Hate List

Sarah LaFell
James McKinley
Juan Morales
Paula Anderson
Bullets
Bullets
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Respect
Change
Mr. Maloney
Andy Wilson
Bullets
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Status
Image
Tears
Anyone
Bullets
Strength
Fear
Everyone
Bullets
Everyone
Bullets
Everyone
Bullets
Numb
Silence
Nothing

Bullet.

The Heaviness of Motherhood

A tiny hand placed
Gently on my beating heart
The weight of my world.

Here Today (Newtown, CT)

She is two days old
She is asleep in my arms
I breathe in the scent of spit up, baby powder, and brand new love.

She is four years old
And I am kissing her knee
Scratched up by a concrete monster
I tell her how brave she is.

She is thirteen years old
She is crying in the bathroom
I am gently explaining how to use a tampon
So she can still attend the pool party.

She is twenty-two years old
I am dabbing at tears of pride
As she gives a speech and receives a degree
One step closer to changing the world.

She is five years old
She is lying bloodied on the tiled floor
I am not there to hold her, to kiss her wounds, to say that it's ok to cry...

Who will change the world now?

Time Awaits You

*This poem was written for a friend's baby shower. If you are interested in having a personalized poem written for your own special occasion, please email me: shaeopoetry@gmail.com.*


All time slows down as time draws near
For our sweet angel to appear
We wait with excitement and smiles too
Until we meet our blessing--YOU!

And precious dear, when you arrive
We won't alone be filled with pride
For today our loved ones have showered still
More joy for you than time could fill!

So darling of mine, prepare for tons
Of joy and laughter, love and hugs
For the one holding this poem now
Will love you long as time allows.

Shae's Updates

What an incredible year it has been! I began with the determination to introduce the world to my work, and with the support and encouragement of my loved ones, that's just what I did! It started simply with reaching out through social media. Shaeopoetry grew from a blog to a facebook and twitter account. If you aren't following me yet, please click the links below:

www.facebook.com/shaeopoetry

www.twitter.com/shaeopoetry

I then ventured into the world of the printed word by writing, designing, and printing my very own chapbook! Truths Unspoken is filled with a variety of poetic forms and emotions as it tells the story of the cycle of a relationship, something we have all experienced over and over again in life. It is for sale right here on the blog! Just click the link on the right-hand side labeled "Buy Now", and for only $10.00 you will have your very own copy of Truths Unspoken.

Finally, I registered for the Austin International Poetry Festival 2012, a festival that has motivated and inspired me over the years to continue to write and share my words with the world. Just prior to the start of the festival this year, I was informed that I had been chosen for publication in AIPF's Annual Anthology for 2012! I also submitted and had accepted multiple poems for AIPF's First Annual Rejected! Anthology, a project that encourages poets who have previously had their work rejected to keep writing and submitting for future publication. I encourage you to also support my writing, and this festival, by purchasing these anthologies at www.aipf.org.

All of these goals I have accomplished as a writer have only inspired me to keep moving forward. I hope you will continue to follow me on my journey and see where I go next!

Hold Thy Tongue

I have decided that when we cannot hold our tongues,
We often give them over to someone who can:

Joy cannot hold it...
For Joy only holds
Lighthearted things like
Balloons and smiles.

Love cannot hold it...
For Love is silent in nature and
Hides in the echoless crevice
Of truth and longing.

So, there is only Anger left to hold it...
For Anger has strong arms from war,
A tight grip from grudges,
And eloquent penmanship from manipulation.

This is why when we do not hold our tongues,
We often quite quickly wish we could get them back.

For Anger will slice and dice
Joy and Love
With a speed of the 1st calvary,

And then turn the sword on you.

The Groom

Yesterday you were on my mantle

A little boy clutching a golden heart

But now a man stands before me

Away from me with another

A photograph made of words

No longer intended for me

The life is gone from this boy

Only a tiny wooden carving

It once meant love.

Sitting on a wondow sill

It once meant love.

The Rabbit Hole

Sometimes I have nightmares I'm still there,
Wearily running through a haze of confusion
Adorned in colorful flowers and poetic analogies,
Coughing from the fumes of forgetfulness
As I struggle to remember who I am and why I must leave.
Yet she finds me again and again
The innocent girl naively believing
That the queen of hearts should have one
Yet hysterical hilarity ensues in a ravenous rage
Shrieking "Off with their heads!"
Cackling "Aren't you a strange little thing?"
Weeping "Why would you wish to leave me?"
Manic majesty reigning over her wicked wonderland.
Then suddenly I've become her
Begging the next child who happened down the rabbit hole to stay
Was she once a girl?
Did she once have a name?
Or was she always painting her world
To match the hues of her delusions?
Will the next child be mine?
Will she stumble down into the nonsense
Because I didn't keep a better eye
Or because I didn't want to be here alone
In this world of nonsense and neglect?
When I stare into the looking glass next
Is it her I will see or the queen or myself?
Do I even know the difference anymore?



I am proud to announce that "The Rabbit Hole" was chosen for publication in the Austin International Poetry Festival's 2012 edition of the Di-verse-city Anthology. You may purchase this anthology, filled with works by many incredible poets along with myself, at www.aipf.org. Thank you for your support.

The Promise of Tomorrow

I look at my daughter
Adorned in a star-spangled dress,
Eleven months passed
Since her fight for freedom
From her mother's womb,
And I wonder
What is this "freedom"
She has been born into?
A recited pledge?
A knock-off replica of a banner
That once represented
The promise of tomorrow
So many yesterdays ago?
What does it represent today?
What do the words, etched in ink,
Signed onto parchment paper,
Hanging in museums,
Say to us now?
Do they even speak at all?
Or have we silenced their intent
With our political ambition,
Cutting and pasting history
To fit the poster boards of our desire?
Trading, like baseball cards,
The parts we approve of
For the parts we wish to leave behind?
Here, you can take "We the people..."
But only if you don't include "they".
I'll trade your "life and liberty"
For a little "happiness".
Oh no, you can keep your "pursuit of"
That part is too much work!
Our dream of freedom much fought for
Now fights for remembrance against
The dementia of our society.

My daughter fights for her freedom
Against the glass door between her
And the back yard.

This is her America.

My husband chooses to spend
Our day of independence pursuing
The freedom of work, to work
To better himself and his home
By mowing the land he owns.

This is his America.

And I,
I sit here in observance of
My promise of tomorrow
As she giggles and growls
At the puppy struggling for sleep,
Writing words of my own
Not for history or for future
But for freedom
Of a dream
I am grateful to attain.

What is America to you?

Wear the Mask

Hello world of black and white
Of up turned down
Get up get out
Let's size the masses
Group them so
Label and mark them
So we know
Who's right Who's wrong
Who's in who's out
Who's on our side
The rest left out

The girl stands solitude
One hand in the air
Not a fist of attack
Just a request to be heard
Will you call the name?
Will you answer the plea?
Or is she cast out
Not like you or me?

Is it too much to ask
Not to defend the knife in her back?

Yet we put it there
With gentle love and care
Say thank you and again please
One more stab of Love please
With no pain comes no compassion
Don't pretend you don't deserve it
Take it with prayers of thanksigiving
Let the bloodshed save your soul

The boy cowers in the corner
If we don't see him he might live
But always hiding always fearing
Truth painted in shame across his skin

Is it too much to ask
Not to defend the mockery of his naked life?

Yet Father knows best
We'll clean his soul with wicked words
Spare the rod spoil the sinner
Love the sinner but hate who he is
Do not change just wear the mask with pride
We'll keep your secret if you hide
Behind the face that speaks our truth
Will you wear the mask? And you?

And you?

Our Final Draft

You and I are two pages in a book
Our story always destined to meet
Connected by a comma or ellipsis.
I pray the reader does not drop us
In the bathtub or leave us
To the terror of a teething toddler
Before our plot can come to fruition.
I wonder do you think of me
While building dialogue upon action?
Do you know it will lead to me
Waiting for your climactic arrival?
Do not prolong it for too many chapters,
Out of fear that I should long to revise you,
For I know each typo that has followed you here.
It does not restrain my devotion to our final draft.

Therefore, peruse my priceless pages
Fawn over my flirtatious foreshadowing
Do not skip a single line
As it may be the one where we find each other.

We are one book.
We shall name it Tomorrow.

Wrongful Life

From the depths of the earth
From the heavens above
I imagine the trial of my murderer.
The silence of the courtroom disturbed
Only by the anxious fidgeting of a jury
Made up of my peers or hers?

The honorable judge holds gavel in hand
Even breath concealing weighted heart
As my story becomes testimony.
My name: Exhibit A.
My birthday finds me dead
By the hands of one I trusted
One I loved.

Collective gasps steal air from the room
As my murderer is called to the stand,
Taking an oath that requires honor
On a book that emits holiness
One she does not have
The other she does not deserve.
Her validated smirk still sickens me
As she begins to explain away my life
With the same words she used
While plotting my demise.

I didn't want her around.
She wasn't what I expected.
It wasn't like she had any real worth.
She was bad for me.
I'm a better person with her gone.
I brought her into this life and I can take her out.
After all, it was my choice.

The last word slices through my soul.

I imagine the jury shifting uncomfortably
The judge tightening his grip on the gavel
My father weeping in the corner
Of a room full of choices
Each one offering justice or justification.

From the depths of the earth
From the heavens above
I imagine a trial I long for,
A trial that will never come.

Because she stole my voice
Before I could develop it
And no one would speak for me.

Because she shut my eyes
Before I could learn to open them
And no one would see for me.

Because she took my choice
Before I could stand to make it
And no one would choose for me.

For my life.

No one waited to ask me for my choice.
Inconvenience turns murder to termination
Easier to say perhaps
But do not be mistaken
A beating heart was stopped that day.

Just be glad it wasn't yours.

She has my whole world in her hand.

Gentle kisses land
On tiny fingers as they
Reach out for my heart.

The Upper Room

I rise from the pew and begin
One step, and another
Toward tradition and ritual.
I pause before the alter to bow
Eyes shut in obedience
A moment of silence, of darkness...

I open them to a dimly lit room
The flicker of well-oiled wicks
Cast dancing shadows across
Clay made rock made wall.
Before me a congregation of
Ordinary men and women
An intimate setting of hushed voices
No I recognize by image
Except one.

With a lifting of His hands
We make silence and find seating
On worn wooden benches
Work of His father perhaps?
His eyes speak love,
Though His lips say nothing
I wonder if He knows
The worth of His words.

He bows before me with
Dampened rag in hand.

Will you give Me your feet?

He sits beside me
Holds His arms out in prayer

Will you give Me your hands?

He breaks the bread
Offers hardened morsel

Will you give Me your lips?

He pours the wine
Hallowed cup now made full

Will you give Me your body?

I watch as my company of
Ordinary men and women
Accept His offerings without hesitation
I wonder if they know
The worth of their reception.

Overwhelmed by humility
Eyes shut in my tears
A moment of silence, of darkness...

I open them to an alter
My priest stands before me
His eyes speak love,
Though his lips say nothing
As he offers a hardened morsel.

Will you give Me your body?

I accept his offering without hesitation
But with a humble and knowing

Amen.

Depression Express

The days run long

Alongside a locomotive

Steam engine charging forth

Against an incindiery sunset

Of regrets and contrition.

Tear drops rain showers of

Hopelessness abounding

On the forlorn passengers

Who know not where they are going

Seeking no destination.

Beaten Unnoticed Laughable Less-than You.

Whispers echo in my soul
Every syllable a death-sentence to my confidence
As you play the game of Darwin
I must have been born to lose
Survival of the fittest?
Apparently I care too much.

Laughter down the hall of my self-esteem
I never understood the joke
Turns out you thought I was the joke
What did I do to earn a spot
In your black comedy show?

Friendship is a pawn you use to make moves
Toward me, to conquer me, knock me down.
Sarcasm slits paper-thin slices through my senses
Did you mean it? Am I worthless?
I can't tell the difference anymore.

Sticks and stones...

Who gets to decide what should hurt enough to kill?
Who gets to own me?
Who gets to leave me?

Alone.
Tears.
Gone.

I can't wait for the day
When I won't remember who you are.

Dream of Desire

His eyes were as white as snow
And they melted into pools of tears
When gazing upon the heat of her body.

She was a flaming sun that had
Burnt out lightyears ago,
Though he wouldn't notice till morning
Came and she was gone.

What more could he expect
From a soft supple dream of desire
Awaiting evaporated kisses on an unmade bed

His naive touches grazed over
Pale prairies untouched
Yet seeking to own them like so
Many men before him
They roughly craved the shadowed spaces
Kept secret beneath a black lingerie

But her scorching gaze evanesced his very control
Commandeering his virility
Until she deemed him worthy of fulfilling
The very yearning he sought from
A photograph she left to him
When she burnt out lightyears ago
In the pool of tears he drowned her.

What more could he expect
From a soft supple dream of desire?

To My Knight on Cotton Clouds

You catch my tears on goose-down pillows
so the hopes and dreams cradled in each watery crescent
don't come crashing down with my salty doubt-drops.

I wouldn't that you'd stop them all together
for I dearly love their bittersweet taste
as you gently dribble them back into my coffee.

How do I thank my dream-catcher, hope-lover,
riding in on cotton clouds to save God's gift
from this world-ridden soul within me?

How do I thank the knight who protects
the very best of me
from the very worst of me?

I Am Woman.

I am woman.
And for some reason that name
Gave you license

To hold my tongue
   When I sought to speak

To pull out my chair
   When I strove to stand up

To close my legs
   When I longed to love

To grope my breasts
   When I told you no.

To show me the kitchen
   When I reached for the door

You took action
To assist me
To remind me
I’m behind thee.

But no longer.
I am woman.

I am work.
I am womb.
I am worth.
I am wonder.


I am.

You may keep your   man
And watch me lead the way.

Foxie

I wanted to name her Baby.
My mother had the sense to suggest that there might
Come a time when she grows up,
And so I changed my answer to Foxie.

Foxie.

Thinking back on it now I don't believe the name suited her.

She was a grand creature, even when no bigger than my hand.
Elongating her form to stretch languishly over the arm chair,
Prancing ever-so-silently throughout the house
With an air of sophistication and regal authority.
She was a queen among mere humans
And I always believed she knew it.

Yet on my sad days,
When daddy forgot to pick me up for our weekend
Or mommy was too stressed out from work to play
She was never above rubbing against my leg for a pet,
Licking my tears to give my hope a bath,
Purring blessings upon my heartache.

On sunny days she would attack the fringes of my jeans,
Hiss protective warnings against dumbfounded dogs,
Meet me on my pillow for a midnight dream.

Years later, grown up,
I learned to lick my own tears,
Pray for my own blessings,
Defend my own heart,
Cut the fringes off my jeans.

I never realized my actions said my goodbyes.

As I moved forward and on,
She took her bow unnoticed,
Ever the lady of my heart
A queen named Foxie.

To Do List

Laundry
Dishes
Pick up daughter's toys
Laundry
Make daughter's bottle
Feed daughter
Laundry
Dust everything!
...even the blinds
...and the fans
Call my mother
Pay the phone bill!
Make dinner
Laundry!
Feed the family
No, feed my family
Talk to my family
Ask husband how his day went
Tell husband I love him
Tell daughter I love her
Get out the toys
Play with my daughter
Turn off the tv!
Put on Rubber Soul album
On vinyl.
Flirt with husband
Laugh with daughter
Remember this moment...

Oh! Laundry!

Love-Bound

I found her wedged between pages
88 and 89 of a Bob Dylan biography,
Mascara running down her face
By the tears left on the wrinkled skin of her desire.

You.

My you.

Or so I thought as I deliberately check
Text messages like clues at your arrival time
While simultaneously opening the
Paper prison of emotion, delicately
Using the tips of two fingers,
Lest my prints be caught unaware
Guilty of jealousy
Or maybe just guilty of envy
Over a woman who has the time to
Handwrite anything anymore.

No shorthanded grocery lists here.
No scribbled out reminders
Of dance practice or dry cleaning pick-ups
No, this was the calligraphy of
Shakespeare or Neruda
Love-bound and heartbroken
Offering everything for even a
Glance or a sigh in return.

I hastily devoured every morsel of her longing
Whispered alongside every word of withered wanting
Gently pressed my hand against the
Confession to feel her beating heart.
When had mine ceased to live in this relationship?

New tears splashed upon the
Watermarks of her devotion,
Tears of wonder and resign,
Mundane, yet longing for motive
Thirsting for l'amour
While dusting off the bookshelves
Of my predilection.

With a sigh and a swallow,
I returned the time-soiled note back to
Its home between pages 88 and 89,
Wondering when he last had time to read
And I last had the ardor to love him.

A Love No More

She searched for her breath on the hardwood floor
As the letter on the coffee table
Blew goodbye kisses like daggers to her dreams.

Outside a mockingbird sang wedding bells
But all she heard was Taps in an off-key C sharp
Enough to cut her heart to shreds of
Vows unspoken,
Love unsung.

She finally found her breath in the
Shallow pool of tears spilled over
Four pages of courtesy
Two pages of hesitance
One page of resign
To confession,
No mention
Of repentance or regret.


Gently she picked up the pieces to her shattered dreams
Placing them in a kerchief of silky sorrow
As she softly whispered vows unasked for,
Sweetly sang a love no more.

Little Caterpillar

Little Caterpillar
Say good morning to the sun
She shines kisses on your forehead
As the day has just begun!

Little Caterpillar
Wiggle toward a brand new day
You have so much in the world to learn
In your itty bitty wiggle way!

Little Caterpillar
Don't forget to eat your leaves
Every nibble of nutrition
Gives you strength and energy!

Little Caterpillar
When the sun has gone to bed
Cuddle cozy in a cocoon
And rest your sleepy wiggle head.

Little Caterpillar
A surprise waits soon for you
As you grow and learn and eat and play
There's something else that you will do...

You, Little Caterpillar, will bloom
Into a beautiful butterfly...

...And you will fly!

Red Light District

A run up her thigh

Points to her place of purchase

As she walks the street.

Fingerpainting Poetry

She knits words into the air with her hands
An intricate dance of
"Hello"
"How do you do?"
"I love you"
True poetry in motion
She never ceases to laugh through her palms
Cry through her fingertips
Express her heart through her hands
As if fingerpainting art in the sky
But you can only see the beauty
If you recgonize the colors
And too much of our world is colorblind
But she keeps knitting words
Dancing phrases
Fingerpainting poetry
Through a soft summer breeze
And though she cannot hear it
She can feel it just the same

Blind Love Asleep

In front of the door
with her suitcase she stands
Her heart on her sleeve
and her life in her hands
Asleep right above her
a blind man in bed
Who can't see with his heart,
can't see with his head
With each breath she wonders,
by his side should she lay?
She has no will to go,
but has no peace to stay
We all feel her dillema,
we all cry for her pain
For she represents all of us
in this day and age
Giving up, going out,
reaching out, reaching up
Shouting "Tell me what's right!
Make me stay! Show me love!"
But we all have a blind love
asleep by our side
Will they ever wake up,
will we ever decide?
In front of the door
we continue to stand
With our hearts on our sleeves,
and our lives in our hands.

Let Love In

My nana taught me to appreciate my education
My momma taught me to how to sing through my pen
My auntie taught me to the strength of independent woman
But no one taught me how to let love in

My grandma taught me the sound of good music
My sister taught me where eye liner begins and ends
My greatnana taught me how to serve my Jesus
But no one taught me how to let love in

So don’t come a knockin’ with gifts and affection
And don’t come askin’ for more than I can give
You can leave ’em on the doorstep ’cause I’m all talk and no action
Since nobody taught me how to let love in

My grandpa taught me how to disappear
My daddy taught me how to cry on my bed
And though I forgive them for their past and their actions
They sure as hell didn’t teach me how to let love in

So don’t come a knockin’ with gifts and affection
And don’t come askin’ for more than I can give
You can leave ’em on the doorstep ’cause I’m all talk and no action
Since nobody taught me how to let love in

Just keep knock knockin’
Knock knockin’
Knock knockin’ now

Just keep knock knockin’
Knock knockin’
Knock knockin’ now

Just keep knock knockin’
Knock knockin’
Knock knockin’ now

It won’t do you no good, no.
It won’t do you no good.

The Great Terra

I float above her,
The greatest woman who ever lived,
And I wonder how much longer she has.
Like all great women
The story of her destruction began with a man
Who told her she would be more beautiful
If she shaved her voluptuous bush,
Pierced her mountainous curves,
Tattooed her birthmarked skin-
If she could change for him.
And so she did for love,
Giving to the man who asked of her
As he took her for all her worth
Without stopping to consider the cost.
He penetrated her whenever he chose
Thrusting deep inside and taking from her
All the riches in her veins
And leaving her barren and alone.
I wonder if she looks back on her story with regret
Or if she would give herself again tomorrow
Had she only more to give.

A Syllabus of the Heart

I am asked to present a syllabus
As a teacher, it is my duty
to organize and recognize
extend and defend
the most important values
of our education
in America
today.

I have a problem with this.

Not because it is difficult for me
A woman of faith and passion
to extend or defend values
especially the most important ones.
But because I believe
the most important ones
were erased from the chalk boards
of our classrooms
long long ago.

Here is my syllabus:

I will teach my students to write-
with a voice of confidence
and conviction
in who they are
and what they stand for.

I will teach my students to read-
books that speak truth
poems that drip passion
and everything else
with discernment of spirit.

I will teach my students to speak-
soft enough to force the room to listen
and loud enough for the world to hear
with annunciation and clarity of mind
so all who listen may understand
and believe.

I will teach my students to live-
as equals with one another
with humility among their neighbors
and pride against those who oppose them.

And if they cannot do so
with proper grammar and spelling

I will fail them.

Bathroom Stall Confessions

I think I like girls...

It was scribbled on the bathroom stall

quickly, deliberately, fearfully

aware of every high heeled footstep

coming and going on the other side of the door.

I want to reply to her confession

but I have no pen with which to write

so I gently kiss her words with

compassion and assurance

and hope she feels it on her fingertips.

Who is it that has told this confession's

hesitant hand that a higher power

might disapprove of that kind of love?

Whose reproach caused the waver of the lines

that were scrawled out in a single moment

of clarity and openness, defiance and truth?

Whose heart is it that sincerely believed

life would be better if the fingers would never

clasp the pen, if the wrist would never curl the "g",

if the words would never find a voice?

I thank God the words finally did,

in the color of blue on a wooden stall door,

and I ask forgiveness for the soul that caused

her hand to shake as she wrote her truth,

and I pray that someday her ellipsis

will turn into an exclamation! and that

her voice might someday not only be spoken

through a shaking hand,

but through a loud shout,

a proud heart,

and a kiss of love on some girl's lips.

God Bless Me.

God bless everyone.

Wait...God bless America.

Hmmm...God bless the legal, tax paying citizens of America.

Well...God bless the Republican, legal, tax paying citizens of America.

Um...God bless the Christian, Republican, legal, tax paying citizens of America.

No...God bless the white, Christian, Republican, legal, tax paying citizens of America.

Ok...God bless the straight, white, Christian, Republican, legal, tax paying citizens of America.

Let's just make it simple.

God bless me.

Huh?...only the men?!

Bullets

You enter my life with
Bullets in your eyes
And I wonder who taught you
To exchange your rattle
For a pistol,
Your "I love you"s
For "niggas",
Your hugs
For handshakes,
Your innocence
For a teardrop tattoo.

And I wonder,
If I gave you a rattle,
Would you play?

If I whispered "I love you"
Would you seek out my embrace?

If I offered you innocence
Would your scars disappear?
Would the bullets in your eyes
Melt into real teardrops
And wash all the hatred away?

Color

If I was red,
and you were blue,
I would want to make purple with you.

Love

I play
rock, paper, and
scissors with you just so
I can feel your hand on mine when
I lose.

Broken

You gave me a guitar pick once
Broken, to show me the effort
Behind your love for the song.
I've wanted to be that song ever since
I've wanted to sing those words from your breath
I've wanted to let you pluck the notes from my chest
I've wanted to be loved by you.
But not just any love
The kind of love that brings grown men to their knees
And brings blind hearts to see
And makes empty souls believe
That there might just be a miracle out there
For them.
I wanted to be your miracle.
The kind that doesn't just make your day
But makes your whole year
I wanted you near.
Near like the goosebumps I get on my skin
When you touch me.
Like your breath-
No not the breath you've exhaled
But the breath still in your lungs
And come out as those words you sung
When you played that tune
That broke that pick
That I found in a letter
That ended with "Love"
But not...that kind.
Not the kind I wanted.
Not the kind I felt
When I picked you up and played you
When I took a breath and sang you
When I broke my heart to have you
Just for eight counts.
The truth is you were always the song
And I wish I could send you my heart
Broken, to show you the effort
Behind my love for you.

Insanity Is

Insanity is

Fighting for someone who does

Not want you to win.

First Date

She flipped her hair
when she turned to him
Gave little smiles and
giggled at his jokes
Locked eyes with him
as she drove along
Presenting a sexy
confidence to catch his eye
All in an effort to
keep him from noticing
She never released
the emergency brake.

Shave

I shaved my legs.
That's what single girls do.
I've heard.
So, I did.
But when we got to the bar
And the bouncer began to hit on me
I still turned to him with
"Sorry, I've got a boyfriend"
Painted on my lips
Like a deep shade of red.
Will it always be this way?
Will I always want to call you
At the end of the night when I'm tipsy
And tell you about the band
That made Jimi sound like Mayer
And Zeppelin sound like Jet
And swear that I'm never going to
Another show until you're here?
Maybe not.
Maybe the next time I go out
I'll use my smooth soft legs
Like ammo against an unaware
Victim to buy me a drink or two.
Maybe he'll remind me why
Single girls shave their legs
And jog my memory in such a way
That I'll forget my desire to call
You at the end of the night
And end up alone in my room
Writing poetry like this.

The Game

she stares past the wall

at the face in a photograph

peering out behind a wooden post

as if to say "come play with me"

her heart reminds her that she did

and lost.

Words Unspoken

Crisp clean cuts of words

Shred my arguments into

ar

gu

me

nts

Fluttering down

Into the dark silence between us.

I try to pick them up off the awkward space

And piece them back together before you

But the five second rule seems to apply

And I am not quick enough to make the time.

So instead we say nothing

As you proudly bask in what you think is resign

And I softly cry out truths unspoken.

Someday the tears will be too heavy

And crash down on our love
With a loud goodbye.

The Truth Is

God makes it difficult on purpose.

If we were to find the
right One instantly,
We would never share our love
with the rest.
And for every one
HEARTBREAK
between two people,
There are one hundred moments each

Of not being alone,
Of perfect joy,
Of feeling LOVED.

Life may be easier if we found our
DESTINATION
at the beginning.

But God did not create life for its destination-
He created it for its
JOURNEY.

Tristen's Diary

Tattooed music notes soak into her skin
They play in her veins
To the beat of her heart.

One Love hidden on the curve of her ankle
To remind her of yesterday
Give her hope for tomorrow.

Dispair and Freedom are at war on her wrists
Hiding in an unspoken language
For the days she doesn't want to understand.

She will never speak to you, silence hangs on her lips
But ask her to undress
And her body will tell her story.

Psalms will ring out,
Prayers will be whispered,
Forgiveness will be found
On this smooth, vulnerable canvas of life.

The only scars you will find
Are the ones she has designed.
They are her diary,
Her secret truth.

And no matter who you are
Or who you think you may be,
You have never known her
Until you've read her skin.

"USED"

"USED".

That's what the sticker said.
As she carefully peeled it off of the book,
And placed it against her thigh on her jeans.
It spoke out with a purpose to the world.
No one noticed or understood.
No one but her.
Her bare hand rubbed over it slowly,
Pressing it a little in the places it didn't stick.
It was meant to be a label.
Originally, so that the consumer could see
The truth about the book.
It was cheaper, worth less
Because it had already been experienced
By someone else.

She wondered if it said the same for her.

But somehow the bright yellow with black print
Screamed to be noticed,
Loud and clear
Though none may understand what it said
She did.
And this gave her freedom.
The freedom to admit the truth
Somehow to say it
With one word:

"USED".

She would scream it loud and clear
With defiance and pride.
Even if she could not open her mouth
Even then,
One word pressed against her thigh
Said it all.

She didn't have to.

Fuck It.

Fuck it.
No really
Fuck it.
I am not who you think I am.
I am not who you think I should be.
This world doesn't satisfy me.
Fuck it.
I am not a label.
I am not a stereotype.
I am not perfect.
You aren't either.
So, fuck you.
The world we live in is a piece of shit.
We will forever be disappointed by it and each other.
So, fuck it.
No really
Fuck it.
Fuck the judgment.
Fuck the gossip.
Fuck the lies.
Fuck the temptation.
Fuck the addiction.
Fuck the pain.
Fuck the justification.
Fuck the excuses.
Fuck the hypocrisy.
Fuck all this shit.
And fuck yourself if you let yourself become a part of it.
No really
Go fuck yourself.
Then fuck me.
Fuck me for the times when I become a part of it.
(Because we all do.)
So, fuck everyone.
No really
Fuck everyone.
In fact, fuck the people who are getting uncomfortable reading this.
Fuck the people who are so offended by the word "fuck" that they can't understand the message behind this poem.
Fuck them.
No really
Fuck them.
Actually you don't have to.
They are already fucking themselves by being that way.
And if you feel like it, fuck whatever supernatural being you believe in, if you do.
Fuck them because you don't understand.
Fuck them because you do.
If you really believe in them, then they created you to fuck for a reason.
So do it.
Fuck.
Fuck it all.
Fuck everything.
Fuck everyone.
And when you get done fucking
And there is nothing left-

Then you can begin to live.

Before

I miss before.
Love in cut out paper hearts
Pasted in a locker
While whispered confessions
Find their way through the hallways
And into my ear.
Fear was the loss of
His attention between classes
Regret was a song lyric
And courage was sneaking out
On a thursday night
To steal a kiss
Or two.
Home was a still photo
Never moving
Never changing.
Family was a fact
Learned in the course of life.
No one ever told you
Life is only in theory.
Living was an idea
A dream-
Not a responsibility.
Choices were a way
Out of boredom
Not a self-sentence.
Life came in seasons
And summer was vacation from it,
After Spring's drama-
Of long looks and misgiven trust
On the back of a paper charm
On a yarn necklace.
There were take-backs
And "my bad"s.
Goodbyes meant until tomorrow.
Forever was a school year.
Love was paper hearts...
Fluttering down...
Down...
I miss before.

A Guilty God

It was long long ago
In the scriptures of old
When my mother's mother
Did not do what was told
But with curiosity You gave her
When in Your image You did mold

Do You ever seek forgiveness from me?

They were Your chosen people
With no church and no steeple
When they strayed from your ways
As imperfect ones will
So You washed them away
With Your wrath in Your will

Do You ever seek forgiveness from me?

We are taught that Your Son
Was the oh Holy One
That You gave as an offering
For redemption and love
Or was it Yours that You sought
When You sent Him from above

Do You ever seek forgiveness from me?