"ouselves" poems
were we looking
for the feminine
of our soft hands
no questioning
the nature of daylight
is wonder, we feel it
in our touch
we know the ancient art of
cartography: love memory
death quivers deltas of tears
we taste the starvation of breath
the magnitude of gratitude
we kept the drum of hearts
alight to catch the waves of time
Anna's drum summoned Shiva,
the master of shiver
the god of blood
carrying sage scent in our hair
forgotten paths in our shapes
pink lotus flowers in our wombs
bold desires in our feet
tales of flames in each scar
we recognise each other
greet with a soul reverence
across time across space
we forgive ouselves
our betrayals violations
of a feminine truth
we wait for the men we love
we set ourselves free
from the spinning wheel of pain
we receive
we keep
what is alive
what is dead
still not born
in refused bodies:
the possibility of
kindness
we are women
we are dancers
we sing fiercely,
gently from the
chest of the moon
Feb 6, 2023
Feb 6, 2023 at 2:42 PM UTC
Too bad
We can't
Rid ouselves
Of the excrement
Called
ISIS,
As easily
As the astronauts
Expel it
On the
ISS.
Aug 16, 2015
Aug 16, 2015 at 4:17 PM UTC
Underneath the burning building in my gut
So much is preserved safely
In the memory where you are smiling
I find peace
I want to be lonely in private
But there is no space for that
Under the rubble
Compound fracture of bitter jawline
That same smile a photo
Warping in fire
I want to preserve you
Like a wasp in amber
But we are not as slow as that
Not as gentle
The theory is
Two objects fall at the same speed
Regardless of mass
Except for people
We do not fall for each other at the same pace
I felt like the man with the rescue dog
That heard your heartbeat
After the cement settled
And the wood grew cold
White ash
Black cinderblock paperweights
Your body preserved under
Layers of broken building
But you felt safe
Because you set the fire
And I was the man that found you
Some secrets can’t stay buried
We were cave people
Found and revived
I’m not new to this
Just rusty
Just dusty
There are burn marks on our bodies
And I have almost forgotten how mine got there
There were things you thought you should go back for
Things you wanted to leave behind
But in the saving you took what you could carry
There was baggage in your desperation
To save what you thought was important
When you burnt yourself to the ground
You forgot that fire is a funny thing
It lives too
And you can’t control it
There were some houses
Left standing
Whole acres unlit for no reason
Not everything gets burned
And there is a photo of you
Cigarette hole dimples
A smile that brings me peace
And you brought with you
Bits of burning ribcage
And smoke filled lung
To hide your heart minimally
I brought nothing
Mine is slightly weather calloused now
But it works just fine
It’s just rusty
Just dusty
So take this
What is left of my burning breast plate
Carved message on the inside
like an oversized locket
Underneath the black and white negative of your film strip
“Thank you for trying”
Dec 27, 2012
Dec 27, 2012 at 6:01 PM UTC
The rain fell like
a widow's veil that day
with storming and darkness
but delicately enough
for the exquisite beauty
of grief to be realized
by those pulled off
to the side of the interstate
photographing Mother Nature's
personal heartbreak
I was one of those
who watched as the sky
poured out it's bleeding black
heart onto the world.
No sun. No joy.
Only misty eyed misery
Concealed by the notion
That we pray for this
For the pain of another
To revitalize ouselves
Pain is life when life is sane
and a rainstorm is no different
The blackest of clouds
brings the most vibrant yellow flower
And the steely gray blanket
that surrounds the earth
is shrugged off by some
as nothing but bad weather
I smile and seem to think I know better
as I continue to pray for this
Nov 30, 2017
Nov 30, 2017 at 7:57 PM UTC
How can something that brings so much joy
turn around and cause such pain
It takes you out to bask in sunshine
yet leaves you naked in the rain
It fills your stomach with dainty butterflies
and ***** you in with its **** pout
then the moment you let your guard down
it pulls your guts right out
It leaves a gaping cavity
and an ache inside your chest
makes you feel your very worst
after feeling your very best
Where once you were king of the world
now you only want to hide
building walls that would make Hadrian proud
you lock yourself inside
But alas we are too stupid
our optimism too sublime
because we tell ouselves in a year or two
"it'll work out different this time"
Only it doesn't.
Jul 5, 2010
Jul 5, 2010 at 2:53 PM UTC
hey god, its me again
i'm lying here, on my deathbed.
so listen close, to what i have to say,
cause' i need some direction, or atleast hope for a better day.
see, i was admiring your creation,
but you planted evil, with the best intentions,
you had a flaw in your system,
the way you created us, is almost ******* sickening,
you say the devil gave us hate,
but you took it away,
but you left us to fend for ouselves, in a world still full of hate.
were killing our own kind,
yet we justify the crime,
because they've done us wrong,
and you've known this all along,
but you haven't tried to stop it,
instead you sit cowardly on your high horse,
watching from the sky, taking your sweet *** time,
why won't you come save me?
i never did anything to deserve this,
i was born into it,
so tell me god, was it worth it?
to watch all of your children suffer,
and all your words have done is stir the thunder,
creating even more confusion, where does it end?
why should we bow to someone to scared to show his face,
getting to you is like a never ending race.
but i'm tired and beaten, debating giving up on believing,
lord, are you gonna save me the day i stop breathing?
Aug 20, 2011
Aug 20, 2011 at 2:44 AM UTC
I know, i cant write that well,
But iwrite what comes from my heart, my hell, MY heaven.
I dont care how it sounds,
As long as it comes from my heart.
It doesnt really hae to be from my heart, but from my soul.
The home is where the heart is?
No its not. The home is where ur comfortable and confident in what you do.
So why am i here? Im uncomfortable in my own head,
And im not very confident yet i get up here again and again.
How does this pass from one challenge to the next?
It doesnt really matter i suppose,
As ling as i know where its from for me personally.
It doesnt really seem as though u see what i am doing to u.
Im hypnotizing u with every word, and every sylable.
And i still cant seem to tell whether its workin or not.
But i guess that just happens sometimes.
U have a dream and it gets lost in the swirling torment we put ouselves in.
Yet still we try to escape ourselves.
But we should all know that we have limited time to grab this offer.
To finally push it all away.
Invincible for at least a moment,
And ten it slips away as we crawl to our corner of the board.
And still we dont notice,
We are pawns, we cant push past our own rules to fight the queens and kings.
But we try. So at least we know now that we are strong enough to hold our own against the winds of change.
So now we have the knowledge, or power, to finally grasp our hearts, and tear them out,
We can hold it for all to see as we tell them,
'Guess what? I AM heartless NOW!'
Jul 14, 2013
Jul 14, 2013 at 7:17 PM UTC
our lives are balanced on if
our recorded time is only
a tool, a feathery pen we
must grow, mayhaps, then we can, we could
scrawl and scratch and scribe and write
to give our hearts freedom to just
fly and soar, for a moment in grace by
the simple act of laying
aside our
fearful and muddied fingerprints
we move forth, we move on
gifting to our otherselves the
liberty, of a pristine, white, page
to do with, what we will, this
is what the insecure self, the afeared, would
most like to avoid
the nothingness that comes after hurt
the numb, null, nothingness we
do not desire, but, none the less, incur
as we delve in
to the heart, of ouselves questing
wanting, needing, hoping for
a tiny, ephemeral spark of originality
some thing, to state, emphatically regardless
of creed, of colour, of birth we are of
one breed, one clique, one clan, one tribe the
voice of truth, so unaware, of inherent costs
Apr 25, 2014
Apr 25, 2014 at 6:46 AM UTC
seems we have not been to all the mills,
never will. some are gone, yet we have seen them.
seen things that are never there. lost our way,
if there ever was one?
there is a book, we did not buy it, perhaps
a need to find out for ouselves.
it has become a metaphor, a place to be lost in.
he said they bolted the looms down, we disagree.
sbm.
Oct 8, 2015
Oct 8, 2015 at 1:56 AM UTC
Wander where the coldness resides went I.
An alabi to excuse short comings: remaining pride.
Bittersweet freedom when it dies, to forsake the lies covering shame.
We give it a name: must explain.
To make it easier on ouselves like memories dwelling like dust upon shelves like fading footsteps on the shore like internet like stained knees from the fall or ignorance.
When it doesn't make sense and you have nobody to ask but yourself...is this what you get?
Dec 18, 2016
Dec 18, 2016 at 9:50 PM UTC