poetry – Page 4

Cramped in the corners of my crisising cranium, I cringe, I creak, I forget my own value again, forget my own name again. There are fifteen days of every month that I am not myself and therefore I am still myself but a part of me I prefer not to present, presently I am learningContinue reading

On teaching a relatively young dog (who is the oldest she has ever been in her defense) new tricks:

I’m always thinking about Sundays about 11:59 pm about things ending about time and how it’s just a social construct and how even if it is just a social construct it’s still totally tripping me up all the damn time. I’ve got a handful of plans about everything (at any given instance) and I can easilyContinue reading “On teaching a relatively young dog (who is the oldest she has ever been in her defense) new tricks:”

on a Thursday when a student writes a poem and she shows only you

and it says that she is afraid of being herself and you ask why and she says it’s personal “like, really personal” and you say if she wants to tell you, that you would love to know and she asks why and you say you care and she asks why (because kids are really goodContinue reading “on a Thursday when a student writes a poem and she shows only you”

I am so soft

I make clouds look stable to be stood on marshmallows, marble staircases feathers, full coat armor. I am a huge-hearted thing. I have reverse grinch syndrome: It’s two sizes too big and I’m too tiny too flight no fight too I only look bad on stage- If you ever have a conversation with me inContinue reading “I am so soft”

If I had a dollar

for every time someone put me atop a pedestal I didn’t ask to definitely don’t deserve to be on I would have enough money to buy each of those people a mirror the size of their insecurities. one that would show them what they actually look like. how striking they actually are- one like thatContinue reading “If I had a dollar”

I don’t know the last time I lived in a cage that didn’t rattle

or a body that didn’t feel like a cage I mean, this is my home but my armor feels like I mean my skin feels like that fifteen seconds of terror when I misplace my keys sometimes feels like movie marathons in folding chairs sometimes like I really need to get up and be anywhereContinue reading “I don’t know the last time I lived in a cage that didn’t rattle”

What I have learned from children:

is that band-aids and ice fix everything that I love you is a jet plane that can take you everywhere that so is I don’t care and so, too, is everything else.

either/or, or some combination thereof

I. I will be a gallery you have never gone to. for hours on end you will gaze at me and I will repeatedly reinvent your idea of beauty. then, one day, I will speak to the ingredients in my paint – to the chemicals I can’t pronounce but am perpetually learning how to useContinue reading “either/or, or some combination thereof”

maybe

we are the parts of the story our mother’s never wanted us to tell each other. maybe we’re the cliff- hangers if we read close enough and if we put seashell up to our own echo maybe we’d realize how pleasant we sound too- how tide pool, how deep sea wouldn’t need necessarily to longinglyContinue reading “maybe”