| I am from curling smoke
winding a path from coffee tables.
I am from the birth of mewing kittens in the closet
and their death in the fields.
I am from tall grass,
from pine trees on the outskirts
whose cones fill the earth in my absence.
I'm from the traditional love of southern belles,
from lack of chemistry know-how.
I'm from the sons and daughters
who never knew their parents.
I'm from skeptics
and non-believers.
I'm from patriarchal genius
I'm from 'What did I do with my coffee?'
and microwave caverns.
I'm from red streaking through my hair,
a sign of victory.
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Yeah this poem is kind of a rip off of a poem by George Ella Lyon, but that was the purpose of the assignment. |
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| Do you like small girls?
'Cause somedays I don't ever think I'll see the day when I hit five foot three.
What do we do better? Must be something.
Do breasts make a woman?
Soft white and secretive
_____________________
I don't know what I was starting there. Something entirely depressing, no doubt.
I was sitting in the car today in the parking lot of a gas station, watching boys not wholly dissimilar to one I once knew; one that caused a shift in my world and destroyed the possibility of me ever believing in the honorable intentions of strangers.
"Some people are bad. They look just like the rest of us, so be careful. Some people are just bad."
Shorter than most, confidence radiating from muscles, a soft voice and the physical power to overtake me.
I fear that I will never escape you. I fear that as I physically flee from this city, a less tangible piece of me remains behind, forever trapped in a memory of an important loss. I think about you more often, recently.
I don't hate you because you're not worthy of that emotion. If I hated you, it would mean that I cared about you. And I don't. I am indifferent to your existence, because you were indifferent to mine.
I am upset that I, like so many others who have been in my place, settle into replaying events, wondering what action I could have taken to change the outcome of my night. Surely if he invoked his assumed right to my body again, I would be more forceful, savagely defending my own peace.
But you can't foresee a traumatizing event. Things happen too quickly and you're scared.
Fear clouds the most common of senses.
So, I guess I resent you for being frightening. That is through your own fault and I don't enjoy my body paying the price.
Honey, if you read this, don't mention it to me if you can help it. I don't want to talk about it.
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| Oh man, my heart hurts.
I feel like every move I make is probably the wrong one.
I feel like one day you'll wake up; snap yourself out of the fantasy of the idea of me.
I feel like I'm just waiting for you to fall out of love with me.
And you know, that sucks. I can't really control myself all that well. I've changed and adapted to a lot in my life, and I'm not sure how much more changing and adapting I can muster.
Maybe I just put too much emphasis in my mind of how much I think you love me.
'Cause I know you do.
I hate fixing myself.
I don't know what I'm talking about.
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| I couldn't begin to give you a definition. It's warm and it's real.
It's comfort. It's safety.
It's imagined. It's false.
_________________________________________________
For four years, you waited.
And now I am yours, with the promise of many tomorrows lighting me up daily.
You act out of ignorance. This I understand.
But love demands respect. Love demands thought. Love demands devotion.
Love does not call for tear stained pillows.
I don't deserve this.
I was your Daisy.
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