don’t get it twisted this life is impossible without great assistance ‘it takes a village’ may be an edict some merely speak to unclench cheeks but this is a philosophy not a hypothesis for me it takes a dentist, a baker, a prophet, and toy maker to mold this world of a near perfect peace…
Category: Poetry
because pink is no longer guiltless or cheerful
please click the picture to learn more about breast cancer i wish pizza boxes and pink ribboned socks actually cured cancer i wish walking this mile and sending this smile on instagram made chemo cheerier i wish promises of whatever i can do will be done actually changed diagnoses and extended prognoses i wish sending…
hollywood’s selling but i ain’t buying
tangled sheets intertwined sweaty limbs gasps coming so swiftly they are indistinguishable is that your breath or mine both Hollywood and Disney have you sold on a lie spending lifetime and savings in search of eternal first kiss fervor while hoping for the drama of stolen embrace in a gentle downpour leaving you heaving in…
mostly they save themselves (on children, crises, and fumbling adults)
prologue she is more woman in her four foot three inch frame than most will ever be steady hand runs through unwashed hair dark blue eyes set she grabs her sister firmly and walks unknowingly into tomorrow. i. he is drunk when they find him crying on curb head in hands wherearemybabies inaudible he mutters…
if they can live it, i can hear it (and sometimes, perhaps, help heal it)
4 million children like having your head in a vise it squeezes and squeezes then you feel like you can’t breath so you punch shit but that breaks your hands and then you end up in a hospital bed strapped to a pole and hocked up on drugs but still your head is being squoze…
i breath, i write (a manifesto in 4 parts)
i. little girls should not make their beds in domestic violence shelters. my day begins. hostage to teenage angst and true crises, bullets blast through communities, the aftershock a ripple effect reaching into everyone’s finances. you’d think it was all about thugs and suicidal watches but its those close calls, those near falls…
moon mantra in b minor (with blues funk guitar)
M was never any Older than required. Often mistaken for a much younger woman, she Needlessly wondered the night. Buoyant she strolls down avenues unknown Occasionally stopping to admire the silence. Ushering past darkened doorways with a glance, it’s Non-consequential what’s behind them. Decency requires she be Carefully attired on her walks, past…
my coming out poem (what happens when wanda is silent)
i have always known i was a poet in much the same fashion as another woman would recognize she is gay where others see quiet i hear words resonating from the base of my sole to the tip of the last lock i have always known i was a poet in the very same vein…
motherhood (a perfectly imperfect profession)
if he stopped every time i thought let’s savor this moment we would never make it to point b he is motion personified from eye opening hello to the lazy “drunk” slurs of his goodnights caught in the excitement sentinel off guard photos mostly blurred buzzes unable to keep up I stand awash in a…
autumn’s requiem
cinnamon’s scent lingers in air gone cold by summer’s goodbye replaced without protest the deliciousness of a deep stretch taken under covers made too warm by too long a nap in this dimension where day and night are balanced things seem to simply fall into place obligations and necessity meet each to do list with…
fearfree living 