Glass

Glass

I stand still looking at the floor.
My eyes glued to the tiny shards of glass;
pieces that used to make up my cup;
fragments now splayed across the room.

(more…)

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It’s Not There Anymore

It’s Not There Anymore

Tear me open, shred my skin;

Crack my ribs, and reach inside my hollow body.

Your hands grasp at the empty spaces,

demanding for my heart.

(more…)

Lonely Hearts

Lonely Hearts

.

Lonely hearts on a Friday night,

go where people go, do what people do,

hoping to find another lonely heart,

to fill the void they feel in their souls.

.

Lonely hearts on a Saturday night,

go where people go, do what people do,

hoping to find another lonely heart,

to curl up on the couch and watch Netflix with them.

.

Lonely hearts on a Sunday afternoon,

float around their house, make plans for their week,

hoping to find another lonely heart,

to make plans for their future together.

.

Lonely hearts on a regular weekday,

go to work, go to the gym, come home,

hoping to find another lonely heart,

to make the most mundane days, the most wonderful.

.

(more…)

Stuck Here

Stuck Here

I don’t want to be here

But here I am, once again.

It comes around once a year, it seems.

Whenever the snow falls to the ground,

after the wishes and hopes of the holidays fade,

when all I see is dark and gloom

and all I feel is cold and emptiness,

I find myself right back here.

.

I swore I would never stand here alone again.

I made choices that were supposed to change things,

change me.

(more…)

Lessons

Lessons

“Don’t walk home alone at night.”

was the first lesson I learned as a child.

“Don’t play with matches” was the second.

.

That night, I didn’t walk home alone.

We both agreed his couch was safe.

I know what to do after I catch on fire.

Stop. Drop & Roll.

The morning after this one, I realized

My mother never taught me what to do after,

and this wasn’t a fire drill.

.

My life is split in two.

The Before, and The After.

.

(more…)

When I Become a Mother

This poem is not to say that women are victims and men are perpetrators; this poem is in response to a conversation with my other female friends, through which we realized that all our lives, we’ve been taught to fear of strangers, men, darkness, being alone, etc. 

.

When I Become a Mother

When I become a mother,
I won’t teach my daughter
to fear the night or expect a knight
because it just ain’t right.
.
When I become a mother,
I won’t teach my daughter
to avoid wearing short skirts and walking alone
or to fake-talk on the phone.
.
When I become a mother,
I won’t teach my daughter
to think she has to follow a set of guidelines
and be restricted by social signs.
.
When I become a mother,
I won’t teach my daughter
to believe that she should be afraid,
and her body and love is a trade.

(more…)

Drowning Voices

Drowning Voices

He made fun of me for not shaving my legs.

It was 6th grade.

He made fun of my flat chest.

He called them fried eggs because they were so flat.

She made fun of my hair.

She said they made my face look long.

She made fun of my flannel shirt.

She said it was stupid.

He said I was too big,

and that I took up too much space.

(more…)

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