a child in my mother’s arms

I have lived a thousand lives

my life begins and ends

with the rising and setting

of the moon

the sun burns my skin

the sun rocks me gently

back to sleep

a hand on my chest

was all I needed

do I bring you joy

along with responsibility?

are you proud of me?

moon, oh moon

sweet moon of mine

I haven’t forgotten your kindness

are you a friend?

where is it that you disappear to?

you say one day

I’ll go with you

but not yet

fading in and out of phases

it gets harder to navigate

without any light

I know the sun’s comes at a price

in all my thousand lives

I still haven’t learned

how to die

I made a playlist

I made it for you

but really

it’s for me

a hand on my chest

You are golden.

You take the gold in picture-painting

And explaining

Exactly what you want from me.

I am shades of silver.

I flicker and falter

and filter all the light you deliver—

I’m littered with shadows of uncertainty.

He glows red like a memory,

Still radiates all that warm energy.

However frequently, still tuned in to the same frequency—

Remember all the things we used to be?

She dreams in technicolor,

A private reprieve from shades of grey.

She prays for courage

And a collision of worlds—

And affinity for things unseen,

Things Unspoken--

The space in between what is and what maybe could be,

Maybe should be.

A childish glee--

In the rambunctious waves,

In the lake, in the sea, and briefly--

In me.

What secrets swirl mockingly beneath the surface,

Pulsating with Chesire energy?

Teasing, tempting they call out:

I wanted something to fill the space.

Will you listen to the birds with me?

In the morning they sing their song

Like a secret message I can’t decode

But maybe I can

I wanted a second opinion anyway

Or just for someone to sit

Next to me

And listen

and say, “that’s a nice sound”

I’m tired of my own thoughts

I’m tired of being strong

I want to crumple into arms of safety

I’m tired of keeping up this semblance

Of happiness

I want to lie down

With my cheek pressed against the earth

And let my heavy body become

An offering

To fertile the soil

There are good things that can grow from rot

Sometimes this feels like the best I can do

The most

I have to offer

And at least

At least

I am always

a girl

still a girl in my bones

and limbs

in my teeth and skin

in the violent way that I am

with myself

girlhood is like a noose

around my neck

it sinks it’s teeth

into my flesh

when pain grows talons

and scratches and

claws it way out

of throats and mouths

decimating everything

in its path

costumed by

long necks and

slender wrists

knobby knees

and tender fists

lips curled

around a shriek

sharp

and shrill

women grieve

in New Orleans are for

romanticizing life

the twitch

of the grass as

a gentle breeze

momentarily lifts the blanket

of humidity enveloping me

like

an embrace

a boy with

gangly limbs sits solitary

in a chair pulled under

an oak tree where

he does his best thinking

a symphony of cicadas

swells and

scores an evening stroll down

Bayou St. John as

an almost full moon hangs

heavy over the water

I think

to sink my teeth

into her skin and let

the juices run

down my chin

smearing swaths of

pink orange across my cheek

the sky ripe

like

a peach

I taste it sweet sticky

on my lips and the

tips of my fingers

long after the heat fades

and these feet cave

and carry me

far and

farther