I do not dare be secretive
in my art, in my words,
I want everything I say to ooze love to all,
like a pearl-less oyster onto thirsty sand.
ache ache ache with questions
"what does that metaphor mean,
and was that semicolon intentional,
and what is she still seeking answers for-
What is a God, if she is a momentary one?
Is she still a feminist,
is she a female-Christ,
is she still unhappy about the 2004 breakup?
Girl, get over yourself!
Tell us more, we still don't know you."
Give me a rainbow of beads to
string together, another story
of full-circle childhood,
equalling present frustrations-
a knot at the end.
"Oh have a baby, already,
you say your clock is ticking
you have enough children
akin to sans serif song-writing
sing for us won't you oh, songbird
an orgasmic story-ending,
friendship-ending
neighbor-alienating
scream."
Tickle your toes. . .
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Ah, 7. The number in question. During this process of developing my first full-length work of prose, and a memoir to boot, I have considered...
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July 12th My love's hands and eyes so full of surprise! he sees nothing wrong with giving me a synthetic strawberry.
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RICK: Hey Rick? DICK: Yea, Dick? RICK: See that sky roll on by? (points) DICK: ...Oh, my... RICK: Don't i-t'almost makes yer wanner.... -
Another Indian woman living on our block has hair swept back and braided has jeweled toes, is in all yellow traditional regalia, and walks w...
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hunger is sometimes preferable to loneliness. a stomach will twist- but hands become dirty and heavy when full of coins.
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lean in a little. say it like it's a secret. make your breath sound like italics. click your tongue against the roof your mouth then you...
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In my dreams I am the fictional version of myself. The one I seek to be in my short-stories and prose. The one who gets her point across but... -
there ain't no other place like you to roam. where I dug in my heels and said "No, I won't come home!" Dancing in the warb...
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driving home from the farmer's market- I can't see anything- through this storm- I come home to sleep- with you-rest in your arms fu... -
strange tree, your flowers look like badminton birdies.
Poets United Contributor
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