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Showing posts from 2017

Bad Advice | poem

You advise: smile more, cry less!

Sorry, I forgot -

feelings aren't mine to possess.

Hangover | poem

Lungs huff morning. Sun drips in pores—honey in tea—reeks of rum.
Backs warped—pink Solo cups floating in bins—wasted.
Eyes raw—coins thumbed by scholars who can’t let go of bottles—trip over papers
strewn across crumbs on sheets on bodies on beds, and then—thesis: the cure is—

Incarnate | poem

Non-believer, your lashes fashion mystery—stories of thorny eyes, silk wine, blood spraying stone.
Non-believer, you are the anchor in God’s ruby sea. Your arms are pillars, your mouth a cross, your skin scripture.
Non-believer, you bleed Truth. The Gospel’s in your hips and fists, under chewed nails, traced fingerprints.
You are the incarnate Unknown—something you hate so much—what I love most.

Hail | poem

You find me on the balcony, where we froze the sun, where clouds made us drunk, where I now

drop tears on new friends, who catch them in their mouths.

When they laugh,

the sky cracks and your voice carries on—a plow through snow—after winter’s gone.

Subluxation | poem

I wake to rotting echoes in a throbbing world—a slipping spine.

Unfurling vertebrae, clenching nerves, swirling bones unceasing—wedged between a hopeful skull and toilet seat. Knives

tuck me in—split ego and will.

this body's not a body | poem

Forgets it sheds, Dreading its own Petals.
Lives like vapor Lost in exhales.
Splits satin lips and Wire wrapped skin, Smudged with spit.

Blind | poem

I give you my love In rubies, gold, Tea cups and Wire wrapped jewels. But you don’t see.

When you are a fish in mud, I catch you And sing: You’re beautiful, Enchanting, magical! You are everything. But you don’t hear.

I caress you, I cradle you. I sprinkle You with gold dust, blow roses Into your blood. I kiss you and kiss you and kiss— But you don’t feel.

I crumple your shoulders, pull you Into me like wind through Trees, but you don’t move. You stare at me through A mirror, hissing, I love you! Can’t you See?

Fish in Your Mouth | poem

This morning I am fog, Glistening with the illusion That you’re the bog I snooze in.
The view’s nice, but it’s not The same as playing hide and seek With the fish in your cheeks.
I could be the pond In your belly, the puddle on Your tongue, the lake linking Your legs, the mud in Your eyes that splatters When you smile,
If only The fish in your mouth Played fair.

To the Tailor | poem

It’s not easy, squeezing into The suit you made me, But I’ll try.

Why Modern Politics is Destroying Us

I may not be a political science major, but I have a decent grasp of United States politics, and right now we're a mess. Anyone in the world can see it, since our political revels and defeats are always being splayed across news and social media. What's more: instead of trying to unite over common issues, we're pitching our causes at each other like weapons for war. The problem, in my opinion, isn't the mess; it's our reactions.
Everyone has morals. Everyone has beliefs. Everyone thinks they're right. But what happens when there isn't only one answer?  What happens when diverse groups of people are tossed together like a salad? Do they listen to each other before speaking or do they sit and scream accusations? At what point does the fence fall?
In today's society, we're plagued by the illusion of binary systems. "Liberal" and "conservative" have become terms we use to describe our personalities rather than political standing. This d…

we're made of strings and small things | poem

And if you get cut, it hurts like hell, unless
hell is inside you, buried beneath the folds
of your skin, and then, I suppose, you’re
akin to stinging bones and words you don’t
know, helicopters circling a phoenix. You
were born here, but you never thought you’d
die here. Never thought you’d become a pile
of overplayed strings on linoleum floor.
Never knew you’d turn blue like cracked
circuits yearning for fire. No, you
thought “grander” things: a cut on the king’s
toe, a politician’s used towels, a celebrity’s
rubber body slipping between sheets. You
wished yourself a plastic boat and floated
toward death. You forgot about the farmers, the doctors,
the hat that was warmer than the hand, how it felt
to kiss your best friend, the feather that fell to earth
like sperm spiraling toward an egg.