Only five times each day, I play like my bed frame
is a tweed lounge seat, my shelf is a welcome desk,
you are my friend by choice, and things are like they used to be-
You here to pay attention like you would have better things to do,
if it weren’t for the fact that I am your best.
Behind closed doors, I mime conversation with transparent friend,
all for imagined your strong, silent type observance.
This poem wasn’t supposed to be embarrassing, but I am
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You’re walking on eggshells, and everything you do to try to make it better backfires,
since some people don’t want to be satisfied.
Vindictive vendettas taken out on you,
like some people need something to be mean to,
and if they see you as a person, you can’t be their thing,
so they call you a problem and use you for their pain,
when their hate is their own fault,
and there’s nothing you can do
to make someone understand what they choose not to-Read More »
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”
You called like a god, celebrity
or college freshman,
so I put my Nair down, wrapped a towel around my shame,
glued my wet ear to the fragile phone, said hello
instead of, “Why me?” and let you worship, effuse like I
was way more than the wallpaper at my brother’s parties.
I’d been the entertainment once, back before the parties-
whispering nicknames and manipulations, like a kid sister alone can.
That was back before you, drivers licenses,
meet ups. But you were not before forsaken plans,Read More »
I’ve got a list of adjectives, and you’re the poem.
Your eyes an image, your hands the parallels,
your mouth the irony, your actions so loud.
Steady as a repetition, boldness your surprise.Read More »
How does he love you? He counted the ways,
but I don’t know many ways to say
to you, “Love me.”
“…love me, say that you love me…”
Come back to-
Come to me for first of times.
Well, you can stop not loving me now…
Can stop doing all of the things that you do!
Not paying attention, not first tuning in.
Not respond. Not care. Not like.
Never be curious. Never look up.
Not see. Not ask. Not tell. Not try.
Anyone! More, you only ones- I don’t think that this hope will die.
Oh, but I trust that this dream would dim,
if I would rest
and turn out your light.
Things get wedged inside.
There’s no precision or strength to pull them out.
Have you ever been tolerated too much to be loved?
Have you ever been accepted too 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?
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Lock your irises up and to the right,
summoning mine. Let your side stand square,
your hips too scared. Stare these pupils,
sheltered by my arched brows, down. I can barely see
you through your eye’s fear. But I know better than
to call such your name, bold challenger, chasing the guards
from the gate of your soul, welcoming my power to
deduce your worth- envisioning yourself to be embracing my heart,
the heart you shrouded, mistook for my mere humanity.