our fingers fly across black and white keys like sparrows / rhythms of muscle memory echoing across the table tops // inside, you are wells of blue deeper than the Mariana Trench / clouded over with gray brushstrokes where smears of lavender used to be / and a burning star once glowed / the dista
prometheus — light crammed between his jaws licking up the insides of his teeth scratching enamels in their his climb — ran triumphant meek made resplendent tossing the ember from his mouth and great golden blooms sprouted into the loam fire. now man’s — where the gods decreed
I self-reflect And I gaze deep To try to forget the secrets that I keep
I bind myself And hide my chest All day long until I rest
I stay at home And lay in bed Trying to drown out what you said
You said to me I’ll never be And thusly never will I be free
The moment I was conceived And my egg was fertilized to have xx chromosomes Instead of xy My body was taken away from me And placed in the hands of men The hands of men that control dress codes The fingers that will slap my ass as I walk down the street The nails that will scratch my skin and I s
there’s the set of highlighters funny how a set of highlighters have burrowed their way into the section of her brain labeled “relevant” yet here are the highlighters pink orange green and everything in between they were his favorite thing to steal and valiantly attempt to copy her immac
I remember the guilt I had as A nine year old girl When I kissed another girl Just for fun. I wouldn’t have If she didn’t lead me on Freckled Blue eyes Red-brown hair. After the first time she kissed me My heart hurt She giggled And we’d do it again Occasionally with me Taking the lead. I remembe
The rain is immediate, and collects in every pore like blood clots. For this moment, coiled small, a child’s figure shaking sleep — I move. Pulsing water smudges the dented car hood three blocks down, and there is a caution to both of our actions.
She’s not sure what to make of herself stranger at home unfamiliar face in a sea of faces that should be everything she’s looking for
Because this is Laos and she was supposed to remember the story of the Mekong, Dad’s recipe for tam mak hoong, and above all the word for thank you
I fell in love with the first taste of that awakening flavor. The clouds of egg drops melted on my tongue and were followed by the dark earthiness of wood ear mushrooms. I thought I was drinking liquid amber, bright with acidity and warm with the red kiss of chilies.
Our love was born out of infinity, Full of promises and late-night murmurings. We chased each other around and around the loops of our symbol, Never ceasing to catch our breath, Never stopping to let our minds catch up with our words. We were invincible in the other’s eyes, Powerful and fearless,
If loving yourself is a drug, then I am slowly becoming an addict A habit like this isn’t hard to fall into, I didn’t even have to try It just felt so good, I didn’t want to stop High on pure admiration Drunk on the strongest adoration Pumping confidence into my veins with needles, making me feel
This is the story of why I became a pilot. I wasn’t ever really fascinated with planes or their mechanics, nor did I ever buy one of those build-your-own model airplanes when I was little. I was fascinated with the flying part, flying out in the big open sky for miles on end.
I weakly smile as she makes a joke. I forgot her name, but she doesn’t need to know that. Instead, I take a fake sip of whatever is in my cup; I don’t trust it. My dad taught me that trick. “See you,” she drawls, her hair brushing my face as she turns around.
Love everlasting Love is only lasting When you put yourself last Kinder a love within lantern light flames and Let the wax drip to seal the cracks of your previously broken heart Redeem your wrinkled hands and Baptize yourself in the dead flower water you’ve yet to throw out Find yourself within
The summers of my childhood meant dirty feet from playing ball without shoes, calloused hands from one too many rounds of the monkey bars, and racing to eat popsicles before the humidity melted their contents away. I was a good kid, but also a curious one.
On November 8th, 2016 (“a date which will live in infamy”) I sat like a child on my bed I had always thought myself an artist, So I took a pen and drew a map — Every line Of every state I drew my home And my family’s home. My father’s side arrived in 1750 They crossed the Gap before Daniel Boone
Slut. A word so keen and so sharp, Thrown at me but never to me To be muttered under the breaths of the boys who I’ve denied And whispered from the girls with whom I have never exchanged a word. It drips from the lips of people who do not know me, Pouring from their tongues like blood and bleach