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so many muses have come and gone writing and writing until my hand goes numb but what about me? will I ever inspire a writer to compare my eyes to azure skies to detail the cinnamon smell of my skin the thorns in my scorn to immortalize me in written form I am a poet
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I placed my feet where yours had stood grazing the walls of places you’d pressed your back against but of course you weren’t there anymore maybe once a lingering ghost if anything only half heartedly had you ever been but I stood, feet invoked within that print and pressed you into the earth in hopes
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Barely 20, two kids, then three..then one day two more that weren’t even yours. All these brothers & sisters & me somewhere in between. My childhood is a messy blur as I watched you two fall in & out of love. Never complaining when we’d move every year, when your fights were terrifying or when
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i showed you mine now you show me yours battle scars are born and I am war torn without the war back to the other side no more waiting with a sign alive with death in your eyes i missed you or him fuck, which one are you again which one did they keep which
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I am but a wild thing Chained, abated Caught, caged, suffering Fingers curled around the bars that life has put around me Can you see who I really am? Do you see the flowers in my hair? The flight in my soul? The wind in my feet? A dandelion seed upon the wind Struck down
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a ghost in camouflage and grey smokeyou write yourself into their storyjust an excerpt, maybe a chapterwhatever they need you to bea cunning linguistmoving like fluid artcrawling inside thempainting their wallsthen claw your way out againa figment of longing imaginationa cravingan oasisa place to live and die inthen bleed her outupon awakeninghere and goneleaving marks
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DEAR SINGLE MAMA, I SEE YOU.I KNOW YOU CAN DO IT ALONE BUT I ALSO KNOW SOMETIMES YOU DON’T WANT TO. I KNOW YOU FEEL LIKE YOU’RE DROWNING IN THINGS AND JUST WANT TO BE SEEN OUTSIDE OF THE MOM ROLE, THE PROVIDER, THE PROTECTOR, THE MAID, THE COOK, THE DISCIPLINARIAN… YOU WANT TO BE
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i spend my days torn between grace and exquisite bloody rage LLthe blood & the bones
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Do you look for me? On streets bustling with bodies on their way to wherever people with 9-5 purpose and happy hour plans have to be, a flash of blue. Was that her? Couldn’t of been… Scanning the book store for new words to devour finding yourself on the folklore aisle hoping to come across
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I sat straight up in bed.. You know, like they do in movies but never in reality. But, I did. Bolt upright, like someone jerked imaginary chains from the ceiling embedded into my chest. From slumber to staring into a pitch black room. And all I could hear was an echo that said .. I
The Blood & The Bones 