Sew my mouth shut and shrink my head,
I'm feeling like I'd be better off dead.
Little Velvet BoxLittle velvet box,
Sitting in my hand.
You whisper words,
Warmth and love,
Inside you rests,
To be spoken,
And your true power,
Shall be seen.
FallThe yellowing of leaves,
Crunch of grass,
Smell of dirt,
Playful wind tugging,
Hay being stacked on a trailer.
LeftOne day you'll wake to find,
Beauty you once thought mine.
Is merely an empty shell,
I know this quite well.
You see this has happened before,
The day he walked out the door.
He told me his love never was,
And for another his heart does.
I've found liking of me to be brief,
Soon you'll leave like a leaf.
Queen DawnSo fair, so bright.
The morning light.
Pink and blue.
What glorious hues.
The golden circlet.
That graces Dawn.
Queen of the day.
There she lays.
For all to see.
Her true beauty.
And now I sigh.
She has gone by.
Brown Eyes Compliments, and AnalogiesBecause I'm sick of people saying there aren't any.
Your brown eyes are like the deep intoxication of campaign wine, bubbling with hazing richness and expensive taste.
Your brown eyes are like the color of mahogany wood- comforting and home-steady toughness that lets me know you will be the beams of supporting me.
Your eyes remind me of Dove chocolate, smooth, creamy, delectable, and melting.
The color of brown eyes remind me of mountain terrain and nature, something subtle, but beautiful in every form and season.
Brown eyes make me think of Devil's cake, taunting and tempting, curtained by black lashes, the symbol of rich seduction.
When brown eyes delve in love, they become the color of a leather book, promising a story of loyalty, long-life, and devotion.
Your brown eyes remind me of mysterious secrets, dark to cover the pain of ignorance, opaque to cover to want of another.
Brown eyes are like the stable ground, steadier and prepared to embrace you when you fall, into a nurturing a
This is IronyI count the passing of days in ashtray soldiers,
and stillness in the words of dead poets.
We write our secrets on the inside of our lungs
and hide truths on the inside of our stanzas,
because it’s acceptable to wear hatred on your arms,
but vulnerability is a mark of weakness.
I have choked down everything: pain and shame and arsenic tranquility,
to spew forth such paltry words and call it poetry.
A waltz away from thirty eight caliber oblivion
we press back, back
because death isn’t as romantic as we hoped,
and poison is quieter than a gunshot.
Amnesia Why labor with such diligence, in silent desperation
Struggle under time's insistent pace
Bowed beneath the metronomic weight and pointing hands, accusing face
Catching, unsustained, at evanescent dust motes fired by winter sun
Lost within my tale's unlighted hollows
Unraveling behind me, skeins of memory ghost like smoke threading thin and wan
Acrid in the fire's empty aftermath, bereft by dawn
Stir the ashes as I will, no spark now follows
Fingerprints and footsteps silted in, landmarks once familiar, now obscured
So too the ridges of identity wear away
Smooth and voiceless in the echoing vaults of unrecognizant new day
Where once resounded crashing waves of self, and continuity unyielding was assured
But if I am denied the light of my own history
I leave behind the vigil at the grave of what I could not keep
Sojourner still, the unknown fairway beckons from the Lethe of sleep
My last bequest to you: a lifetime's mystery
LesbianMy thoughts wandered back into my fourth grade mind frame.
She had beautiful blonde hair and blue eyes,
And a perfectly white smile that reflected the sunlight like a mirror.
She was a good teacher, mmmhmmm, good to look at,
And I even knew it back then,
Before I knew I was a lesbian.
Roses are red,
Violets are blue,
Ranbows are red, orange, yellow, green, blue, and purple,
And so am I!
My thoughts wandered back into memories of Sam, my first girlfriend.
She was shorter than I was, with wavy black curls,
And with hazel eyes that seemed so enchanting,
And she had beautiful pale white skin, mmmhmmm, lovely girl,
And I knew it then,
I was a pre-teen lesbian.
Roses are red,
Violets are blue,
Rainbows are red, orange, yellow, green, blue, and purple,
And so am I!
My thoughts wandered back into memories of "coming out".
She came out on accident, and 'she' was me,
Brave enough to accept the fact that people were noticing,
But smart enough not to get myself into trouble, mmmhmmm, that's me,
maybe god is in peoplehe closes his eyes during church when they pray.
it's a tiny white place of worship
behind a gas station in the rougher part of town
he sways his hips whenever they sing
(which is the majority of the time)
and he gets full of this inner light that
i've never experienced--though of course
if i had experienced it, i'd have no idea.
his eyes flutter back and his neck bends like
he's howling at the heavens
while his foot steadily taps away
an energetic partner to his illuminated soul.
but then it stops.
a shy glance towards me and a sudden
cease of spirituality makes me realize that
he is uncomfortable with me there
(i was sitting hunched in the pew
trying not to look anyone in the eye).
i wasn't raised on faith
i've never been granted with
an instruction manual on how to get it
i think it'd be nice, but
my curious nature that required me to question everything
couldn't make logic out it.
when i was little, all i noticed were the
odd looks and heinous whispers we'd get when we'd tell
sunday morning girlI'd rather be the girl
waking you up
on a Sunday morning,
than keeping you up
on a Saturday night
Still LifeAs a child I planted a single
seed where the sidewalk ends,
near the place of your remains.
It grew into an oak; strong and rigid.
Every autumn, I would watch
the leaves as they wither
away; as if to tell me that the
darkest times are coming
And that I should brace myself
For your death
Winters, I spend looking out
Into dusk, and admiring
the beauty of still life.
Through your slumber
I patiently wait for
The ferryman to carry
You home, but I've yet
To feel your warmth set free.
Springs, I see the branches
Rekindle their light,
I see the sunshine
For the first time
In forever ago.
I feel at ease.
I feel at home.
blue.her eyes are like the sky,
her hair is like the clouds.
no one laughs at her when she makes a joke.
no one smiles when her bare feet
hit the blacktop
and the sidewalk cracks.
and all the world's her grayscale, the only color
a musty shade of blue
strung in her hair.
and she thinks of her first memory
as she lets go of the balloons in her hands
and they rise as she falls and screams at the world that everything will become a picture
in a history book one day.
her lips are melting ice
and her cheeks are dead and pale.
her hair is wet
her eyes are lost
her hand, once clasped
around a wispy lifeline,
is now limp.
she floats like an ethereal
spread across a dream
that drags her to the deepest ocean