Poetry
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You think my little quirks are cute For now The way I shout when I get excited Or how I’m always looking for my key or my phone. You like that I take hours to drink my coffee And how Half read books and loose pens lay around But I Can’t stand to see dirty…
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If you are here Then I must be too So I touch your cheek And lay my head on your chest In the dark When my body isn’t mine And I have no name Your heartbeat is real
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I think it started at the market When I was checking ingredients lists For milk and whey. I bought margarine instead of butter. I think that was the first day I suspected that I love you.
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I grew kinder as I grew older. Though everyone said that I would grow cold, I felt warmth take root in my soul, When I decided that I wouldn’t be sold On the idea that what was done to me Was simply the way of the world.
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How are you still alive and breathingWhen you haunt me as I’m dreaming?No contact since our indefinite separation,I expected to hear news on occasion.Now I wonder if we existed at all. Should I feel distressed or relievedThat we’ve become nothing more than a memory?Only digital records kept in social media posts,Red-eyed photos and half-forgotten jokes,Serve…
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Houses germinate like weeds, Popping up- unwanted- in the fields. The overgrowth has altered the landscape. I dig through the new branches to find the routes- Roots to anchor the present to the soil of the past. The old dirt road has been paved. A thick layer of tar to smother memory lane. I glided…
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I almost burned down my apartment Trying to erase the final traces Of the mistakes that I’ve made. But my memories only fade, Like the stupid line tattoo That took a year to remove. What’s been written can’t be changed. Stains in ink as black as sin, on the page and on my skin. Washed…
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Everyone I love leaves in the spring. Melting away with the winter snow, Floating away on the wind Like stone fruit flowers. Just as life begins, Something else ends.
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Warm, woody and hearty; Like the old dinner table, Taking center stage in an ancestral home. Strong, full, and nurturing; Like a wise woman’s words. Ancient knowledge, preserved through time. Sweet, layered, and addictive Like a lover’s first kiss. It taste’s unparalleled, but beware the dose.
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I collect hobbies like trading cards. Relishing the thrill of the hunt for for a new pass time to expand my collection. I cycle through my passions like photos. Flipping through an album, never resting on one page longer than a beat. I hoard potential like a child hoards shells. Putting them on display or…
Bringing Mae Flowers 