My little brain
thinks it can help,
Ruminate (first feat. in Pickle Press Poetry)
I apologize in my mind,
endless intentional scenes,
then slip into fantasies of you
rubbing the base of my skull on a table.
Accounting
Putting everything that we don’t need to
prove, because it can’t be proven, because it can’t
be proven wrong, on the list of things
we’re free from,
Hunger, Thirst
Taught my epilepsy how to drive,
got my independent streak a little drunk on empowerment,
made a piece of art at 2am so decided god mustn’t hate me.
Started to leak, said, oh no, touched it, saw it wasn’t blood.
Looks like I’ve got inspiration that isn’t uterine.
Embrace (first feat. at Discretionary Love)
Celestial realms so blue, like a river
trickling, and I want to know where you are.
When you see this same sky, do you rush down
into the grass blades and let your mind cut
Open, Close
7 states in 9 years—my adulthood summed up
in moves that kept me a little busy
to build very much I could keep my
newly situated self busy with.
My college professor would say
that was only the start of a poem,
but I don’t think he’s very
tired.
My college professor would say
Glassy-Eyed
You say, Can we go home? And I want to laugh, Honey,
we are home—this love, this respite, refuge, relationship.
This normal of safety, this routine—the place
Eve
My baby may not remember his birth,
his first dip into consciousness,
first thought on existence—
no knowing or wondering…
Hi (First Featured in Nightshade Lit Mag)
Gonna write something down that sounds like a lie
and make it feel
so truthful,
Reflection
One more time,
let me lift this frosted glass,
pinch the base of the oval with the hand I forced
myself to learn to write with, and stroke the mirror’s
rim with the back of the palm of the hand that had always
been meant to be dominant.
Caressing softly this frame that I seek myself inside,
I focus on the space separating the edge from the features
facing back at me from this spiderwebbed
center, and I wonder,
Alphabet Ravine 