This Poem is Not For You Lovers
Drunk on vodka and cranberry, squeeze of lime. Losing my friends in the crowd. Eardrums pulsating. Skin swapping sweat. Edging closer to the stage to dance with strangers. Body possessed by the electricity of guitar strings, vibration of drum and bass. Limbs loose, lips looser. Singing my heart out with Maja’s cutting vocals: “This song is not for you lovers. We dance and eyes will follow. Like a lady. You’re mine for life. I gave my heart to rock n’ roll.”
Prompt from @amykaypoetry – “Write about your first time doing or experiencing something.” I wrote about my first time seeing The Sounds live. They’re my favorite band and always put on a killer show. I’ve seen them three times total and it’s always electric. Every. Single. Time.
Someday My Prince Will Understand Consent
The young prince stumbled upon the fairest of them all—
porcelain skin, hair raven black—deep asleep in her grave.
He had heard rumors throughout the kingdom
of the trick that would make Snow White wake:
a kiss from her one true love was all that it would take.
But the kingdom was also deep in the time
of female empowerment and cries of “me too,”
presenting the prince with quite a conundrum:
to revive Snow White with a kiss taken without consent
or to leave her where she lay out of utmost respect and proper decorum.
Luckily and tragically for dear Snow White,
the prince was raised by a strong woman to uphold women’s rights.
He knew what he must do.
“Goodbye, my love,” the prince said with lowered head,
for respecting her body meant leaving her dead.
But hope was not lost and true love is a societal construct!
All the people in the land who preferred the male sex
fell in line outside his door.
“A man who sacrificed love for women’s rights?
Where he at, honey? Sign me up!”
Prompt – Reimagine a fictional character/mythical creature. From @amykaypoetry
It’s a two poem kinda day…
How my heart must have
before it fractured.
Maybe I’m ice & you’re fire.
Maybe your clock is a hemisphere
away from mine.
Maybe your legs have roots
& I’m sea born.
Maybe we’re different seasons,
wrong place, wrong time,
oil & water, intergalactic,
sun & moon
always just missing one another.
Even at a distance,
our skin collides,
electrons doing their dance.
When we meet—
lip to lip,
flesh to flesh,
your overpowering energy crashing
into my submissive nucleus
—we cause a nuclear reaction
of stellar proportions
: we light up the night sky,
& set the sun on fire.
Prompt from @amykaypoetry – Use a school subject to title your poem.
How to Love Me
Kiss me like you’re starving. Curl up close when we’re watching a movie. Give me space. Touch me like I’m tangled in violin strings. Make me laugh. Make me laugh. Make me laugh. Unfold me slow like you mean it. Kiss me under the stars and in the ocean. Sneak paperbacks onto my nightstand and lyrics into my pocket. Kiss me like my lips are rosebuds—sweet, delicate, begging for tongue and teeth. Keep me wild. Keep me free. Throw me against a wall. Be in awe of every sunrise, every sunset, every meadow, mountain, and steeple with me. Kiss me every morning like it’s our first and our last. Sing to me. Write me poetry and bring me French-pressed coffee in bed. Let my brain do what it does. Let every ocean swell run its course. Be the string to my kite. Love me hard. Love me soft. Love me fiercely. Love me like you love me.
I know what you’re going to say:
Keep it moving.
But some days nostalgia
digs into me with its lustful talons,
and I fall prey every time.
And looking back is like searching
for a lost puzzle piece long tossed
in the trash and sent to its burning.
And every time I see smoke rise in the distance,
I think, “Maybe…maybe.”
“Enough,” you say,
and I try to forget,
but the back of my head has eyes.
We lie down
like corpses, breathe in
and stale air,
spin dust into wild honey,
spark fires in our cores.
Prompt – Write a Shadorma (syllable pattern: 3/5/3/3/7/5)
AN ALTERNATE UNIVERSE IN WHICH I AM FEARLESS
I step outside as easily as I come back home. The phone rings, and I answer it. The cute guy at the co-op asks me if I got sun because I spent the previous day outside, not because my insecurity is showing. I know exactly what to say. I get his number or he gets mine. We live happily ever after, or for as long as it takes to finish a cup of coffee. I go to a meetup and know exactly what to say. I go on a job interview and know exactly what to say. I look up. I don’t stutter. I don’t choke. I am center stage where I belong. All eyes are on me. All ears on my throat. My passion on my sleeve. My heart is so full, it bursts. I am independent. I am wild. I am behind the wheel, windows down, red desert stretching to the horizon. I am on a solo trip to Mexico or Italy. I am ordering dinner without wondering what the server thinks of me. I am not overanalyzing. I am not curled up. I am not trying to make myself small. I am not crying, again, over nothing. I small talk. I ask questions. I lay it all out in the open. My heart only races when I’m thinking of your hand grazing the small of my back. My lungs feel light, my shoulders relaxed. I know when things have run their course. I accept endings. I welcome beginnings. I am not alone. I have my tribe. We hike to mountain tops and jump out of airplanes. We listen to live music, get drunk on vodka and guitar strings. Our souls are intertwined. We are a lifetime. I have no regrets. I am happy. My heart is full. I am free.
I wrote two poems today and couldn’t choose which one I liked better, so I’m sharing them both.
Early mornings, streaked by sunrise, punctuated by bird song.
Strong coffee, French pressed and steaming.
You and a pen
tugging at opposite ends of my heartstrings.
4 a.m. fog turning ghosts into poetry.
I wonder how many people are walking around unsatisfied,
heads tied and bobbing up toward the clouds like balloons.
How many metaphors are there for depression, loss, hollow body loneliness?
How many poems will I write before I get it all out of my system?
I wonder how many nights I’ve jarred you awake,
how many dreams of yours I’ve claimed.
I’ve stopped counting how many ghosts of you have haunted mine,
how many poems I’ll write before I get you all out of my system.
I was made from sea salt and sand
—I am two parts water, one part tears.
I carry the weight of five oceans in my lungs.
I was conceived in October
—it’s why I’m always dying.
It’s why I’m most at home when the trees are on fire.
I was bred from blood and organ.
Now I’m all flesh and heart
—one part love, two parts lust.
I was birthed from the stars and split in two
—it’s why I never felt whole
until the night I met you.