The worst part about not believing in god is that there is no one to barter with when my dads’ cancer drugs make him too weak to lift his arms he says to my mother, ‘don’t worry’ manages a smile attempting to be as luminous as his love ‘everyone dies of something,’ he says withContinue reading “Daddy Issues”
Category Archives: spoken word
me and alllllllllll of my sad walk into the poetry event
convinced nobody wants either of us to be there. we’ve heard we’re articulate in front of an audience but now we get stage fright just walking up to a circle of people that love us because how could they love both of us? love me and all of my ugly? in a conversation, we’re figuringContinue reading “me and alllllllllll of my sad walk into the poetry event”
I want to write a poem that makes my other poems shy.
Make them whisper to each other, ‘just who is that new girl?’ Turn their knowing eyes into awescapes like children eating their first bit of ____(your favorite childhood nostalgia treat goes here)____. I want to talk to our inner children the way we should’ve always been spoken to. our feelings given acres to run andContinue reading “I want to write a poem that makes my other poems shy.”
Instructions Home, after Jasmine Mans.
Break every shame clogged mirror before you begin (that way you have already begun). Turn left at the stoplight across from the small brick elementary school that proved to be reprieve from the kitchen table. Make a fire of the things you used to believe of yourself. 300 ft from where you ate pistachio iceContinue reading “Instructions Home, after Jasmine Mans.”
My least favorite thing about being an artist is continually convincing myself I am not one.
Imposter syndrome taunts in a voice that sounds exactly like mine. Anxiety hands it a microphone. ADHD plays 52 card pick up with my thoughts- hyperfixates on negativity. Invisible illness renders me too damn tired to fight back. Capitalism builds an entire amphitheater for the performance finds a way to fill the seats and profitContinue reading “My least favorite thing about being an artist is continually convincing myself I am not one.”
It is widely known that sunflowers bend towards the sun
it isn’t true but I wish it were, that when they can’t find it, they turn towards one another. As my friend bikes across the entire city so we can trade books and sit six feet apart, I’m sure humans do that exact thing. In a pandemic, there are still poetry readings and celebrations. InContinue reading “It is widely known that sunflowers bend towards the sun”
There is a certain kind of tired that only comes from arguing with your own body continuously
please open the jar don’t sit down yet just don’t call off again this week I am thirty-four and I have the hand strength of a fifty-three year old. I am thirty-four and age means nothing in the face of chronic illnesses. When my DNA was coded, my connective tissue was made too loose. NowContinue reading “There is a certain kind of tired that only comes from arguing with your own body continuously”
I am somewhere beyond this existence.
the walls are made of flowers holding hands. no one gets grief for holding anyone else’s hand here you’re allowed to feel whatever you feel cry in any gender and still be seen as strong we know nothing of prejudice, capital, or constraint here save historical examples archaic relics, reminders of who we will neverContinue reading “I am somewhere beyond this existence.”
“Doesn’t it get very exhausting, viewing the world through that angry feminist lens?”
or, alternatively titled, ‘a study on how to dissect my anger and find it villain,’ find it too sharp, too mirror too reflective and you didn’t really want to see yourself as the problem did you so instead it is me and I am told to put on something else like maybe it would beContinue reading ““Doesn’t it get very exhausting, viewing the world through that angry feminist lens?””
My shame is a mold that only grows in the parts of me I refuse to shed light on
refuse to talk about. I need a better flashlight a braver mouth a new dictionary to find fresh words to form familiar sounds in new ways. I write a lot of poems about growth but have you ever loved something so much you didn’t notice it never loved you back? sometimes, I’m so focused onContinue reading ” My shame is a mold that only grows in the parts of me I refuse to shed light on”
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