Your irises always sing an aqua harmony,
Read More »
but I cannot make out their shades, when you
sit me down to hear your tale.
If the tension in the air is any clue, there must be fear dancing
in the wrinkles around your eyes,
but I am trying to count colors. I focus to discern.
I don’t understand
Read More »
why I can’t have
what I want.
Perhaps this preacher is self-assured
Read More »
because he’s oblivious
to all he didn’t earn.
He shoves me condemnation,
though I’m not sure why.
I’ve slowly learned
not to obey this anxiety he sells me
for the price of my soul.
Weekly, I reassure myself
that I would obey a better voice,
but in fear I ask, if my faith
only soothes, does it lack works, dead?
This day, I finally grasp
that if this white man isn’t god,
and the oily logic from this pulpit isn’t god’s words,
I, female, lie in bed
dressed in Clark’s flannel shirt.
It is soft, encompassing, swallowing, immersing-
but less human, less active, less person.
It smells like active, human person, though.
I deeply inhale his lingering traces,
trying to fill my shell with as much humanity as I can.
I cradle halves of soft fabric across my torso,
trying to touch as much person as possible,
to be swallowed, encompassed, immersed in,
and buried by something soft.
Kendra pokes her head in the door.
The rest of her follows.
She hovers above me, calls me, hugs me,
drops, puts her head on my bed, and cries-
She is too strong to ignore the pain, but too weak to fix it.
I invite her into my bed.Read More »
not quite a train wreck
Read More »
but a train that keeps starting and stopping
going the wrong way on the track
and isn’t it sad?
trying not to have an adjective
The way society views male nature and male responsibility,
conversing on whether “Boys will be boys”
makes my head spin in circles.
I grew up with fiction and film teaching me that men work extremely hard
to control themselves from their frequent, inevitable urges to rape, harass, and assault.
I grew up being taught how scared fathers are to leave their daughters alone with men-
even good men, and even their husbands.
This all made perfect sense to me as a child,
along with the idea that whether or not I had any value as a woman
was directly linked to whether or not men wanted to commit
sexual violence against me.
And yet now, this narrative makes no sense to me.
Why would anyone think all men
are compelled constantly to heinous crime?
And yet, I do not ask out of innocence.
I hold this confusion knowing firsthand just how common it is for men-
good men- to harass, assault, and rape.
It is all too constant and familiar to me.
And yet, I do not say that as the most hardened of females.
They placed me on their scale of victimhood,
and I graced their bottom half.
And so all this tells me is that every good thing is
very thoroughly broken,
and that men’s capacities should not be judged by their past performance,
and that the measure of a woman's pain
shouldn’t be judged at all.
across the face
and I didn’t know
what to do
I tried to give it back ‘cuz I didn’t want it
But, oh, grace knew me better than that
I tried to give it back ‘cuz I didn’t deserve it
But grace knew herself well as well
The skin on my cheeks started
“Make it stop!”
But we can’t make such strength do nothin’
And grace was after me
So I ran
But, oh, it was before me too
“I am that I am”
Have you ever been tolerated too much to be loved?
Have you ever been admired much to be helped?
It’s easy for you to put up with this-
Your touch is a friendly but fare thee well kiss,
a smiling from over the edge of the abyss-
But it’s killing me softly, this song from black dove.
Must you leave me here to hate myself?
Was it easier to tell me that you understand my lies
than to say you understand enough to get why I would die
for these lies that are “easy”. Is ease easier than freely?
What of peacefully? Truthfully? Unshackled or youthfully?
Have you ever come across these things? Did you stop and stare?
Or if they’re not that novel to you, would you care to share?
Do you fear what I would say? Do you fear what they would do?
Do you fear to feel the deep involvement it’d require of you?
Do you dare to fear the failure of your so-believed truth?
Read More »
Child of the dark, given a magic prayer and some commands,
who picked up confusion, legalism on the way,
trying not to doubt their magical prayer,
wondering why it won’t prompt the ways they said you’d change.
Afraid to trust, forbidden to not,
unsafe on either plane,
child of fear’s of hopelessness, and as such, of shame.Read More »
I grab my corpse by her hair and yank
her onto her feet, slam her into a tree,
‘til the bark cuts her back so she’s hanging thereRead More »