Poetry
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I have seen the light;
and it has bid me to stay. I stand on the back of my lover, and he lifts me high begs me to fly and wishes for me to return with tales. Of wind and clouds and far off stars. I have felt his manhood in the length of the strides he takes; In his powerful walk towards kindness and bent shoulders; In the softness of his feet as he walks towards me and crumples in equality to my level where I lay curled. There is harshness to be found in the tides and eddies of the river that is him, but his insides used to be all angles. Erosion is our mutual lover. And when the sea swallows all the bits of us we will find ourselves as mixed and far reaching as we hoped when we saw the cosmos in the flecks of melanin and light. I could not rage in the dying of stars but pass along in ecstasy with the taste of sand. |
the lightning will fire and the waves will roll
and the ticking of thunder will sound the death toll so snuggle in close dear and listen to waves that shatter the world when they whisper in caves oh i'm sailing away on my little row boat I'll be scouring the ocean till it no longer floats And when the birds come out crying, filling the air with buckets of water and more to spare then I'll pick out the starfish from the oceans below and toss them to the clouds and ready the show and when the water drops down his sight then the seagulls stop crying and land from the flight my boat has sunk father than I dare to retrieve it and the starfish are patterns on the folds of this blanket then we can swim once more in the tide and float on the oceans in which we confide before we have gone and left all these sheets for the children of ours who never knew of the reefs and when we have sailed as far on the sea as our little red boat will carry you or me and hope that the day when the beaches are gone only shows up when you have forgotten this song Drape the deep in sapphire curtains,
Cover the oil, the seaweed blood, And lounge in perfume fractures While we wilt below. |
Today I caught a glimpse at Man:
he was a rabbit hole Guillotine. his sword descended on waistcoat watches, and tore apart seconds. We hold them in an OCD crematorium, and nod at the palm readings. Down in the depths of a vampire ocean,
lies an octopus shedding it's skin. It leaves behind a Tentacle Mess to ride the currents of sand. But the real sea captain storms the high seas in a tightly-corked bottle, afloat. Everyone's gone and left me dry,
I'm absent of masts and sails and lines. The crests and the troughs are warring aloud; I've mapped out cosine onto these shrouds. Give me the Kraken and a broken cutlass, over these failings of which I surpass. I have this insatiable desire to wander,
without reason, hope or expectation, but to experience the world in a whirlwind of moments that each carry their weight, perhaps on my soul. Sometimes I wait on the edge of noonin a Pittsburgh crossroads of motion.
But often I rest in the cement of foundation that yields to the enticing of silence. |
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Dear Mom,
You work with autistic kids. But before you know how to be an EA and about stimming and overloads. Before your new job, you gave birth to a rainbow hidden in cloud. It took 23 years to show you my colours. You didn't believe it until I held a ticket. But this doctor note scribble doesn’t change me. I'm still the girl You grew me to be. You didn’t catch the hints but you noticed what I needed. Your hugs were my deep pressure therapy, my brothers and sisters were my friends. You cheered me on in my interests and fought for my every need Dear mom, You might be a rainbow too. No one helped you out of the overcast skies. Back then rainbows were a sign of rain, but now you know they sing of sunshine. |
Do you know what makes you overwhelmed?
I do. Loud kids not listening. Change. Plans being dashed apart. Emotions too big to express. Do you know your special interests? I do. Crafts. Paint and paper mache and cardboard and markers. Puzzles. Music. Do you know your stims? I don’t. You never learned what to do to make you happy, to make your soul lift and your heart glow. But you talk to yourself, you don’t know how to make friends, you, don’t stand up for yourself, you hit yourself when you have a meltdown. you watch your favorite shows every night, your life is routine. Dear Mom, We are rainbows. |
| Autobiography |
Prose
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