Monday, April 9, 2018

Sweet sleep

We lie
facing apart
toes touching

the warmth
of your
big spoon

clinging to
my skin
like our

tangled bedsheets


--

April PAD - Poetic Asides Day 7: senses

Go to your room

I used to wish my
father would die
now I realize that living
is punishment enough

--

April PAD - Poetic Asides Day 8: family

Thursday, April 5, 2018

He persisted

It was another good date
We went back to his place
I pulled him close

we kissed
we groped
we fumbled

It was a good time
Until things went too far
I pushed him away

he groped
he fumbled
he persisted

It was no longer a good date
Back at his place
He pulled my legs apart

I fumbled
I flailed
I cried

he persisted

--

April PAD Poetic Asides Day 3 - stop / don't stop

IQ test

"Oh, you're a smart girl,"
he said, as
if I was somehow less

attractive because of my intelligence.
"I guess so,"
I said and walked away.

--

April PAD Day 5 - Poetic Asides prompt: intelligence

Blooming

we bloom in secret, stretching
our faces closer
to the sun each day

--

April PAD Poetic Asides Day 1 - secret

Wednesday, April 4, 2018

Casing the joint

I sneak
I watch
from the outside
from afar

I look through pictures
I look through junk
to catch a glimpse
to understand

the woman in the mirror

--

April PAD Poetic Asides Day 4 - case (blank)

Tuesday, April 3, 2018

Aphrodite

Her soft belly
and sagging breasts
adorn museum walls

we scurry
past embarrassed by
her audacity to

be fat arnd
adored, a diety
whose gifts we

scorn because we
have forgotten how
to love our

own bodies, preferring 
to chisel away 
our curves for 

the hard angles 
that look better
on Instagram


April PAD Poetic Asides Day 2 - portrait

Monday, January 22, 2018

Grounded

the crows outside my window
know I feed
my dog at 8 a.m.

every morning they show up
to nibble the
leftover kibble and laugh at

the grounded little lives we
choose inside the
worry, the routine, the glass

prisons we call home, cars,
restaurants, and offices,
never learning to fly free

Monday, January 15, 2018

Savage

Crazy means
believing your
sorry ass
belongs in
this country
because your
light-skinned
forefathers illegally
immigrated to
a land
in which
civilized nations
could be
slaughtered by
smallpox and
pistols and
broken promises
simply for
being here
first


Peeking through

"Only in the darkness can you see the stars." - MLK



In the beginning, we close 
our eyes. the 
pain is too much and

we can't bear to see

we stumble into each other
stroking one another's
faces, to assure ourselves that

others can't bear to see

any of this either, that 
when we open 
our eyes it will be bleaker 

than we can bear to see

So we peek one eye 
open, dizzied but 
knowing we cannot fight what 

we can't bear to see 

Thursday, January 11, 2018

Locks

There is no gold in
these locks just
the weight of your ideals


The buzz

There is no 
rush, no bliss,
no overwhelming wave
of love or
clarity, just a 
phantom buzz in 
my pocket pulling
me to look
more frequently into
this black mirror
than a real one

Wednesday, January 10, 2018

Bitter

Why does that which is
supposed to make
me strong taste so bitter?

Sunday, January 7, 2018

Cold front

They say no two snowflakes 
are exactly alike 
Her cold fronts were the 
same way: the 
biting fury rolled in like 
the kind of 
winter storm that would leave 
you homebound for 
days lost in the blinding 
whiteness of her righteous anger

The blizzard of words was 
always new, a 
nuance or phrase would form 
like a fresh 
barb on an ice crystal 
that would land 
crisp on your skin, stick 
and burn. So 
perfect. So precise. So cold 
it would chill your bones

Friday, January 5, 2018

Thunderstruck

He struck like lightening, 
brilliant and 
faster than the blink 

of an eye blackening 
silently 
before the thunderclap 

Thursday, January 4, 2018

Outside my window

outside my window
the bamboo grows high and green
reaching for the bits
of sun between our buildings
snatching just enough to thrive

Tuesday, January 2, 2018

The crumbs

Brown and black bodies crawl
through our alleys
like ants at a picnic

sifting through the overflow of
our wastefulness for
the treasures we throw away

Monday, January 1, 2018

True name

I have searched for one 
who can make 
foreign syllables 

sound like his native 
tongue, as if 
he was born with my

name in his mouth, and
waited to 
whisper it back home 



 

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