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.

for women who are 'difficult' to love

still in love with this.

if it's possible to have a theme-poem, i think this might be mine.

you are a horse running alone
and he tries to tame you
compares you to an impossible highway
to a burning house
says you are blinding him
that he could never leave you
forget you
want anything but you
you dizzy him, you are unbearable
every woman before or after you
is doused in your name
you fill his mouth
his teeth ache with memory of taste
his body just a long shadow seeking yours
but you are always too intense
frightening in the way you want him
unashamed and sacrificial
he tells you that no man can live up to the one who
lives in your head
and you tried to change didn’t you?
closed your mouth more
tried to be softer
prettier
less volatile, less awake
but even when sleeping you could feel
him travelling away from you in his dreams
so what did you want to do love
split his head open?
you can’t make homes out of human beings
someone should have already told you that
and if he wants to leave
then let him leave
you are terrifying
and strange and beautiful
something not everyone knows how to love. 

- Warsan Shire 

miscellaneous: classic pieces from a part-time poet

so, i finally did it. there's a collection of my stuff out there.

read, comment, and tell a friend or five.  

if you'd like to help support my various endeavors, please consider making a small donation.

why the cash?  well, i'm trying to complete my spiritual ordination, take a reiki master training course in the spring, and stock up on supplies necessary for my healing practice.  any money i can push towards those things is a great help, since most of the day job funds are tied up in bills/food/survival. 

you can send donations via paypal to raha.reiki [at] gmail.com.        

and, last but not least, thank you for all the wonderful comments and conversations over the last couple of years. looking forward to many, many more. 

happy reading!

obrigado

i've become
so proficient
at drawing my shutters
that i hope,
one day,
i can make him understand
how magickal it is
that he can reopen my heart
with a few words
or a smile
as i sit,
exhausted,
hammer, nails and plywood
still in hand.

inhalation

i smelled you today.

well, more like
i smelled that same detergent
without you underneath.

but that was enough
to take me back
to nights in your bed
enfolded in firmly placed
nutmeg arms...
safer than i'd been in years.

hoping for that kiss
on the back of my neck
informing me
you weren't asleep
after all...

this thing

{soundtrack}

i want
to love
again

so wide,
deep,
and massive that
i flow through the streets
not as a woman,
but as a wave.

making it

it seems many of us are looking for rest,
soft places.
evolution has made us tired
like babies just birthed,
their eyes assaulted by hospital lights.

we need comfort
and deep waters.
if we're lucky
we find them
somewhere between the laundromat
and the cubicle wall.

we will make it past this.
we will.
we have to.
there is more work to do.
more blessings to bring to the world.

rest is only rest
not death.

the cycles continue.

black & blue

i recall the sensation
of your fingertips grazing my hips...

they wanted to get to know you;
you seemed to want the same.

there's been lots of silence since.

hands transposed with daggers
memories laced with dolor.

convivial conversations in sweetened sunshine
ended in bitter tears
falling into sunday morning tea.

no consolation
fearing confrontation
immobilized by the past
uncertain of the future.

the spirits said...
then you did...
left reeling, confused,
bruised,
ego cradling.

i don't know what you want,
but if you're leaving,
take my crystal ball.

the others cracked it
now i can see the spider web taking shape...

it's useless to me.

maybe you can ground it into pixie dust.

i need a different spell.

{july 2008}

inhale/exhale

you found
a new way to hold me...
channeling the sun
to thaw my soul.

all that magic
in two hands
and a strong shoulder.

testimony

i've been
abused by family
called sister by friends
(and not sisters)

insulted by almighty african men,
treated like royalty by 'hood niggas;
accepted by latinas,
rejected by sistas.

found love in four arms
instead of two

(call me a whore if you wanna;
shock makes me smile.
at least i know
my power
my limits
and my dreams)

staying within the lines
can break your heart;
running boldly outside them
can free it.

i've been
many things
and will be
many more.

i know
love
loyalty
friendship
beauty
and pain
lie in unexpected places
that cannot always be cleanly labeled
or clearly seen.

you've chosen your road
and might choose another tomorrow.

respect mine
as i respect yours
and we'll get along fine.