Inevitable
If you died,
I would fall into the sky,
Into the lights
That have been long dead
By the time they reach me.
I wouldn't cry,
Because you always say
That you won't be old,
And I would never want for you
Anything that you wouldn't.
At night,
I watch stars flicker out,
And I wonder to myself
When I will be watching your eyes
Do the same.
At your funeral,
No one would say
"He was too young,"
"It wasn't fair,"
Because the truth is
You will always be too young,
With your soul of fire
And your laugh of sun.
It will never be fair
To lose your soul
To whatever afterlife it chooses,
And no one at your funeral
Would be surprised
When they saw me staring,
An empty shell
Of the girl who loved you,
Empty of soul,
Because if you died,
I would fall into the sky,
Into the lights
That have been long dead
By the time they reach me.
Beware of Frosty (A parody)
Frosty the Snowman was a tormented blood driven soul
with a big sharp knife and a button nose
and two eyes that belonged to my friend Cole
Frosty the Snowman
Is a nightmare they say
He was made of snow but the devil knows
How he came to life one day
There must've been some witchcraft
In that old rusty knife they found
For when he placed it in his hand
He began to destroy the town
Frosty the Snowman
Was as evil as he could be
And the children say he could kill all day
Even going after you and me
Slashety slash slash
Slashety slash slash
Hid from Frosty, Go
Slashety slash slash
Slashety slash slash
Before he gets you, oh
Frosty the Snowman
Knew it was going to rain holy water that day
So he said, "Time to die and make some human pie,
Before I burn away"
Down to the village
With a chainsaw in his hand
Killing here and there, all around the square,
Sayin', "I'll catch you, yes I can."
He dragged their bodies down to the streets of that town,
Right by the traffic cop
And he only paused a moment
Then he slit his throat before he could say, "Stop!"
Frosty the Snowman
Had to hurry on his way
But he waved goodbye. Sayin' "You better cry. I'll be back for you one day."
Terrified
I wrap my arms around me
terrified.
He’s coming, They're coming.
Arms raised above their heads
chanting.
Children run streets barefooted
terrified.
He’s coming, They're coming.
Voices raised above the crowds
saluting.
Dead eyes watch the commotion
terrified.
He’s coming, They're coming.
Heads raised above destruction
embracing.
I wrap my arms around us
terrified of their future.
He’s coming, They're coming.
To bomb contestation
To build separation
To burn aspiration.
He’s coming, They're coming.
Taking us back to pavement soaked in
Black blood, Brown blood.
Taking us back to mass graves holding
Black bodies, Brown bodies.
He’s coming, They're coming.
Trumps coming — but so are they.
Those in disguise
trying to claim our bodies as a prize.
A Walk In The Woods
Worn, dusty shoes
Carried her here.
Stumbling, tripping, falling all the way.
Skies mourned with the puddles for her loss-
While the trees whispered their condolences with the wind.
Her path forked,
Giving her a decision.
Right or left.
Right or wrong.
Start
or
End.
A choice; her's to make
Her's to lose.
Her's to live with.
Eyes, black-
Tears smudged mascara,
Blurring her vision.
Faint lipstick kisses dotting her skin, fading away with her broken spirit.
Greasy hair,
Unwashed body,
Long fingernails-
The marks of someone who's given up.
She gave up-
No more decisions.
No more failures.
No more mistakes.
Her fork in the road would have to wait for another day,
A different day,
Not today.
When no means maybe, and maybe means yes.
Saying no is actually one of the hardest things for me to do.
My life has had so many good seasons, and so many bad seasons. Growing up, I learned that no meant maybe. And maybe meant yes. "No" never mattered. People take what they want, and that is why the world is full of chaos and secrets and shame.
When a man asks if you want to fuck him, and you say no, he kisses your neck and tries to convince you that you actually do want to fuck him.
When a man asks for your number, asks to buy you a drink, asks to take you out - saying no is heard as maybe, and as we know, maybe means yes.
Words have been drained of conviction and meaning.
Saying no puts me at risk. It is easier to give something I do not really want to give than to have it taken from me.
So I give everything, my time, my body, my hopes and dreams. I try to hide my heart away, but when you give everything away, there is nothing left to hide it behind. It becomes exposed and it too, is taken.
If there is no maybe, and there is nothing to tell others that something is not okay, how do we expect, as a people, to be okay.? When everything is taken, or given, with stomachs in knots and gritting of teeth, how can we, as humans, expect to live? No means no in our heads, but no rarely means no in the ears of those who ransack others for all they are worth, all they could be worth. -AshleyAnne
“Why Prose.?” -Rolando Hernandez
It began for me very early—writing in my awful cursive small stories on index cards and leaving them in library books, waiting room periodicals, and the phone books that would hang from phone booths. Some were confessions, others were love letters to the natural world, but most of the time I used the small blank paper to capture the quiet observations of my travels.
One such example was a card I left in the San Bernardino library in a book called “Expect the Unexpected.” I can’t imagine it still being in print, as I remember it being quite terrible, but I was smitten with the message and I left a missive about taking cabs in downtown Colima, Mexico and bailing on the fare. At 7 years old, I was pretty much an asshole. The point of the story I had left was that, for the entire ride, the cabbie thought he was getting the better of me but, as we arrived to the park in the center of town, he never saw a mop of black hair move so fast while laughing.
Expect the unexpected, indeed. My warning to the world that I was out there.
Time went on and the same impulse to use words as keys to open worlds was the only thing that ever could save me. I was floored by the imagery in Galatians (in the fullness of time) and Romans (dead to sin) far more than the promise of a risen Christ. I never begged a day in my life while in the years I was homeless and wandering the states, but I would write poems for food.
Not only did words unlock wallets and charity, it also unlocked doors to people’s homes. In Casper, Wyoming, I met a secretary in a fast food restaurant who bought me lunch and let me crash on her couch for a week in exchange for a haiku. The immediate connection between what I wrote and its recipient was intoxicating.
Words would beat down the walls and doors my fists could not.
...
Tune in to The Official Prose. Blog for the full article by Rolando Hernandez (@rh) later today at: blog.theprose.com/blog.
you were always bleeding out moon beams over the kitchen sink or digging up soil in the backyard because you thought it would make you something holy. you liked it best when i called you a tattered king, you were the only one i knew that could wear their mess so bravely. you taught me scars could be a second skin as long as you didn’t pick at them. when the demons try to communicate, you don’t have to respond. they’re just speaking out of turn. when the angels try to communicate, don’t ever respond. they’re just filling up your wishing well with water and leaving you to drown at the bottom. you told me my poetry sounds a lot like slamming doors and it tastes like after a nosebleed when you can’t wash away the metallic aftertaste. you told me my bruises were just sunflowers trying to bloom from under the skin but if i touch them too much i’d stunt their growth. i liked when you came around because it all went silent and you liked it because it made your brain work again. so we sat on the floor and i rehashed conversations with fallen angels that painted their hands like ladybugs and you told me about conversations with dying stars that were always pumping you full of other galaxies so you’d survive on other planets because heaven knows you were too good for this place. you promised you’d take me with you when the time came and we’d find a place where it’s spring all the time so my hands would never freeze and you’d never have to worry about lakes drying up again.