minimalism and nuance
sometimes a cigar is just a cigar
context be damned or
a rose is a rose is a rose
and the very thingness of a thing
so an adjective is ostentation
the heavy face paint of
a teen who cannot yet see
the beauty of her eyes
and sometimes the perfection
of a moment or a sense
defies shorthand sketches
so one must choose
words in tandem to weld and
shape into rough imitation
and hope to inspire connection
to the untouchable original
I don’t like wearing make up. Sometimes I dress like a man. I don’t seek validation or try to be pretty anymore. I know I’m beautiful and that my value extends far beyond that.
I don’t know that. I just act like I do until it feels real again, but sometimes I really don’t know.
Sometimes I remembered my lessons from when I was twelve.
No one wants to fuck a feminist.
No one wants to fuck a girl who isn’t pretty.
No one wants to fuck a smart girl.
No one wants to fuck a girl with an attitude.
No one wants to fuck a girl who hides her body.
And if no one wants to fuck you, girl, then you’re worthless.
Put on a push up bra, put on some make up, show some cleavage, but not too much. Don’t act like a slut, but be the slut you are supposed to be. You’re garbage because you’re a slut. Your only purpose is to be a slut. If you weren’t a slut, then you might as well be dead. Now shut up and dance for me, girl.
These lessons are hard to forget when they’re ingrained in you from childhood by grown men. Men who were proved right everywhere I looked.
I worked hard to free myself from that. I don’t believe them anymore, but sometimes when my partner and I haven’t had sex in a while, I panic and briefly wonder if I should dance or die.
As sure as the sun,
I will be there for you.
Trust me, like the stars trust the sky
to hug them tightly in the vast and dark unknown.
As sure as the tide,
I will come home to you.
Kiss you, like the salt does the sand
to pull it in, little by little, to the deep blue.
As sure as the seasons,
I will change with you.
A chameleon to the colors of your soul,
the beautiful hues that surround you like a halo.
As sure as our love,
the sun will rise,
the stars will shine,
and the waves will ebb,
as sure as each breath,
our souls will blend
when our capsules wither and meet their ends.
I’ll Go First.
Sticky tape this life back together;
don’t run hot water over it.
It will only make a mess and ruin
all of the hard work we invested.
Get rid of your skipping rocks;
throw them in the dumpster behind
that old block buster that we
never really liked. Wrap me up in your
arms on a chilly September
night and promise me you’ll read my
journals after I’m gone (if I go first).
I want you to read between the
sentences and see all the love that
I left behind for you. Search through
my books and find hidden letters
never given. While we’re here,
while we’re “young”, hold
my hand, love me hard.
More Than a Flower
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I don’t go in churches anymore.
I used to find some comfort in them;
hoping to find something that I
thought was taken or misplaced.
Instead I found, even those who
pretend to be holy couldn’t give it
to me; dressed as angels but actions
that only demons could perform.
None as clean as they seem; fathers
who are anything but fatherly.
Especially my own. His sermons
drilled into my mind day after day
without any rhymes, just harshness
that rubbed my skin raw.
“You’re a bitch. Shave this and this.
Boys won’t love you if you don’t
watch your weight.” I wasn’t aware
that “loving” myself meant hating
my body before all else. Tearing it apart,
diet after diet, razor after razor,
digging myself into the ground
trying go run away from meals that
I had only tasted…
I don’t go to church anymore.
I guess I figured out there is nothing
holier than truly caring for yourself.
More Than a Flower
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Screams fueled you so I learned to whisper;
secrets lining the bottom of my mattress.
Skinny spaces where only myself and my
dreams could fit. Crashing through the
door drunk on rage; you never thought
to look in the places where you couldn’t
get into yourself. 5 seconds…run!
My fingers tips learned how to press
out window screens quicker than
they could open soda cans.
Hide in the trees; deep breathing.
Prayers dancing on my tongue,
tears begging to fall.
They never talk about the
childhood moments that
could ruin you.
More Than a Flower
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