count to ten
May is the aftermath, the leftovers, the flood and rain have passed, but what now
What do we do with all the scraps and broken bits
Do we just make fires and wait
Like Noah in his boat
Watching the looming clouds
And counting to ten

I don’t know how to write a poem, not a good one at least
But I can feel one
Trapped in the darkness between my lungs and ribs
It echos like a storm, until my bones rattle and splinter
Until flesh is torn, again and again and again
My body wasn’t made to handle hurricanes
My hands can only hold on for so long until they tire
I can’t write a poem, but I can feel one
In my wrists and fingers
Vibrations from inside my chest cavity that fill up the absence
And ripple out like water
It’s the just the aftermath, wrecked homes that look like splints from up above
But that’s the closet you’ll ever get to the storm