The Poetry Marathon

2021.06.27 23:15PM PST

I am, at this moment, horizontal,

my skull rested upon the knee

of a boy I barely know and 

might even be smitten with. 

His worn leather couch is 

cool against my skin, but 

his heat soaks toward me 

like sunbeams finding the pavement.

I wish there were sun,

wish it were morning,

when my thoughts are softer 

with the persuasion of sleep. 

But it is nighttime and 

the taste of my coffee 

burns at my tastebuds

while the game controller 

clicks at his fingertips. 

Next door, there is a party 

droning on and the bass,

the bass radiates through 

the ground, the hardwood floors, 

these cushions, and into my chest. 

I thank him for giving me the right

to know these things. And I 

close my eyes to sleep. 

Atom to Atom

after Natalie Diaz

I am begging: 

Let me be invisible 

but not lonely. 

Let this body fade 

into the night 

until I am but an atom

somewhere out there 

floating toward the stars

but let there be 

atoms that love me 

within reach

let their energy flow 

through me often enough

that I remember the likeness, 

not of their faces 

but of their souls. 

I am begging. 

Please. 

Let me be loved 

when I am not here 

for you to see.

Intuition

There is something 

lingering in the space between my hips

that feels a lot like certainty. 

I’ve trained my body to act on intuition

but never has it been like this, 

this positive reaction at your sauntering confidence. 

Darling, let me tell you this,

this love is born of the same place

where dread lives in me. 

That is not to say that I am scared, 

it is simply that this space has birthed 

too much truth for me to ignore. 

To the Scalp

Would you like it a little shorter?

The scissors are poised for my reaction,

flashing in the reflection like the glint of the sun

and I, ready to photosynthesize myself 

into metamorphosis.

Gods, I should have said yes. 

Let the whisper slither itself out, 

untangling from my innards. 

I should have said yes. 

Should have asked 

for a razor and some faith. 

Let the strands of my 

self-induced femininity 

fall to the linoleum like 

October snowfall. 

Too early, I suppose, 

I had to wait for my season.

Now, the buzz beneath my skin

is echoed only by 

the clippers pressed against my scalp. 

A femme settled in 

the space betwixt your lies, 

my chin held higher 

for this levity, this lightness. 

I wish that little one – 

the one who shakes their heavy head

and lowers their eyes in smothered shame – 

could see me now. 

I still find remnants of that distant child, 

long hairs woven into sweaters well-worn, 

and know it is time for them 

to find a new place to call home. 

Dear Christopher Robin

I wish I had been stuffed and left in your gentle hands. 

That I was raised like Eyore or Piglet. 

Unafraid to tell you when the darkness came.

A Promise & a Friend

When death owes you a kindness, 

he will do it without blinking. 

He will look into your eyes and 

thank you with genuine earnest

for the pleasure. 

Death asks only 

that you pay it forward

and hopes you wear your incisors 

a little more proudly. 

That is how death befriended me. 

Not by asking me to smile, 

but by making sure I had a reason to. 

Death told me jokes about the universe

and made me a playlist of all the songs

I had never heard before. 

Death bid me farewell with a kiss

so softly on my cheek that my eyes swelled

and Death did not ask me not to cry,

simply wiped my cheek with soft black cloth

swathed over bony fingers. 

I lend every book I read to death

and he always gives them back.

Says to try again.

Read a little slower.

Drink in the words with a more luxurious tongue. 

These memories

he says

are not only yours but the author’s. 

That ones even in my care. 

Take care of their words for them,

for no one else will. 

Beneath

Upon the endless careening of

thoughts whirlpooling into my bed,

finding a drain at the center of

the sheets and pouring into the

floorboards that buckle under this weight.

Tell me where your thoughts go at night

if not beneath the bed beside my

monsters hiding from the darkness.

Tide Pool

My gumboots shift carefully underneath me,

avoiding life hidden amongst sand and stone.

I lean my head against the cool grey and

suddenly the Periwinkle turn skyscraper, 

fragile spirals silhouetted against clouds

held in needle-pointed certainty.

I whisper my secrets to a city 

that emerges at my humming

and leave them to drown in the tide.

Everything-Is-Just-Alright

The depths of color splint my spirit in two. 

This, the way my heart looks on the 

everything-is-just-alright kinda days. 

The shimmering promise of blue skies and blue moods

pulling equally as I waiver in almost-contented ness. 

My heart shall dive into the neverending darkness

if only for the chance to see the sun. 

Benefit of the Doubt (A Golden Shovel)

I wonder if you’d change if you had the chance, but I suppose I’ll

ponder that forever. For I have no more hope to give

that you will find the words to say I’m sorry, that you

would ever mean it. For now, I will simply imagine the

flower you will molt into in the next life. Seeking to benefit

from the rain in the unforgiving nature of 

a drought. I wish you petals that shine with the

shadow of a withering doubt.