i sat in the bath for hours tonight, looking at my legs,  examining the rounded curves of my thighs,  all scarred and stretch marked,  tracing over the scratches  from where the cat launched off my lap yesterday and from where the mosquito bit me this morning,  the skin is scabbed but soft and full of memories  i traced my knees with my damp fingers,  drawing shapes with water droplets,  stars and…

i’ve been wondering how to ask you if you love me  as we drift from kiss to kiss with a dark recklessness i keep examining your hands when we touch with the lights off memorizing the ridges of your fingertips  and the scars on your palms from the history of your life without me while I wait for you to take mine, and ask me to walk with you but i forget you’re not an arborist or a partner, you’re just…

i have my students reading news articles and analyzing them for biases,

incorrect information, downright lies, slips of the tongue, words that don’t quite sound right

but i keep sharing everything on my newsfeed,

clicking the retweet button without a second thought, sometimes not even reading,

never checking for validity, too terrified of reality,

too scared of the fact that someone…

you told me you were a bird watcher,  a wanderer in the woods with an eye for

wings fluttering among  the branches and phone lines

i wonder if you would notice me  if i became a bird

if i grew a beak and glorious plumage,  feathers cascading down my bare body 

would you finally see me then, 

catch my eyes still barely human squinting at you 

from the leaves  high above your head? 

someone once told me, if you walk along the ocean at dawn just before the sunrise, you can hear the mermaids sing  and someone once told me, if you die in the woods, you’ll be reborn as a ghost tree with gentle yellow leaves  and someone once told me, if you see ten certain birds pecking on the ground,  it’ll snow within ten days  and someone once told me if i would have children,  i would make a good…

i keep sleeping,  looking in my dreams for  joy in drops of water,  reverence of my own skin,  soft proud things, a way to escape my husk of a body,  all these chemicals and maggots,  this constellation of death that keeps me trapped in this quarantine, slowly dying within the same four walls 

Day 4 of NaPoWriMo: Write a poem about a dream

I slept until 2 pm today. Quarantine makes me…

our bodies vibrating and intimate,  you curl around me, whispering  of liberating me from these trials these constant time travels  back to those years of discomfort,  raised fists, screaming sounds, ruined and roughened skin and memories,  your arms around me, protect me  from that monster, that sight that arises behind my eyelids  at any loud noise, constantly forcing  me to monitor everything,  from the…

when you turn left on N. Elm St. from 380, there’s a coffee shop shoved on to the end of a strip mall on your right

where the parking lot’s been covered by a green tarp like fake grass and picnic benches for lounging during summertime margarita sales

a tiny place, crowded and cluttered with bright yellow couches and grad students with computers

where it smells like home, like espresso…

the white pain cream in the pink tupperware container on the second shelf in the upstairs bathroom, the CBD oil an ex bought on the shelf below, the apple cider vinegar for shots like that college roommate recommended on the middle shelf of pantry that’s a little too tall, the epsom salts, lavender scented, under the upstairs sink, the prescription pain killers stolen from a different ex…

my grandmother has always called me her chickadee, that little bird with a hat, always singing softly amidst the branches of my favorite carolina trees. i wonder if when she first met me in that hospital room all the way across the country if she saw feathery grey wings sprouting from my tiny five pound body of if she just say the possibility of who i could be

NaPoWriMo “Early Bird” Prompt: Write…

watching light from the salt lamp illuminates your skin, orange and soft, a sunset in the curves of your body

National Poetry Writing Month Day 30: “try your hand at a minimalist poem. What’s that? Well, a poem that is quite short, and that doesn’t really try to tell a story, but to quickly and simply capture an image or emotion.”

i know you’re there, hiding just out of sight in the corners of every room and behind street signs, watching me as i drive to work, as i was my face, brush my teeth, drink my coffee, check my phone and as i sit in my chair at work, i feel you creeping up behind me, your breath caressing the sensitive flesh of the back of my neck as you reach around and brush the the skin around my eyes, stroking each…

today i cooked lentils and tofu, the remnants of the vegan diet i adopted in my last relationship

and my partner asked me not to chameleon last night in bed,

and my therapist says i don’t have a personality because no one ever let me have one

and i couldn’t even tell her what my favorite color was in our last session

i kept cycling through options in my head, trying to find one that…

i swim within miles of words, leafing through pages, chapters, essays, and poems, sweeping breast strokes amongst sonnets with hands cupped, pushing aside alliteration, anaphora and allusion alike as i continue and continue to read

National Poetry Writing Month Day 27

i have a list of reoccurring nightmares tucked under my pillow next to a list of first lines for new poems that i’ve been adding to every morning before the sunrise i have a list of things to do before i turn thirty — see Hamilton live, go scuba diving, and find my brother — and a list of things to see before i die — a clear night sky, the roots of a rainforest, and a Shakespeare’s gravesite — i have…

every day is another thunderstorm, a chorus of ricocheting hail pinging off my car and window a cacophonous song, screeching and screaming

every evening, i pull the blankets over my head and squeezed close my eyes pretending the flashes of lightning do not exist, that they’re only passing headlights of cars driving by

by yet they still climb in through the window even thought i never leave it…