poetry Archives | Page 39 of 63

Redemption. {poetry}

I mourn a world that sells vaginal deodorants and labioplasties, mandating us to buy products so we can finally wear white and no longer be ashamed by leaks and smells. Incessant messages urge us to pluck, shave, tighten, tuck, wax, perfume, and bleach, lest we offend.

poetry

Laws To Live By. {poetry}

I began exploring through poetry and photography how a once vibrant, creative, opinionated, fiery woman like myself could be reduced to breakfast cereal and oversized black sweaters. That project, Ghost Girl, saved my soul. Here is a piece of it.

poetry

So Little She Was. {poetry}

... instead of speaking her truth she stuffed it back down deep down inside she couldn't bear it knowing they were wrong about her about who she really was...

poetry

The Magic Hat. {poetry}

The path to the box was cluttered with dreams. Boxes of trophies, and thin skinny jeans. Also bags under eyes, and grandma’s old quilts And other reminders of all her past guilts.

poetry

When You Smile. {poetry}

My bloodstream is full of your smile, Like Ichor in god’s veins. It pumps into my heart to bring life to every corner of my body.

poetry

Loving You To Pieces. {poetry}

You know betrayal and lies, you know defeat and shame You know pain and sorrow, you know very well how it feels When you aren’t loved... so your doors are closed to love

poetry

Matins And Mantras. {poetry}

I am the owl sitting Shiva above someone’s rusted-hinge heart, the Om-ing bassline just under the frost-hooked ground.

poetry

Let’s Go Back There. {poetry}

Yes, let's go back there Where there are no rules Just passion and desire

poetry

I Don’t Love You. {poetry}

I don’t love you because my senses get heightened at the mere thought of you, or because my heart cannot beat if it isn’t for you, as my soul shines in anticipation of the presence of yours. I love you because a snowflake blinds my wait, and the morning dew fertilizes my thoughts of you.

poetry

Mirror, Mirror Under The Rainbow. {poetry}

All the years of my life I’ve been with myself, not even knowing the fat and bones of my own thighs as I know the design of a recently purchased rug, just where in the kitchen drawer to grab for a spoon, and the creases in my daughter's new snowy skin. How does she, so soon in living, already ...

poetry

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