Apr 19

Juilet and Juliet

It’s expected of me to have pink nail polish,
a frilly dress for prom night,
shiny dance shoes to tap my feet,
lip gloss and cherry chapstick,
long flowing hair, carefully brushed,
a ring on my slim finger
from a man who loves me,
an umbrella for every occasion,
a long and expensive coat
for my long and expensive travels,
two lips like pilgrims,
as Shakespeare poetically put it,
parting with sweetness,
grazing masculine fields,
kissing the bending reeds,
but my fields are luscious with something
apart from the reeds and blue violets.
My fields are cluttered with red roses,
sweetly scented and blooming beautifully,
blonde lilies with tongues of grace,
a Fibonacci sequence of color,
spiralling beneath my feet,
stemming from the packed soil of the earth,
and my dress is raven feathers,
blowing with the breeze.
My nails are black with shine,

Apr 15
poem 1 comment challenge: Senses

Bed of Butterflies

The drops drip,
heavy and smoothly,
from their weighing leaves.
My tongue stretches
to taste it,
so sweet and fresh.
The sky opens
as the clouds move
and the sun shines through.
There's a smell,
like freshly cut grass
that wafts through my lungs.
The dirt sticks
beneath my toes
and it's cool to the touch.
The Bluejays sing,
their wings spreading
and taking onto the wind,
ever so graceful.
Butterflies like lullabies
weaving through flowers
and granting them kisses.
A warm light
fills my eyelids
as I close them and sleep.
The wind moves
and it touches my hair
before we part with sighs.
I awake to stars
and the moon is high
as she shines down on me.
In the moonlight,
my hand feels the grass
and it grazes my skin.
The butterflies sleep,
but the crickets sing
and their lullaby lulls me.
I feel light
Apr 12

The January Rain

My bangs hang in my face,
sticking to my skin in sweat
and poking at my eyelids.
There's a burning in my throat
like when you swallow chlorine
and accidentally breathe it in,
but it's a dry feeling
like when you're so scared
that you forget to swallow.
My eyes feel impossible to pry
as though they've been masked,
but I peek through my lashes
to see the room around me.
My tank light is on
and my closet door is open.
There's someone standing there.
They know I'm awake.
They can feel my fear.
It's everywhere and they can feel it.
It’s a cold January night
and it’s storming outside.
I can’t remember the last time
it rained in January.
I pull my covers closer,
feel my toes poke out from the blankets
and recoil them back to safety.
The rain pounds harder.
It sounds like rocks against my roof.
Apr 10

Do You Like Zombies?

Dear Maria,
Have you ever been to the Dominican Republic? I went there when I was just a little kid not long after my friend was hospitalized and my family and I stayed in a hotel with a pool near the ocean. You should have seen the waves! For a little girl like I me, it felt like they were towering hands rising and then burying themselves into the beach. I wonder how I would imagine them today. Probably just as waves, but you know that I’m more creative than that, so maybe it wouldn’t be too far from those big towering hands. I saw a starfish for the first time there as well as a stingray. Have you ever pet a starfish? They’re not as soft as one might imagine, especially someone who has never touched one before, but I bet their underbellies are softer than their backs. I always imagine that they’re laying on their stomachs.
Apr 05

Call A Crow By Its Name

The crows remember my name
and they call me from the woods.
Their beaks are at my neck,
scratching it and flapping their wings
violently for steadiness.
They have to be precise and cold
like a stalker in a field of grass,
like a cat on the prowl.
Their eyes are black and soulless.
Their talons are slick leather.
If I could remember their names,
then I would call upon them,
but they've grown stale on my tongue
and my ears are clogged with cries.
There's a familiar stinging 
just above my brow
where one of them scraped their beak.
I know that they think I'm a predator.
I'm big, without feathers or a beak,
and I lack the strength to fly,
but I want to be accepted into their family.
I want to wear my feathers like a crown
and fly above the trees and growth.
One of them has perched upon my shoulder,
a curious flicker in its eyes,

Apr 05

I Found Something And I Don't Know What To Do

I found something in my brother's high school journal and I don't know what to do. Keep in mind that this journal was also his when he was in middle school, but from the sixth grade to the ninth grade, he only wrote three entries that were mostly complaints about our home life. My father was in prison after being involved in a drunk driving incident when we were both in the fifth grade. He was sentenced to twenty years, but my mother divorced him and took custody, so we weren't exactly supposed to ever see him again. This angered my brother to the point of no return. Our father was his best friend and when they weren't out skateboarding (yeah, he wasn’t really much of a fishing dad), they were having conversations about what they thought about the world. He was probably the wisest person my brother could think of and he looked up to him like he was God himself.

Apr 05

A Late Night With My Father

My father is one of the strongest people I have come to know,
but sometimes I see the way he stops and thinks
and how his eyes turn down
and he strokes his grey beard
and he lets his guard down a little
to think of things that have haunted him
since he was too young to understand.
A month ago (was it now?),
my father told me about my grandpa.
I've heard stories about my grandpa
and I think he was also very strong,
but my father never told me how he died.
He kept quiet about that part and I soon understood why
when someone dear to me passed
and I simply forgot how to talk about it
or how to explain it to someone else.
It was late at night
and I had school the following morning,
but he kept me awake to tell me about my grandpa
and I listened because I wanted to know.
I've seen my father cry,
but it’s a rare occurrence.
I used to think he was a little scary

Apr 03

Where The Butterflies Don't Land

There's a rotting log in my backyard where a toddler used to sit.
It was sturdy back then, surrounded by tall grass and wheat.
The mountain view swept over her like a passing wind
and drew her in like a gentle hand tugging on a string.
The butterflies would land on her log and rest,
their wings exhausted from fluttering for so long,
and then take to a branch from a tree or a strand of grass.
The birds would land on her log and make their call,
waiting for their flock to hear them and reply.
We're sorry, but the person you're trying to reach is not available.
At the tone, please record your message.
When you have finished recording, you may hang up
or press one for more options.
The wall phone began collecting dust
and there the log was, ready for her to sit and think,
ready for the butterflies to sleep and the birds to weep.
She was ready for just about anything,

Apr 01

Your Consequence Is My Anger

Every action in this world bears a consequence.
Did it feel good when you screamed at me?
I found the voice to scream back
and now I can't stop screaming.
Are you happy now that I'm angry?
Do you derive satisfaction from my anger?
Your sole purpose is to tell people
that you're right and they're wrong
no matter the truth.
I've found some peace of mind
and I'll be complete when I'm gone.
Your heel digs into my back
and it's crushed my spine,
but I won't let you step all over my mind
because it's my best defence.
I've called you names
and I may again in the future,
but I never hit you or kicked you
or pinched you or shook you
or pulled your hair or grabbed you
or starved you or made you eat soap
or kept you still as the boiling hot water
of the shower head hit your chest
and you screamed in fear and pain.
I never touched you, so why?
Apr 01


I cast spells
and I lead chants.
The god and goddess
look upon me
and hear me
and I kiss them
with lips of crystal
and sage.
I banish spirits
and read eyes
and lips 
like tarot cards.
I carry the pentagram
upon my chest
and no,
I won't tuck it away
because it's not
what you think it is.
It's the symbol
that keeps us connected,
that protects us,
that reminds us
to respect our earth
and our sisters.
I am a witch
and I will say it again
and again
more unironically than ever.