Showing posts from 2018

Weak One | poem

Stories hitch in sore necks, climb our throats, and yank wisdom from tired gums—clammy stomachs tumbling gems.
Week one of six—knitting infinity with tongues. Between inflated cheeks and lost teeth, we choke ourselves with tears, spit
on paper and knotted gauze.
I’m not strong enough to hold the holy books we’ve written— sprinkled with fingernails— or swallow violet sediment.
Ink glistens like pavement in the pupils of twelve parched eyes, begging—
how will we survive?

Socks | poem

For our birthdays, we exchanged socks like promises: I’ll protect you if you protect me.
But we hated confinement, so often, we shed our socks and raced through hallways, puddles, rivers— more than common ground.
We broke free of simplicity—spilled over walls like nail polish, screamed like firing guns, and ate our fill of rainclouds.
For your birthday, I wear your socks, slip, fall, and think: I’ll get up for you
if yo

Creativity and I | a poetic response to Liz Gilbert's "Big Magic"

Creativity and I

We're the couple
who sits in booths,
passing scribbled
napkins instead of

We're the weirdos
who don't know
if they're friends,
or lovers 
(and no one 
else knows either).

We're two different 
colored grapes 
on the same vine (we 
make a nice rosé); two 
rose bushes growing 
into each other; two
stained glass windows
on either side of a church;
one red and
one blue lens
in a pair of 3-D glasses.

Creativity and I
are inconsistent,
sloppy, and sometimes 
intoxicated. Our love is
high, wild, storm-ready,
innocent, focused, 
mature, and confused.
We have some 
commitment issues,
but our love's a fun one.

In other words: reading "Big Magic" made me realize that my relationship with Creativity is extremely unconventional (and at times positively contradictory), but we like it that way.