Poems · writing

Gut Punch

It started raining today before the clouds showed up

I’ve been chasing my tail in efforts to be enough

Slept through my alarm, cramps hitting hard,

Mom’s asking me about the broken-down car

I’m falling behind. The week hasn’t started and I want to give up, but,

You have to grin and bear it

You put up a fight

It’s the only way to break into light, happiness, laughter.

That’s what they tell me,

Even after I’ve fallen to the ground

They walk on by

“You’re not livin’ til you’re dyin’!”

What a gross goddamn lie.

And even if it’s true, it’s an awful thing to say.

Not everyone’s brains work that way

You don’t throw another stone at a person whose given up

Give them a hand when they’re feeling stuck

It won’t make the clouds go away,

But sometimes it helps to face the day

Poems · writing

Peaceful Observance

I want to fall asleep in the sun

Full of warmth and comfort

Impeded by no one

I want to feel the breeze on my skin

Surrounded by flowers,

Pollen-headed bees tumble lazily in.

I want to watch their slow dance,

Entranced by their diligence, their inability to wear pants,

And on the tops of their silly-heads

Two little antennae bumble about

Looking around for the next bloom to sniff out

(Do bumblebees have noses?)

There are questions I suppose(s) that will abound,

Human nature itself is sort of tumbling around.

And in grief, I think, we know this,

Though when that familiar friend leaves for the summer

We pretend not to notice

He was never there.

Without a care, I lie among the roses,

Prick my fingers on the thorns

I will never pick them.

I watch the bumblebees tumble around

Old stuff · Poems · writing

Thinking in Watercolor

My body is haphazard stitches and broken bones. Tear me to shreds, I no longer fear an injured heart. This one shattered long ago.

My skin is patchwork veins, open wounds, and I cannot keep my tongue from lolling out. Spitting, screaming, it has a will all its own.

My mind should be compared to drops of rain, pattering to the ground at random interludes of cloud and sky.

Because, like them, my thoughts fly and fall at random, never striking the same spot twice.

My feelings are composed of watercolors, bleeding into each other, until even the ignorant child who mixed them cannot tell the red from the green.

[2013]


I don’t know if I personally like this one too much. I just found it in an old journal and I added a little to the beginning