Scars

I can handle it.

Don’t think that because I’m being sweet

means you’ve got me forever.

I can slide from between your fingers,

fast,

and before you know it,

I’m gone.

Just because I’ve been dropped

doesn’t mean I can’t

drop you

after turning you inside-out.

Go ahead, try it.

You just try it.

You drop me from here.

No, go a few stories up.

You drop me, and I’ll tell you

it doesn’t hurt as much as before.

And look,

you look at what happened after

I laid in those ashes.

A pillow if my burned dreams amidst the gritty pavement,

raw skin, and

red stains.

But you know what I did?

I got up.

Yeah, I got up,

And now, look in my eyes.

You see that fire?

It will burn you if you aren’t careful.

Cause you know what?

I’m so tired of being dropped that I’ve dropped them,

one by one, so I won’t have to

be swinging, stories high, and then

plummet once more.

But here I am.

I’m telling you I don’t want to be dropped.

No one does.

But boy, if you do,

I’m tellin’ ya now-

you’ll be dropping one of the greatest souls

you’ll ever

But lucky enough to know.



July 2013

The Uniform of Freedom

Forgiveness

Growing Pains

Growing Pains

Adulthood is slippery.

It doesn’t have 1, 2, 3.

I feel like a child more than I ever have before.

Is everyone else understanding these half-formed representations

of my future?

The numbers are clearly marked-a number to say how much

stuff I can keep in me and tell you.

But can we have numbers-linear processes please?

Numbers outside of cinder block walls?

I’m just ring to et there, and I don’t know what the words mean

that are telling me how.

I’m terrified for the day that I’m not gonna know

and something terrible is gonna happen.

Enlightenment shouldn’t be this ambiguous...I’ve never don’t this before.

Can you send help to help me get it?

I can wade my way througha lot of things…my young life

is riddled with battle scars.

Real, hard, confusing.

But this? This is where I say

                                    I know confusing and this doesn’t have to be it.

Please don’t laugh. Please don’t criticsize. Please don’t

tell me I should part the fog with my untrained eyes. Please don’t

make me smaller by showing me how it's done.

                                                I’m still learning life.

                        Can’t you see? This is what I’ve been bad at

                        all along.

Please be gentle. Please show me the new way of counting

I have to learn but show me with love.

Leaving childhood is supposed to be empowering

I feel it a thing that must be endured for the sake

of keeping up with myself.

Their tears roll down with the sugar still on their lips.

This natural reaction has not been trained out of me,

and is proving a difficulty.

I want forever to belong to the wild grass with its sweet yellow

and the sky that is my home.

Spring 2013

Warning!

The girl writing this poem has been distorted by

mentall constructed ideas of what's right

and how to fix it.

she has forgotten over and over why she is here

and who she is

She forgets quite frequently how special and wonderful she is.

She forgets to praise herself more than she tears herself down.

This girl here is learning life the hard way.

She is never satisfied; she needs to be better.

This girl is not without joy-in fact, it is one of her

primary means of survival.

She is not without vision.

In fact, it is one of her primary means of hope, and of

motivation to keep going.

This girl is powerful beyond her own comprehension-

she knows that, and yet does not grasp it.

This little girl is God's daughter, and she often doesn't realize

that she is being held and guided by angels.

This girl is awful at forgiving herself-

it is one of her hardest lessons.

This girl wants so badly to never, ever do anything bad again.

this little piece of Divinity wants so badly to do the right thing.

Her heart is good, and her humanity frustrates her.

this one girl is scared, so scared it almost swallows her.

She cries, then and now, and is healed over and over.

She is inspired, overwhelmed, and rises and falls.

She is a tough warrior, although very few know it.

She loves life, and shows it.

Her life is different, and she is painfully aware.

But she knows that everyone's life is different, and so

she decides that she doesn't yet know,

why. 

But she knows there must be a reason, so onward she goes,

hoping dreaming, falling, and 

forever rising again.

June 3, 2013

May

It’s the month of sweet coconut,

freezing hands,

and heartbreak that isn’t

heartbreak at all.

It’s the restless time,

the chafing at the bit and digging in the heels

into the rich dirt of childhood.

The slide that is time-slick so as to prevent

changing of minds.

The days when the toes breathe freshness

and skin absorbs the Earth.

When the hands spread out, the mind forgets dark,

and freedom spins every child around the yard.

It’s our time-the world belongs to our culture,

right now.

It’s selfishness.

It’s growing from the inside, that growing that pulls

hearts and minds up and out.

It’s the last breath in before

safety’s wind rushes at our backs, telling us

in no uncertain terms

goodbye.

Sticky fingers stained with sugary summer.

Chocolate embedded in the green grass blades.

Black-and-white tags and passports,

and someday letters and stories.

Rustling dresses and goosebump mornings

And the opening of my gate, rusty and humble,

To the most glorious of adventures.

May 17, 2013