Seeds of Change

(written December, 2011)

when i was outside the other night, something suddenly fell on the top of my head and landed at my feet. upon further investigation, i realized that it was a large nut seed that resembled an acorn. i looked above to see which tree had bestowed this, probably one of its last seeds from the autumn season. There was no tree in sight.

my mind immediately went to the age old chicken little story of how the sky was falling. indeed it seems as if in the past month or so things have fallen apart, and it has felt as though my entire world is ending.

yet i eventually came to the conclusion that although things are falling, the seed itself represents a rebirth and new growth, that i must be willing to accept, as once these new ideas and experiences take root, they can with tim grow into even more amazing and beautiful things.

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I’ve been wanting to explore my sexuality a bit more in my writing. Many of my new poems might touch on the subject
I’ve been scared to write about

Sex.

Where the topic leads minds.

What my body looks like

When draped in others’ vision.

What my skin will show them.

What they will peal away

As I open my mouth

And fill it will sweat and sour

Darkness. 

When they peer inside me and see

How deep this rabbit hole 

Goes. 

My cunt is a stage 

And the show is never the same

Come for the matinee

But stay for dinner 

Brick wall

I found this piece yesterday. I wrote it Several years ago while being in the middle of an abusive and co-dependent relationship. Reading it, I am saddened that I stuck with this person as long as I did, hoping things would change. I like this poem, but it reminds me of my own foolishness. A lesson I had to learn the hard way: never stay with someone who makes you feel like shit. Thank you for letting me share it with you.

 if you ever fall in love with a brick walll

your heart better be a wrecking ball;

you can huff an puff all you want

that shit wont fall without patience.

Won’t crumble without calculated cracks; 

mortar hardens quickly

and it’s easy

to shut others out

when you fall in love with a brick wall

expect bruises

expect concussions to be your religion

Worship

at the throne of rejection

carve your own scars

no one said this would be easy

so savor the victory of the chisel

the small holes in armor

the snail shell security your lovers shroud 

themsleves in

and the hesitation

in expressing our true selves

our mollusk

weakness

make moss graffitti of their faces

rub your own against his rough exterior

until the abrasive stubble

rubs your raw

and makes yourself stronger

than his defesnse will ever be

relationships arent simple

especially when we can be hurt so easily

So remove each brick carefully

dilberate

and dangerous

as a secret told to strangers

vulerability

is a bungee jump into the unknown

the walls destroyed

deliberate

we are naked

shivering

when you fall in love with a brick wall

always remember

that walls are not immune to erosion

and with time

everything returns to dust

statues bleed

and we becone whole

in our destruction

open and willing

to experience

love

New Poem Monday

We’re BAAAAAAACK on schedule with new poem monday. For the next several weeks, my pieces will sometimes be inspired by work from the Amazing book “This is Woman’s Work” by the Incredible Dominique Christina. I highly recommend this book, so pick up your copy ASAP to follow along with me 🙂

The Shadow Woman
Silence is the biggest room in the house. I am a master at building walls. Keeping the closets closed like a womb I retreat to. Safe Space is hard to find when you are the wrecking ball. This place of quiet. The small shiver that echoes. It wants to open its mouth and spit ember. Here in the dark it breathes only midnight and moon waves. Like a pregnant pause. Heavy. An unfed beats. Full. Painful. Waiting.

Leftovers

When I was a girl

No one listened.

I don’t have the time

To stay quiet.

All my petals are plucked

Ask me where I am.

I can catch you

With a thought thrown

Like a fist of lead

And watch it impact.

You will stuff cotton in

Your ears

But you won’t escape.

My voice will be the 

Lump you feel

In the morning.

A hole you fill

With stale coffee.

And the smile of someone

Worth wanting.

30/30

The end
Really

There are no ends.

Things don’t stop.

They only change.

Closure

Is the myth we 

tells ourselves

When we want to 

Find meaning

But let this mean

Whatever it needs to.

Let this poem do something

As long as it’s something.

Let it bite or

Bore you.

Let it be the worst thing you read

Or the thing that inspired you

To change 

To let go

To know

That when this poem ends

You will not

You will only be the person you were

After you

Read it.