Writing Wednesday: 4-27-2016

Welcome to Another "Writing Wednesdays" 

Today I thought I'd share a few poems with all of you!



I cut my long hair
with my mother’s dull scissors.
The rusty brown flecks of
metal and iron, fall with my
golden locks, straight and
split ends, over my shoulders,
clogging the sink drain.

You called me beautiful
in the moonlight glow—
shining through my blue taffeta curtains.
This was the last time you
called me by name; the last time
you used my hair to climb to me.

We took the elevator—instead of the stairs,
the pulsing lights for each floor, blinking into
our eyes as we push anything to go
down, down…

We escaped with the plan
to go to your house, across the field of
lakes and green grass, where we shared a
kiss and the promise of sunrise
to the north.

I would never be alone again.
I could walk in the grass barefoot.

The rain on the windshield made
you feel blind.
I tried to wipe away the steam
with a tissue as I read
you directions
to a place I had only

dreamed of.


Boy Hood

He came through my window, his
boyish smile promises the
star that mattered.

He tastes my lips—like he’s pretending to be a man. He tells
me he can fly as we lay on my childhood bed;
pink, stained, torn from memories, of laughter and tears; my
father coming into my room, a long belt in his hand,
showing me how to grow up.

He’d never understand.

He said he’d teach me the ways
to fly my invisible wings. He thought
a man meant wearing a suit, cutting
his stringy hair and shaving his rough beard.
I just wanted a partner.

 He will always be a child and if I were
to fly, it would be away.



He told me he hated my red coat.
He hated my mother and my father and
the rest of the family he had met on
a summer afternoon. He spilled his iced tea
on the yellow carpet on purpose and
turned his whiskers to the ceiling and laughed.
They hated him back, though, he knew already.

I could feel the anger in his hands as
he pulled at the red labels of my coat and
my white gloves. His fingers twisted into
my brown curls, pulling them from
the roots like weeds. He tore the fabric from
my body—in the middle of
our Autumn forest—where he once loved me as his own.

What lips you have, he whispers. What eyes…  

His wolf teeth graze my neck, dragging
red scars over my white skin; they promise
a swift death I wished would come
sooner. His lips over my skin are battles
waged on my breasts, my stomach, and
my thighs. He mounts me—makes me become
a part of his rage, grey and frozen, until he has had enough.

He leaves me surrounded in a
bed of dead leaves. In a pile of fabric paint and
blood of his own making.



The essential facts are:
If I live inside you
And you’re stitched into me
We’re sorted safely together [Never Apart].

You are the gauzy one.
You are sewn (deep.) [Take a breath]

Evasively full of patches and seams.
Forgetfully tugging at the stained thread.
(You want to leave?)

You’re wild in this autumn light,
In your ‘getting-somewhere-costume”
Going nowhere. [Listen to me now]

Your red juice on your lips
Rippling like a river: in and out
For the meanwhile – you are here.
For the time being –until you break loose


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