Love is a thorny rose

Unfolding beauty

Caught in prose

With pinprick words

I suppose

Or else I’ve heard it said

For those that grasp without repose

To tear at hearts

Til mourning grows

With bloodstained hands

So it shows

The pain of those bereft.

Graduation

We’re used to paper changing worlds

The power of ink bound like souls

To uplift or oppress,

To entangle or release.

Hours sink into a daze

Across each page like whispers

Of a long forgotten chorus:

Countless nights

Of recitation and revision

In a past we never knew.

Until that day,

With dawn breaking,

You slipped past dreaming

Past drifting between stars

And found yourself

A little closer

To who you’ve always wanted to be.

One page…

One page composed of hundreds gone

Composed of thousands more to come

One page…

And you’ve turned to a new chapter.

So, keep reading…

Keep writing…

And most of all,

Keep believing.

You have a library in your heart;

It’s time the whole world knew.

My heart told me you were good,

Even as my mind waged war

And shrapnel pierced chunks

Were scattered across my chest.

My heart told me to trust,

Even as phantoms burrowed into sleep

And held my head tightly

As I struggled for breath.

My heart told me to wait,

Even as fires caressed my tongue

And burned my ears

With the destruction of hesitation.

My heart told me to silence them,

The voices that said you were lying

Lying in wait to catch me

And cut me down.

My heart told me to listen,

But fear overtook me

And now I see she was right…

My very own Desdemona…

How can I forgive myself?

i love like a dam breaking
filling every crevice,
drowning
whatever’s left of last year’s poison
except,
between the breaths
shots ring out
and arms are left flailing,
unwilling or unable to swim,
i never can tell.

Women Are People

Women are people,

Not rewards for good behavior.

Women are people,

Not blank walls to project art onto.

Women are people,

Not pockets to fill with leftover lint

And lives you wish you’d spent

With more than halfhearted sentiment.

Women are people,

Not journals to fill with ideas.

Women are people,

Not dreams to wake up from.

Women are people,

Not books to read and discard

At the end of a long day.

Women are people,

Not streets to walk through

On your way to self-discovery.

Women are people,

Not an outlet for your rage and inadequacy.

Women are people,

Not a frame of reference for a better life.

Women are people,

Not an anchor in this storm you’ve created.

Women are people,

Not a mirror for you to style yourself in

And see your ego reflected back

Smiling unceasingly with hands together in praise.

Women are people…

Why is this so hard to grasp?

You said I was a galaxy,

But when I reached out I stopped short

Like stars were hiding up my sleeves

And I couldn’t feel them.

They’re scattered like unread mail

Discarded on the kitchen counter

And wedged between the fridge and wall,

Like wishes collecting dust

And visions I cannot stop repeating.

When I reach for them I fall apart

And each star falling is a supernova

Embracing a new life

With an immolation of the last.

death comes in a whisper, not in the thunder

in the whoosh of their robes

with naught but wind on their heels

Peaceful Protest

I cannot protest your lips

Too soft to touch

Too rough in speech to stay my hand.

I cannot protest your eyes

Too bright for evening stars

Too dark for midday prayers.

I cannot protest your fingers

Too empty to feel my wounds

Too full to fill my heart.

I cannot protest your mind

Too vast to travel this life

Too enclosed to stray at all.

I cannot protest your heart

Too joyful for the rich

Too mournful for the common man.

I cannot protest your tongue

Too lithe to control

Too clumsy now to teach.

I cannot protest your arms

Too tight to hold me dear

Too loose to let me free.

I cannot protest

I may not even try

I cannot protest

Until the day I die.

Co-lapsing

You are not to blame

When the weight of your pain

Decreases your will to give;

A collapsing star may burn more brightly,

But you, my dear, are more than dust.

You are more than fears,

You are more than hands

Outstretched and thinned

Reaching toward the helpless.

You are more than endless nights

With a heart and ears heavier that steel,

Breathing in the words

They heave upon your own.

You are not worth less,

Because they cannot hear you.

You are not worth less,

Because they refuse to.

You are not worth less,

Because they forgot to…

Because I forgot to…

You are not to blame

When the weight of your tongue

Leads you to silence

For that same voice that gives to rest

Must rest also receive.

I miss you,

Not like a bad habit,

Or a breath of air,

Or even a dream

Where I’m struggling,

Or straining to forget,

Or hide the tinges of blue

Lining my cheeks as I hold myself back.

No,

I miss you like someone

I barely know,

But wish I knew better.

I miss you like the sound of rain

When everything has been too harsh,

Too bright,

And my eyes are too tired to rest.

I miss you like the spaces

Between brushstrokes,

Where each one is defining

Not straining to make sense.

I miss you like the weight

Of a correct answer

Laid gently on the tip of my tongue

Which slips and stutters in a rush

To say your name.

To say I’m still here.

To say don’t worry.

But I bite down on my words

Even as they slip between my teeth,

Because my wants

Are not your needs

And missing you

Is better than making that mistake again.