rosword

      That’s why the Sea of Eurasia always longs for the rain

For all of my life, movement was my only means of survival. I was a vibrating child. I built castles with pieces of time filled them to ceilings and slicked back my hair so it wouldn’t get in my way. When I was twelve years old, I washed my hands ‘til they bled, cracking into scaly pieces that I washed down the drain. I checked my closet, my sock drawer, the garage. 1, 2, 3, 1, 2, 3, 1, 2, 3, 1, 2... 3 The weight of the world on my rituals. People always said I was mature for my age. I lived by the laws of inertia, An object in motion will remain in motion unless acted upon by an unbalanced force. So as my bones got more tired, and my hair fell out of place I grew more and more terrified Because an object at rest will surely stay I turn eighteen in eight months I quit ballet I quit musicals I lay in bed for many many hours I’ve applied to college. Mama, My body is slowing down, this time though, It’s liberation. I am no longer the vibrating child. Now, I am floating. I stopped carving time into houses, castles, prisons that need filling. You always told me you liked my hair natural. Mama let me float I will continue breaking your puppet strings so long as you insist on tying my wrists. I know you do not want to control me, you only want to see that I’m moving. But I learned that survival technique from you and I have found it’s flaws Motion does not mean progression Sometimes we are just running in place Mama, the laws of inertia do not apply to people Vibrating woman, From you I learned the importance of working harder than everyone else around you. I am proof. I am walking success story. I am tired. Vibrating woman, From you I learned the importance (I’m sorry, you’re going to hate this) I learned why we need to be still

we are all countries we laughed at the kids who went to europe only because we took trips in my bedroom i helped you put maps on your walls too say pick a place pick any place just point and then you’d find that spot in my body find that spot in your body you’re the person who taught me every living being is a vacation is a land you haven’t been to and we curse those who stay in the same place forever you’re the only person who saw all the places i’ve been and asked what i’d learned from them what the locals taught me what kind food i ate there every body is a country and in every country the sunrises at dawn

My baby's broke

To the people I’ve kissed once Thank you For knowing the importance of saying no, for showing me how to do will power how to do humble How to swallow goodbyes like skittles. I’ve always liked short poems. To the people I’ve kissed three times The last three new years we’ve spent together it’s the only time we talk all year but you’re always at the party ~ somehow we went from beach side to stairwell I was having a bad day thank you for reminding me, how sometimes we don’t always talk as nice as we taste To the people I’ve kissed twenty times I promise you I’ve got all of your kisses shut up in a box, I remember every wall my back has been against and I’ll make up the ones I forget. Just like how I’ll make up the way we talked to each other. I was too enamored with the cross around your neck your blonde hair to ever say; I feel sad today To the people I’ve kissed one hundred times You’re legs were always warm under blankets your jackets, they were warm too Thank you, for taking my cold the best way you knew how rarely squirming I know sometimes that even in bedsheets the heat cannot reach I’m sorry for the fires I put out To the people I’ve kissed too many times to remember Here’s to missing here’s to bloody noses and pizza breath To all times mid-snog I started thinking about what I’d make for dinner to taking it for granted Setting this act stone, here’s to the mouths that never told me no

aw fuck

I wish I felt this way today

n.w.

In the time I have spent searching for my truth, I could have written my poetry into magazines-- into books, into newspapers-- I have a drawer in my bedroom full of blank applications. Last night I filled out every single one. Some, three years past due date; the winners already crowned. I could have written my poetry into my mother’s brain so she could finally hear me. We speak different languages, but I remember her looking past her iPad on the night I read in front of a crowd. She heard me. I watched her nod in consecrated understanding. Finally. In the time I have spent searching for my truth, I could have never learned stage fright. Nobody tells you it’s like a disease; that your body will go rigid. Butterflies are the ballet world’s cruelest understatement. Too busy looking in the mirror, trying to get it right. I didn’t notice them setting up shop in my stomach. I could have let my body dance the way it knew how to dance. One night, my movements went on autopilot. It wasn’t until I had curtsied that I looked up to see 2000 faces; 4000 hands. Clapping for the moment I let myself go. In the time I’ll spend searching for my truth, I will no longer apologize for asking questions. There will never be a safe bet on the roster. I will discover the cure for stage fright. I will call my mother, and we will teach one another our languages. I will feed the butterflies, daily, with poetry and questions. They will not make me go rigid. They will help me fly faster. In the time I have spent searching for my truth I have learned the right way to be brave.

through all of the kisses

o h no look what i did

sometimes she still dresses in a child’s clothes tacky-heart-dangly earrings, t-shirts with sticky pink stars not because she isn’t full grown because she hasn’t had enough time to weed them out of her life yet into goodwill bins and little sisters and dumpsters there hasn’t been enough time between her lost virginity and her fiancé to forget the color of the sheets the knots in the ceiling the razor burn on the neck that she felt against her lips not enough time since the flipping of the graduation cap the opening of a new book she’s just barely unpacked now her bags are still open face up on the floor on the kitchen table there’s four bottles of nail polish and a birthday check for fifty dollars from grandparents three years dead

learning