Even now as I await the return of my Saturn, I an trying to understand what it is to be a woman,
to be a woman of color,
to be a lesbian woman of color,
to be a lesbian woman out color in influx in America.
Even now as I await the return of my Saturn, I an trying to understand what it is to be a woman,
to be a woman of color,
to be a lesbian woman of color,
to be a lesbian woman out color in influx in America.
Labels: america , early morning poetic thought , lesbian , poc , poemlite , tbc , unfinished , women
Because time is as relevant as money;
a figment of an imagination we think is real
we can trade either for more of nothing
or less of everything. We will never even have half of it all
or more than we need.
We will always be tightrope dancers
precariously balancing between falling up or flying
down. Never stable.
We lack the neccessary equipment to stabilize
We lack the neccessary desire to be "normal"
or wealthy or lazy
enough to let our time drain
and leave us wasted and wanting
more.
Darkness has been pitched
elongating our shadows
'til they become one.
Unwritten
I write you the story of us
as I dreamt it. The moon is an illusion,
a nightmare we had once that was overshadowed by the sun.
You are the memordream I always seem to remember.
His rough tongue drags across my neck, I cringe
unuse to unconditional affection. He is undeterred by my avoidance
he just wants fingers that scratch instead of fold into fists,
a voice that isn't yelling, a full bowl of food and water,
he just wants care...
the uncondtional kind he's always given.
We live in a pocket
little lintlings, next to forgotten coins and errant keys.
We worship torn receipts, loose buttons,
scrapped numbers scribbled by new strangers met
on side streets....
Labels: 2012 , April , mini , PAD , pockets , scribblings , snippoem , unfinished poemlite
She could be the dance or the dancer,
the muse
an inspiration
and I'll continue to be a dream as well your dreamer.
Hell is
a myth
a reality
here, there
love, other people
in love
your family
or mine
you
you
you
or me.
We come with the knowledge that everything ends,
without preamble or fanfair
ending silently or with a bang.
Labels: 2012 , 30 poems in 30 days , April , bangs , end of the vacation , endings , PAD , preamble , sadness
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