overland park kansas usa earth milky way am i supposed to call this home? i live here but it isn’t home. my home is delved deep within the pages of my books my home is made in the beats of my favorite songs my home is captured pictures at a time, then run together to make magical movies. my ho
constantly muttering to yourself a constant hum in the back of your head. carrying conversations with the walls around you this is normal mom, leave me alone mom, I want to eat in my room tonight mom, I can’t talk right now mom. buzz-buzz, buzz-buzz your phone vibrates, mimicking a heartbeat his
Born into the place I despise. Growing in the green, not seeing what could be. Suffocating siblings, pets galore, always wanting more. Colorado was my safe place, one mountain to the next. Creaky ski lifts, glistening snow, hot chocolate burning my tongue. My problems disappeared, skiing from on
A little spot in the heartland, A little spot in your heart. Where families are created, And legacies carry on. Where meals are around a table, And the front of a fridge is your trophy case. Where names are recycled, And recipes stay secret. Where talking over one another is normal, And arguing a
Warm evenings - a slight breeze with the scent of smoked ham and cornbread for dinner. BROWN BODIES come out when the streetlights do FOR FEAR OF BEING SEEN, dancing and singing to Motown. Turning bodies into wine too sweet to taste. Hearing John Coltrane and his saxophone telling stories of BLUE
The Ponderosa Pines hunched ponderously, Their convoluted gestures frozen With dry, rasping limbs in stages of vexation And narrow forearms lifted high In savored moments of exalted epiphany. My brother and I climbed the questions They grew, Our legs crouching and stretching Over the contours of
So many people crowded into one wave pool.
All together in one container,
Yet in separate groups, hardly mingling with others.
The designers did their best to replicate nature,
But only to an extent.
Waves for five minutes, rest for five minutes,
i am your (empty dead-eyed cashier, mechanically ringing up your nachos and popcorn; have a great day! weekend plans and giggling friends, i am Maslow’s slave face blur past, i ring up your purchase come back soon! but i’ll be here right, i am your bus driver, your garbage man, your waiter, i a
Woman. Care-taker, life-giver, nurturer, chef, doormat. Woman. Raised to believe my gender put me on the bottom. I am to please, not to be pleased. I am the inferior, the weak, the soft, the submissive. Already born with joy, told to mask the pain. Hand swatted with scorn when a fingertip probed
sing in me, O Muse, the plight of the second generation american;
she is a girl with brown eyes and skin and hair,
with $300 Beats that match her silk headscarf affair.
she brings “exotic” food to school,
and cringes when lentils get on her skirt of tulle.
I hastily picked my feet up out of the snow to uncover a pair of warm brown boots that had been hidden under layers of white fluff just moments ago. The cold wind pierces my bare cheeks as I charge forward, breathing heavily to reveal a cloud of warm carbon dioxide.