The Change Kid

I, like you, have spent years in my self-definition. And as of late I am sharp and aware as a hot poker. Not black and white kinda definition but the most unchanging opaque gray. Sliding scales like lines forming a complete sphere. In Spanish, during sun storms, we say, “the devil’s getting married.” Not, perhaps,…

Beaming

Fall asleep in your white cotton bed but only after a full moon becomes small in its cycle into navy sky. Only after it no longer sits orange on horizon and might as well be another street lamp, turning the concrete into a love poem. The moon says to humans that even if we are…

Journal page

Do I love anything as much as I love my inability to love or my skillful leave?

Bloody Mary but in the mirror with the lights on.

My body is terrible and I will never be perfect. My body is terrible and I will never be perfect. My body is terrible and I will never be perfect. You say, “a beautiful poetic device, repetition is.” And I say, I’m not repeating myself, trying to reflect this hall of mirrors of your own…

Christmas in the Desert

I live through rain on dirt. I become the rain and the dirt. That ripples and fries itself. And others. I cannot control my seasons if I have seasons at all. Looking out fogged windows and pinching meat with chopsticks wishing for nothing while the country wakes for something joyful and we already sit in…

100

Over a beer you say, “tell me about yourself.” My first thought was to tell you about a who, to tell you a name, to tell you of a time my heart breathed [swelled and sighed]. That breath is what I am. I do not wear skin. I wear names and faces and stories in…

Neighborhood

Only one person ever told me I was her soulmate and she said it when I told her that maybe I didn’t want to get married or married to the type of person I was supposed to. She said I think if we weren’t– if we weren’t– well then– you’d– I’d–. And while I can…

I will reject change

WHY SHOULD I FEAR MY OWN HAPPINESS AS IF THERE IS SOME WORLD WHERE THOSE WHO WANT ME DOWN AND WHO HAVE NO INTEREST IN MY UP IN WHERE I RESIDE THAT I AM NOT WORTH YOUR HAPPINESS BUT SOMEHOW YOU ARE WORTH TO ME MY SADNESS.

Aloe

For every curve of my body that wrote his name in burns I have a story of a hand that loved that curve. [Not my hands] [Not my hands] [Not my hands]

Flows

You are lovely like the sheets I pull over my shoulder in the last minutes of sleep. You are cool as night sand. Skin illuminated like a painting, like a moonlit snowcap. Eyes hung as heavy as sap falls. Voice kind and warm like the kind that rolls down branches. And my hand becomes that…

New home new body

Lately I think I’ve been fal -l i —n g into circumstance and coincidence where stars are tears of a maniacal wind. Where clouds sit upon mountain tops in cold cold dry shifting sky. Everything feels cold now. It’s enough of the same that I recognize myself just by stare and the feel of stretching…

Frog

we say “swallowing words” and I get it – lately my throat is a gutter full of rain I taste dust and leaves at the back of my tongue. I am perfectly overflowing. And not so strong-willed. But I am of the edge of home. I am no dam.