text message

Don’t trust

The perfectly spelled  out messages

They send.

They tell you want you want to hear –

You can’t hear the shake of

Their voice

Over text

Or see the sweat

On their palms

Or the tears

In their eyes.

Don’t trust

Anyone who’s ever given you a reason not to

Or failed to give you a reason to.

This world just wants to break you down, baby.

Don’t let it.

That Girl Is A Storm.

That girl is a storm,

Her ribcage rattled by the tempest

inside her.

Visions and daydreams wash over her like

Tidal Waves;

She often talks of the ocean in

her chest,

But rarely does she mention the

Shipwreck.

Her voice echoes like thunder over a

Spacious canyon,

And she is destructive as a great bolt of lightning.

She’ll laugh as you get lost in her

Hurricane eyes

And if you aren’t careful she’ll drown you beneath her

Clouded skies.

War Machine

Have you ever noticed

How some of the most powerful things,

From great ships to destructive war machines

Are referred to as “she”?

And how women are compared to

Black widows,

Vipers,

And the ever mysterious sirens of mythology?

 

So why has society always told me I must be

contained?

That I must be clever,

But not too clever;

Pretty, but not so pretty

As to intimidate.

 

I’ve spent my life in a box too small for

My being;

My mind opening up and threatening

To spill out of the corners and

Flood my surroundings with

Inappropriate opinions and loud observations.

 

I was told that to be a woman was to be

Weak;

They said I fight like a girl,

And I didn’t understand why that was an insult

When I asked, all they said was

“It just is”.

 

And now, when someone tells me I fight like a girl,

I say “Good, you should too.”

Because a woman is a war machine

And can destroy your fragile ego in a fraction of the time it took

To tear ours down.

 

As Laurel Thatcher Ulrich once said,

“Well behaved women seldom make history.”

So watch in awe as I

Rewrite the rules of this war

And fight it like a girl.

 

 

 

 

Black

What does it mean when

your favorite color isn’t even

A color at all?

But merely –

A lack of everything or

The absence of nothing,

All at once,

Mixed together in a cloud of mystery and uncertainty.

 

My favorite color is the color of

darkness;

The color of your dilated pupils that swim through your ocean blue eyes,

The color of the inside of your mouth as it collides with mine –

The color of the space between our bodies as we lay in my room;

The color of sleeping next to you.

 

My favorite color is the color of

Space;

The infinite vacuum in which my entire existence is based –

The color of the lightyears which separate the stars

And of of selfish, destructive meteors;

The color of creation, destruction, and starting anew.

My favorite color is the color of

Silence;

So quiet that you’re overwhelmed with noise –

The color of the moments between thunder and lightning,

Where everything seems to stop –

The color of the space between every heartbeat or breath within my body.

My favorite color is a contradiction,

A romanticized paradox.

My favorite color is nothing and everything

All at once.

Love

Part of me is forever laughing with the girls in the street,

Big dreams in our minds and gravel under our feet.

Small town blues and water tower love

Will eternally haunt all the streets that we drove.

 

Late nights and early sunsets

Are the times I don’t ever want to forget –

All dressed up with nowhere to go,

Who’d have guessed we’d ever reach this low?

 

We meet outside the school, at half past three –

I smile at you, and you smile at me.

My life is nearly over, but yours is just beginning –

I thought I was losing, but now I can see that I’m winning.

 

And I love this life that we’re living,

And I love this lie that we’re telling;

I love this all so much –

I love you, don’t you know?

Photo Album

I think in some alternate universe

I’ll be trapped forever inside these

Deep purple walls,

Looking outside the window and watching

The boys in their jumpers

Racing eachother on shiny new bicycles –

Two wheeled memories that will someday only be a metaphor

Of nostalgic comfort and

Wasted youth

 

He told me to smile more

But he didn’t realize that the only time I ever smiled

Was when we were apart,

Polaroids featuring my fleeting grin decorated the walls

None of them taken by him

And his selfish hand that only loved my smile

Because of the way

It reminded him of

The other girl

 

His name is forever immortalized in my

Leather bound photo album

Whose pages are

Tearing at the seams so much that they

Can hardly even hold

A note taped to the back of a photograph

Of a girl who had no idea

What she was getting

Herself into.

A Poem For February

I’m not saying that I’ll miss you

But I don’t want to let you go

Your brown eyes are the only warmth I can find

In this cold midwestern snow

 

Maybe the ice can freeze the clock

Or at least make time move slow

It’s time that you’ll be leaving soon

But I don’t want to let you go

 

Winter’s only got six more weeks

Or so says the groundhog’s shadow

So just lay with me a moment more

Before I have to let you go

 

And when the ice breaks

Making us move our separate ways

I’ll swim across the frost bitten ocean

Just to see you once again