Published Work on Elephant Journal

A poetry piece I wrote was just published on Elephant Journal. Check it out and help an artist out by sharing it. Thank you!





http://www.elephantjournal.com/2017/01/ode-to-wild-eyed-revolutionary-women-poem/

In the Winter She Takes Me

He asked me how I felt,

“like pin drops on the skin,” I said,

and he huffed away,

an elephant from another time.

He had left before

I could explain that

I was a very odd little girl

lost in a gritty n twisted little land.

Ever still the awkward octopus

rubbing my body against

the walls at parties,

eyes shifting to my eight shoes,

listening through your words

to the other side of syllables,

walking home in the fog alone

and being afraid of my own monsters

who came creeping

regardless of the weather.

However

I did have the

smooth rhythms of the moon,

her headdress high,

her eyes glowing fierce gold.

She sometimes would

gently fold me

into air and expansive space

to a place

to stretch,

to linger loud,

to liven the bones,

healing sex breaths and tones.

She takes me home

in the winter.

The song

There are those days

when you’ve eaten the last of the pop tarts

and washed them down with the last beer and

there’s not a goddamn thing left in your fridge.

Your hungry and pissed

and the overwhelming sense of gloom and

graveyard doom

comes a creepin.

The walls start talking,

hissing insults your way

and are choosing whether or not

to come crashing down.

Your pillows feel like bricks and 

tick 

tick

tick 

time bombs.

You try starting thirteen different books

to shake off and distract from the pain of this sick life

but none of them stick.

The so-called friends

won’t text back,

the panic of the dark

starts to settle into chilled bones,

the world starts to tilt to the pointless and blank.

And just when hope is

snuffed out,

strangled out of your head,

you find that one song

you used to listen to

hundreds of times

after your brother died,

and you turn it on,

all the way up,

all the way up,

and it becomes a prayer,

a deliverance from the dark.

Masks

The grey clouds

craved to dance

with me

but all I could do

was mirror the rain

with tears.

Fake laughter came later

in between

my screams

that were not heard

though I didn’t realize

my twisted cries

were just in my head

and that my face only showed

apathy and stern silence

in a world

that still barely saw

the lie on one’s face

much less the

heavens and underworlds

underneath the skin.

How terribly fucking boring.

And whilst others only saw the superficial,

I could see too much of your underbelly masks,

and though I was thought

out of my mind,

I stood at the top of your stairs,

saw your sick basement creepers

and your feeble ceiling soon to be

crumbling down on you.

Back Up Brain

Back up brain,

back up brain,

drive me down those curvy creepy roads

away from these haunted humans

spitting and fitting

their sick stories

into my face

as if it wouldn’t

effect me.

And in the end times,

old souls were

put on trial

for all humanity’s war crimes

because we had seen it all

in our prophetic heads and thus

found compliant,

and the ones who acted their violence out

were free to walk the planet.

Ain’t that always the way?

We tried to warn you,

and even still remembered your pathetic names,

the ones who splattered blood on the pavement,

and whose teeth clattered,

crunched and gnawed

at the bones

of their own ancestors.

They drank gasoline in the dirt

instead of

shouting out the wrongs of the world,

got fucked up in the marshy mire,

under the ground,

in the water,

and left the world to rot

in their wake.