There is a heart in my tea

Not like the kind that drums bass beats in my broken bones when you kiss me.
Not like "Yes I will love you even when I pull down your pants to find the same undies you put on three days ago...and we haven't run the washer since Sunday."
Not like tomorrow is guaranteed
Like sunsets after long walks
Or sunrises after hot nights
Or tickle me angry then fight me like lovely.

Oh no, like paper cut out pretend
Like yes no or maybe
Like holding hands till the bell rings
Like three minutes of a slow dance
Like little wishing large
Like forever only lasts till you sip me dry.

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?!

"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?

Forever's Past

e.e. cummings wrote poetry about us

mozart gave us his very notes

but every poem has its last verse

every song has its final chord

and our love isn't being written anymore


it's ok
we said forever and tomorrow forever will arrive
and in the morning we can shed our tears
speak empty promises filled with good intentions
but tonight let's fill them with wine
and dance to the music we made
so long ago

do you remember the words?

la dee dee da dee dee da da da da

dance with me now hold my hand hold me up
i'm not ready to take our bow maybe tomorrow
when forever arrives and mozart's last chord is played
e.e. cummings will set his pen down and sigh
that you and i left him no more to say

and the silence of forever's past will fill the room.

someday on the next page.

we're living life on separate sides
of a book page telling a story
of one boy and one girl
who can't quite touch fingertips
reaching through the parchment paper.

the mundane world distracts us
from a plot written for lovers
who are lost but always dreaming
of a place where they'll be found
someday on the next page.

it was never meant to end in hurt.


you are standing in the kitchen.
i am taking out the trash.

two lovers, lost but always dreaming
of a place where they'll be found
someday on the next page.

I Wish I was a Painter

I wish I was a painter
So that I could paint of you
Laying in the soft green grass
Looking at a sky so blue.

I wish I was a singer
So that I could sing a tune
Of me oh-so-very happy
Laying right there next to you.

Children's Poetry

Oops!

No one told me anything
About the crocodile
They didn't mention his green scales
Or sharp and shining smile

They didn't say that reaching out
Was not the best of plans
And if you were to do it
You would surely lose a hand!

The Spoiled Brat

The humble child
Says please and thanks
And smiling, walks the mile
And talks about the sunshine
And the breezes all the while

The spoiled brat
Says nothing at all
And grumbling, walks a yard
And talks about how tiring
And how painful and how hard!

The Oh-So-Terrible Somethings!

I wish to think of nothing
So that I may fall asleep
But the oh-so-terrible somethings
Roar their roars and gnash their teeth
Saying, "Worry! Worry! Worry!"
As I frown and fret and fear
"We will get you soon--tomorrow!"
Is their threatening, frightening cheer!

All Warrior, No Lover

I swallow my apologies
and spit out my pride
Give strength to my ego
and take my own side

For once you will hear me
I scream with full lungs
For once you will see me
I paint truth with my tongue

My kisses are on strike
My tears freeze over
All you get are my arguments
I'm all warrior, no lover

For once I take my own side.

I'm all warrior, no lover.

Broken Poetry

When I was a little girl I told stories
Stories sometimes called lies
Or imagination
Or daydreams
And then finally
One day my mother called it
Poetry.

Poetry.

The only way I knew how to draw
The hummingbirds I saw behind my eyes
The only way I knew how to play
The symphonies that plucked at my heart
The only way I knew how to scream
The truths that pounded my soul

So I wrote.

Sewing words together like patchwork
Trying to create something beautiful
To warm the shivering
To hang like art
To study with a critical eye
And finally to love

Or hate

Or shrug at

As long as it is considered.


But somedays my words are just words
And though I try to fit them together like puzzle pieces
They never recreate Van Gogh's Starry Night
Or resemble Leonard Cohen's Hallelujah
Or whisper in someone's ear sweet, sincere, sol-changing somethings.

Somedays my words are just words.

And on those days my words are replaced with crystal clear tears
Awaiting light to shine the color out of them that is hidden inside
But that I could not pry open with my mediocrity.

They fall down my face and onto my paper
In broken poetry wishing to be written

Gay.......illuminate...........beauty.....worthwhile
......soul................joyful..........horrid...please
lovely.............dreams........simple...........never
.......us.................so....................possibility
.........or..............all......................love
........if ................................live.loud
.........to.........................truth.......amen
.......he.........................why...pain..faith
....................................maybe...make
..............................................no
...................................m........play
............................................heat
.....................................y.....rancid
............................................forever
................................r............heaven
.................................i.............waiting
...............................a..................gong
...........................................who
.................................d......sigh
.........................passion.ice.scene.it
....................zen.technocolor.lazy.I ..... !!!!!
.......................eh.petals.golden.you
..............................fine
.............................hand
..............................folk
...............................hate
...............................hope
...............................we
.......engage...need..yes.