napowrimo 2017: #14 & 15

my thighs feel dense
and
i pray these thickish ankles
are just PMS.

but
there's also
something sweet
and inviting
about the cushy roundness
of it all.

napowrimo 2017: #12 & 13

the myopic views
of old,
impotently “powerful”
white men
exhaust my compassion.

it is the height
of ego
to work out your issues
on our television sets
and not the privacy
of your therapist’s office.

get over yourselves.

all we want
is to
live
thrive
sing
love
dance
revel in a vision of life
absent of
your nonexistent glory.

get your minds right
(outside our institutions)
pay some restitution
and you might be welcome
to join us.

napowrimo 2017: #10 & 11

i am done apologizing
for my massive
boundless
enveloping
sticky
desire

and what i do with it.

love me,
love my gravitational pull;
fight me
and get pulled apart.

napowrimo 2017: #9

i stayed up too late
to write this poem.

traded giggles &
a touch of ecstasy
for creativity.

a completely worthwhile endeavor.

napowrimo 2017: #8

it's been
4 months
and 19 days
since...

venus rollin' backwards
mercury 'bout to act a fool,
but even when they're in my favor,
my bed stays cold
'cause old flames won't do.

still, i declare:
every day
is one day closer
to finding
you.

napowrimo 2017: #7

born with
the piscean calm
of a glassy lake,
my peace
forged itself in grief
kiln-glazed with lost innocence.

(a dull
greenish-blue,
i think.)

behind my enduring belief
in miracles
is the world weary soul
of an immortal.

i remember
bloody pasts;
i’ve lived through
better futures.

i know we recover
(not always),
yet suffer the paradoxical sin
of short memory.

still.
there are limits.

immortality
isn’t divinity.
i am only of this
i did not create it.

so, like the rest,
i endure the riddle
of why we keep returning
as ourselves.

napowrimo 2017: #6

the universe expands
and stretches us with it

no matter that we’re
more bone
than rubber

it only recognizes
the light
beneath the flesh,
the intangible substance of atoms
jumbled in our blood.

we perceive a centrifuge
tearing us apart...

it knows us
as the knitting
lovingly twisted and turned
between its fingers.

napowrimo 2017: #5

everyone should experience the sensation
of being looked at
like they hung the moon
stars
and a couple planets.

a useful phenomenon,
it inspires
and humbles
while repelling
lackluster engagements;

ruins you
in the best ways.

napowrimo 2017: #4

god in the alley,

hiding behind 

humanity's petty arguments:

there are wings

beneath your t-shirt

and a crown 

in storage.

napowrimo 2017: #3

i may be writing
love letters to ghosts; complex
imagined fragments.

napowrimo 2017: #1&2

revolution comes
in the quiet spaces:

an art of paradox
contradiction
and complication
made frighteningly simple
by
urgency.

it arrives
between breakthroughs,
over breakdowns;

on the soles
of praise dancers;

dissolved under the tongue
like curing poisons.

by the time it's witnessed,
the work's already done.