Poems
Haikus
11/17/2017
Shield closed on a heart
Tender from everything
And nothing at all.
Alone time disguised
Loneliness masquerading
Productivity
Never had a pain
I did not laugh at for fear
It hurt more to not
1.8.18
the way we parted
my old self separated
beginning and end
1.9.2018
"is it vanity?"
my mother asked: screen held tight
don't forget your mind.
1.11.2018
Haiku as weapon
Thought they were tender-lovely
Learning new violence
1.14.2018
the space is sacred
call it what you will but know
your shame won't change it
1.17.2018
saying more thank yous
melt in your mouth delicious
for stranger or friend.
1.30.18
typed words on pages
am i allowed to hate them
when they receive praise
Did you prefer it
when if you stopped typing words
no one would quite care
2.1.18
green light. red light. stop.
my blackness so on display
as we lurch uphill
twice good and twice smart.
always. no room for all that
middling off white
2.23.2018
do you still want it
the silence wrapped in moonlight
waiting in my chest
8.28.2018
Fireworks exploding
on the inside. no damage
just embers and glow
9.23.2018
if you ever knew
the fire at the center here
you would run further
102 Haiku Journal
1.1.18
yellow plastic at dawn
heights i thought i could not bear
freedom slides down deep
1.5.18
cold air stings my cheeks
fire from afar burns a light
squinting braving space
1.6.18
bobbing ice floes rush
pink light transforming water
from plain ice to dance
1.7.2018
string tied round my wrist
a tie that binds and breaks me
god in my healing
1.7.2018
chocolate bounds through
white flecked fur creates
delight expanding.
1.7.2018
shouting at me round
what you won't/don't understand
does not make me stay
1.10.2018
where do you put him?
in the box of your knowing.
there for no other.
1.13.2018
smile cross the platform
yes opposite directions
but together here
9.23.2018
2.19.18
Sheers too fragile to be steel sit bedside.
Glass?
There shimmering in sharpness ready to make another cut.
To remove what is dead and dying. What no longer serves.
Pruning.
And then the stinging pain of cut flesh.
The red of blood.
A howling scream
Flesh sick, but not dead.
Flesh needing
Flesh needing
Healing not death.
Do glass sheers know the difference?
Does the human heart that makes the cut?
Limericks
4.28.18
Once there was a boy with a bucket
The outside was labeled quite nicely "fuck it"
He carried it quite nicely to boot.
And mostly sat on it to toot.
But no one really made quite much of it.