feminisim and poems

Checkpost Architecture

reckless ornament

I would like to have some time

It wreaks of coincidence, you wreak of familiarity. I just don’t know myself or the directness of asphalt as I try touching a silent railing... I don’t know the know-how of concrete... but I am surrounded... a city that spans out-I won’t even bother trying to describe you... I just sat in a park and now I sit at home. when summer is over i will go to school. and you? I don’t ever want to meet you.

Can I not place myself because I can’t acknowledge my place

a wound so terrible and deep, I can’t like or be content with a single person, the conflict is endless, this discord I feel with everyone is tiresome, how easily I get alienated makes me wary of not just others but myself, how easily I decide that I can’t sustain relationships, Why Can’t I Be Patient

some are happy

I miss, I miss, I miss,

Amidst the dark oily night, she walked completely naked around her room. Her notes were splayed in the corner. Her paints in the other. A drafting table was kept on the side. There was a list of volunteer work for her to do. There was a huge trauma monster under the bed waiting to be acknowledged. The trauma monster lay next to the grief monster. No, he lay on top of the grief monster. The trauma monster was crushing the grief monster. The semester was inching closer. She was falling fast asleep. Out cold for 12 hours and woke up with deadlines unmet. She could almost not see the grief monster. The grief monster tried to come in her dreams. She tried to write about the two monsters. No one really listened or believed the gravity of the situation. Some wondered why she was concerned about the grief monster being trampled. She worried others might say that she allowed the trauma monster to take center stage and over power the grief monster. In every dark oily night and yellow melting day, all she wanted to do is kick the trauma monster out and crawl under the bed and lay with the other. Just hug the grief monster. Just let herself see his face. Just remember all that her brain had hidden from her. But her eyes flitted to the mess of the room. The dirty ruptures of paint and words and research that called and called and demanded and yelled and berated. She wore her clothes and paced frantically. Her eyes darting from one to the other and the other. Her eyes side eyeing the creatures under the bed. Her face smiling in the mirror and becoming proper if another person invaded during this debacle that was ever present and larger than anything happening outside of this room.