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Literature Text
I discovered the nuance
between the floor and the ceiling,
all the shades of grey
that make up these feelings.
Between them is us
and all of our healing
for the damages done
that have left us kneeling.
between the floor and the ceiling,
all the shades of grey
that make up these feelings.
Between them is us
and all of our healing
for the damages done
that have left us kneeling.
Literature
Breaking
One day, you will open the cupboard
to find a wine glass or some Tupperware
and the world will, without warning
or alarm, roll off the edge of the shelf
and coming crashing down.
The oceans will splash onto the linoleum,
onto the rug. All the dust in all the deserts
will rain down onto the couch and coffee table,
the hills will crumble, the mountains will break,
all the windows in all the cities will shatter
and fall, a thousand dangerous miles of glass
glittering on your kitchen floor.
Everything will hush.
Exhale the breath you are holding,
and go look for a dust pan, for a broom.
Literature
a good love poem to get you in the mood
there is a sadness that lives within
liars. i told you once that you meant
more to me than myself, but if i were
truly your friend i would tell you to
leave.
i want you to slip from the bed
in the middle of the night while i
am still asleep. i want you to fight
the urge to touch me and trust
that i am honest.
i want you to find your things and
fill your bags with everything that is you
in that place until it is nearly
empty, and
quietly,
i want you to fucking leave.
without explanation or one more
ultimatum that you are so fond
of, put that car in drive and don't
you dare come back.
find a studio that
you can afford for two hundred
Literature
ma mere
i think my mother thinks i'm blind,
that i see only my own faults
and forget the fractures in her composure,
the fissures in her failing heart
that keep her awake at night.
i fear she thinks i do not see the strength in her scars.
i think my mother thinks i'm deaf,
that i cannot hear her silent sadness;
it has always echoed
in the halls of this family home.
maybe she thinks i do not hear the wisdom in her words.
i think my mother thinks i'm numb,
that i do not feel
the eternal love in every touch;
i know with absolute certainty
that no one
will ever love me
like my mother does.
every hug is a blessing that brings me home.
but
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Comments3
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Short, but packs a nice punch. 