24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
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.
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.
Text Prompt
Write a poem that starts and ends with the word running.
Image Prompt
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.
(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.
You want to know where I am
I am where I said I would be.
I am right here. Writing. Quiet.
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
Hour 17
Sometimes I wonder if tattoos can be love notes
Notes for myself to see and smile at
Each pass of ink a new I love you
And if they are love notes
Can anyone read them
Or just me
Am I the only one hearing my skin whisper
The ink giving it voice
Letting it say I love you