Brown (paint swatch)

tagsales can bring new things
to you the linen has never been
seen in your room

milk in the morning
don’t forget your toast!

boulder up the driveway
on the way out to school
(after a good nights sleep
and a good mornings yawn)
don’t let the day bleed beige




This poem was written using the names of 3 shades of brown on a paint swatch.

And Just When

I miss it.

a different world--one without

the

ugly shit

And just when you think you've seen the worst

you're going to get to save the day

and that feels good.

Taken from blackout poetry from September '17.

Stripped Raw

rollercoasters invoke vomit
black and white photography
misses out on half the picture

volume stabilizers
keep things even, tones level
one song blends into the next
lots of things are thrown at you
but, predictably, they all weight the same
(some people don't have those installed)

everything is at a screaming pitch
one that can drop so suddenly,
sound submerged in water
(sometimes I think I've gone deaf)

emotions ride my skin
like I'm a rollercoaster
diving deep, needling me with ink
whenever the mood hits them

jealousy feels like jello on skin
and happiness is that moment
just before you jump

anxiety is yellow
buzzing bees trapped in my lungs
they will get angry
and make me regret
having a single thought

rollercoaster again,
up and down, but I'm blindfolded

this trail is endless
oh, I'm back to where I started
intensity drives you mad
to the brink of reality
falling into exhaustion

some people don't have the automatic system
we use a gear shift in our minds
to control our emotions
careful not to stall,

going too fast, when will I stop?

I can't explain
I don't have the words
no, I have too many
they won't fit in my head
I'm pouring out my soul,

nerves open to the air
emotional skin ripped away
leaving raw sparks
waiting to start a fire

Untitled (Not A Song)

I really was scared.

(the girls would be so pretty and
i'd just be there)

Oh, my friends left me at the altar.
(i wasn't really getting married)
Now, they look at me
so differently.

I'm not who I seem.
(i can't help but ask)
What do you see?

[instrumental]

You have to tell me if
I'm doing it right.
(don't leave me, not yet)

I hate that I still think of
all the things they said to me;
slaps made of insults
that wore the disguise of friendship
sometimes shedding it for disgust
that covered jealousy
year after year,
what makes a friend?

I'm so scared of these things.
(what if you don't like what you see?)

I could end up alone.

Ah, that’s what it always comes down to.
(i’d like to say it’s something more)
but, nothing profound,
to be seen,
just this simple thing.

I can love myself all I want,
but, there is something I cannot give
to myself (to me) companionship is rare.

This turned into a lovesick poem.
(that’s not what it’s meant to be)
In all senses of the word
 "being alone"
is about atrophy.
Without muse, without sound;
blind, in the dark, nowhere to be found;
everything is tasteless with no one to share;
my body is starved for touch; nose to the ground-

for what, I'm not sure,
but it makes me think,
who do I want to be? (Screw fate.)

I will craft a body from ripe avocados and anxiety.
Words spin my soul, a spinning wheel,
I will write as many papers as it takes
to get to my doctorate degree (or whatever it will be)
I am my own goddess and I will create my own work of art.
Starting with nothing, I will end with everything. (Screw fate.)

One day, I won’t be scared.

[dramatic fade out]

look at the fools

get used to being used.
trash, run over
with dark tire marks
still get picked up by hands
of desperate friends

look at the fools,
see how they run
we laugh behind their backs
jeering at cowards
when we are the same

we love so innocently
throwing out lies as we please
it's dangerous, the theatre we act out
craving the future we always dreamt about

some days you'll be the fool they are laughing at
some days you'll be used
some days you'll be loved

some times are dangerous
sometimes it's worth it

Cualquier Color

la gente saben todo
saben todo de tus días
pero en todo tu vida
jamás encontrado otro
modo de vivir

no puedes escuchar
lo que te están diciendo
nada mas puedes vivir
y vivir con tu color
cualquier color tu pides



Rickety Translation:

Preaching At The Choir [guest poet]

Unconcerned with mood or tone,
they speak in monosyllabic tongues,
iambic and spondaic lines running together
like a mismatched three-legged race
where everyone falls down. Ideas
like multifaceted, variegated, intricate,
are hard to rhyme. Obtuse and awkward,
those are left out of the glorified speech–
not to be held within the text, nor used to describe it–
replaced instead by bold smells and beer, boys and their
baseball gloves… a ceaseless onslaught of alliteration.
By the fourth line they’ve broken the fourth wall, screaming
into the microphone, shoving the nifty little internal slide
between “men” and “oppression” down the listeners’ throats.
Subtly is cast aside for redundancy– their bodies are theirs, after all,
an inalienable right that can’t be taken away. It’s bad to call
girls “bitches.” Eyes angry, hair
tossing, they arrive at this powerful conclusion, only to drift
out of “I verb” and into “all little girls.” Breathless and heady,
they spill the final stanza from their heart, their guts,
onto the stage and into the ears of people who watch
slam poetry.

written by a friend

The Assumptions Are Wrong

You never really know anyone.

The girl who caught my eye
after rolling up her sleeves to paint
started to cover the scars, but stopped
and smiled after I showed her mine.
She wrote song lyrics on her arms
for comfort- to remind her of what is real.

There is solidarity.

One girl with the cute afro
and anger issues
cried after yelling at one of the other girls.
She loved to do word searches.

Who says we are in control?

The little girl who bangs her head up against the wall
to rid herself of the demons
looks adorable with her fuzzy blanket
singing along to watching Disney movies on the couch.

Anyone can be affected.

One girl who had to learn to eat again,
wouldn't let you
hate on your own body.
She could
speak 3 languages
and draw like a goddess.

We are more than our pain.

The people living under depression can crack the brightest smiles.
We wouldn’t wish these feelings on anyone-
that’s we always want to crack jokes.

Between the locked doors and gray walls,
we shared stories from days long ago,
we got excited on chicken tender day,
we ran around the gym and painted everything we could-

We are trying to heal.

Next time someone assumes
they know you, but get it all wrong, try
not to get mad,
no matter how hard you have to grind your teeth,
because you know the truth.

The truth that
you never really know anyone-
if it helps, don’t worry, no one really knows you.