Cough Drops
Sister told a story Of two cough drops On a day of fasting She panicked for sugar And the medicine cabinet Promised a quick fix She floated to the elevator Where an old sister sat In a wheelchair In silence They descended Except the clicking Of two cough drops Together in her mouth A knowing smile A young blush When will people Find out My cough drops
Pro-life Lioness
Snapshots of my March for Life 2017 experience. The Woman and Red Duct Tape If tears are the language of grief, never have I so profoundly watched a heart break for someone else than in the anguished eyes of a young woman; welling unrelentingly with desperate tears above the silent cry of red duct tape that splashed across her lips. The tape held one word written in the permanence of black…
Where I am from
I am from velvet cherry tomatoes, From ladybug pee, and grass spilling from laughter ripe lips. I am from the secret jungle of unfinished closet beams where a tiny body can sit among exposed pipes and cry into a Cheerio crusted mop. From my monk uncle’s mushroom trailer, A hanging fungal forest we used as punching bags for superhero training. From creature heartbeats in bursting hands, from mud…
When the earth needs a mother’s day card
We were conceived into a womb within a womb, deeply kissing us on impact, our infant breath introducing us…
Make This Body
https://soundcloud.com/zanbam/make-this-bodywe’re just skeletons with dancing feet; hungry hearts with scattered dreams; singing out into the dark, “please just tell me I’m enough”
Morning Star
It is Sunday night… well Monday morning. And here I come broken, but open, to prep my swirling, spiraling heart, to be stilled for one of the most intensive weeks in which I’ll ever take part. I’m scared. But refuge is lying, in the fog climbing, made alive in the telescope of street lamps. Rising mist shrouding the sleepy streets at 2AM, an hour it thinks no one will find it. But someone finds…
1am is my therapy
At 1 AM I like to go walking. I walk out of my dorm to enter this pulsating world that is not behind window or wall. The sharp, cold mist of rain stings my ears. And I feel good. Walking out of a place that everybody just walked into to settle, no roof shielding me from the bionic gaze of Google map’s satellites. Can I stand here long enough to be registered as a landmark? I am glad now. Because…
Anonymous asked:
Can I write you a poem/what should it be about
Of course, and anything your heart desires
my breath pumps through branches while I breathe in trees
l i v i n g
when I’m gasping for breath and spitting out sea salt blind stinging eyes and desperate collapsing lungs wet hair tangled and starting to stumble ashore another wave hits me pulls me under, I can’t breathe, but I knew full well this would happen when I stepped into the ocean with a horizon not intended to invite and as I’m hit again (a dizzying blast) my cracked lips smile in delight that’s what…
w o r d s
It seems so dumb romanticizing my little feelings with fleeting words with vaguely defined meanings that someone once decided and now everyone believes. but my laughably artsy heart and lame poems are necessity. sometimes meaningless letters mean a lot when arranged to express and beautify violent waves I’m trying to sort out into baskets. I don’t care about language, or definition, don’t always…
to have a body
my skin’s cells shall no longer frown, asking “why do you resent us?” while I study some mirror. my pores ask “don’t you want to breathe?” my wide hips “don’t you want to cradle a baby one day, be a perfect home in the ultimate way?” while I can’t help but I say “I do.” marrying my body to it’s purpose is something I’m not afraid to choose. and when that may happen I’ll sigh “baaabe…” look at…
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