autobiographical
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I Trimester (1, 2, 3)
Beneath my eyelids I'm lividToo weak to impress I'm compressingPink - the sun beyond this layer of skinI'd consider it pink if I knew any other color
I am a dancer.
Arabesque to piano concertos
and painted faces before a performance.
I am bruised legs and
sit ups and missing papers,
because I swear I did it it's just not with me.
Little me, how could you not see?Perfection is a misperception.You devoid yourself of emotion,Strive for a life without devotionTo another human being, another person.Your GPA climbs higher
Tea on a Sunday
evening
Two young girls
hide behind their words
their illustrations
small talk eludes
dark realities
too afraid to address
the monster
in the closet
It’s like a cave:
large and unknown, with the potential
to hold a world of my own creation;
and yet it remains empty,
Advice given me when I am in trial
Whether through example
Or egregious error
Or candid words
You are the explanation for my ability to reach for success.
Ten years on this side
Two kids and a long-term partner.
He speaks the language and follows the laws,
But he is second class
Because he lacks legal status.
Flew the nest? Nah,
I was nudged out by a rough wing
Lucky the air currents caught me
But where they took me
Is not where I want to be
$7.25 an hour
I have been a block of clay all my life,
Reshaped into whatever anybody wanted.
I have been modeled into every shape and form
In order to fit certain molds.
Mom and Dad shaped me
I used to steal everything
All my jewelry and perfume
But you can’t steal from a coffee shop
So that’s where all my money went
I knew a girl who took fire to her arms
