Womb – A Poem
“Do not mistake our places of creation for your labyrinths of ways to escape yourself”
poem
ENTRY 4
Finger the fear out of me, I’m longing for your ease.
Intent
I want to be touched with good intention, trying too hard to make you not want me. Not putting forth …
The Reality of The Season
Summer legs that see more long grass and fence spokes than sun. More cool water stolen and sliding down shivering stomachs …
Not What You See In The Mirror
She thinks about strangers and the way they make her feel poetry without words, falling in love until her eyes …
The Second Morning Has The Hardest Hits
You miss him. More than the first night, more than the second, more than the fourth. So much it hurts …
Having a Hole In Your Being
Sometimes it’s more that you’re missing the part of yourself that was taken when they left, rather than the thief …
The First Night After Leaving You
It’s pathetic really. How all I can think of is how your hands felt on my neck, wondering how it …
Just An Outlet
You fuck her like your life source is running on low and leave her like you have somewhere to be. …
The Type of Person
If you are the type of person who utters no when I ask to pick flowers from strangers gardens in …
Rising Change
You swear that if he stood in the West that’s where the sun would rise. Then you remember that you’re …
Caring For The Sky
I wonder if it’s difficult for the sun to rise every morning, if he has a routine of coffee or …
A Week After Your Birthday
It’s not that I want to die, it’s just that I would. To see your face one more time.
When Your Mouth Is Cold
You miss him. At 11PM when he’s laying beside you and you wait too long after eating ice cream to …
You Know What I’m Thinking, But This Isn’t What You Think
This is not a love story. This is not a poem, or a novel, or a song. I don’t know …
Selective Memory
Cut throat razors will remind me of you, like cut throat words remind you of me. I will remember yogurt …
These Are Not Artists
Inside out. Smeared on walls, canvas, journals. A bloody piece of “art”. Not red but black and blue. Inconsistent and …
I Think My Soul Is Weary
I’m so tired. More than I just need a good nights sleep. More than I need to slow down, or …
Don’t Waste My Time
You may not have enough time, But neither do I don’t waste it.
