The Poetry Marathon

Hour 19 – Decay & The After

Decay & The After

 

In my own journey away from life, 

all I can ask for is a falling apart that is proactive

 

let my eyelashes blow from my face

like a dandelion, let them fly, let me fly

 

let me pretend where they land, 

I will have more opportunities to grow

 

let my nose melt into anthills

to make my body home, no, many homes

 

let maggots bleed from my cheeks,

dripping from dwellings of their own creation

 

let my hands turn to mouths turn to ash

let my lifeline speak before I combust

 

let my body be 

and be

 

and be

until it isn’t

 

until it all falls apart

You stopped loving me

My lips moistened
your soul,
my words stunned
your thoughts,
you stopped loving me
when I showed you
that you were no longer the sun
of my days and
the moon of my nights.

You stopped loving me when
you stopped being my horizon,
You stopped loving me when
you stopped being a dragon
and became a man.

You stopped loving me when
you stopped being my shadow,
You stopped loving me when
you let my body
and my lips belong to another man.

5 AM – PRIDE

sighs and closed eyelids,

taste of saltine crackers

between cracked lips.

 

hold my rib cage together

so my heart can’t escape

my chest.

 

pavement scratches my knees,

batters them, but it’s just a

misdemeanor.

 

slapped on the wrists

while walking on Mass Ave,

the rainbow road

marks my belonging.

 

claps and pats on the back

line the street,

and the feel of smiles

widen mine.

 

the shame I held fades,

regenerating pride.

Prompt for Hour Twenty-One

Text Prompt

Write a poem that starts and ends with the word running.

Image Prompt

Choices

People say happiness is a choice and if you choose to be happy you’ll be happy. There are days when I choose happiness but I still feel sad. So, I have to disagree with happiness being a choice. On the other hand, life is a choice. So, whether I’m happy or not; I choose life.

Hour 19: Haiku

I don’t want to talk,

I don’t have a lot to say,

I’m here to listen.

23~5

(who did it?)

Who Stole My Heart??

AGAIN!

little soft feet

pitter~n~patter

<multiplying>

as they race

towards me

opening up

nummy treats

~pppfffft~

my love stolen

then given back

heavy with joy

as I watch them eat

by my wiggly bare feet

Ms Henry, my very first teacher. Kindergarten is like a blur. All I remember is her. She loved me like a mother loves her first born child. There’s no collection of memories at recess or lunch, I don’t know what I learned. I can tell you how I felt though. I felt compassion, affection, attention. In first grade, Ms Henry was my teacher again. I felt so loved that I believed she chose to teach first grade just for me. I never saw her again. In second grade, I needed her. I never got to say thank you, for nurturing me when I needed it the most.

Inarticulate

You want to know where I am

I am where I said I would be.

I am right here. Writing. Quiet.

Sacred Writing (prompt 20)

they say to make it sacred
that a habit you feel connected to
will hold more meaning that way

I’ve tried whispering prayer into morning coffee
expressing gratitude between each vitamin I take
meditating on my morning walks

but nothing feels like church
outside of pages filled each weekday
a muscle I find pleasure in exercising

pouring words from some ethereal place
given room to live in tangible form
take up space outside of me