iamtheowlqueen said: How old were you when you first got into poetry?
as soon as i started reading and writing i loved poetry,
but i got really into my own writing my freshmen year because i went to a bay area teen writers event, met some amazing people, submitted poetry, and got it published! a little bit after the anthology came out i got invited to perform in a closed author reading in a cafe in SF and after that i knew my favorite thing in the world was performing/writing poetry.
one day it never got better,
and nothing was good,
not a single thing.
this day can’t die,
because it wasn’t ever born.
when you don’t have arms,
i will hold you twice as tightly.
when you don’t have legs,
i will give you piggyback ride.
when you don’t have eyes,
i will make love to you like your body is a poem written in braille
that i need to read just
one more time to understand.
when you don’t have a nose
i will kiss you near garbage cans
and tell you how lucky you are.
when you have a turtle shell
i will travel light to help you—
you’ll pick up better friends.
when you lose your voice
i will let us soak in the quiet
when you lose your hearing
i will not be quiet for you
when that happens
i will just say
i love you i love you
i love you
i love you i love you
until you can read lips perfectly
i remember loving books before i could read.
my mothers friend owned a bookstore on a street near my house.
that wasn’t the last time i got to hold something before i understood it.
i remember every second of the bad things that have happened,
and the happy ones blur together as well as our bodies did.
i remember sitting in my fathers office with a brand new shiny bobby pin and thinking about how well the 2 prongs would fit into the wall plug. it fit so well into the wall plug that sparks flew everywhere. that’s not the belonging i want.
i remember when i found all the letters i wrote to the first boy i loved. they were all about what i wanted. he wasn’t in most of them. i still ripped them apart.
i remember sitting on the back porch for hours with a bowl of food in my hands to feed the neighborhood cats. one of them scratched me under my eye. one stayed and she’s still waiting in my old home in california.
i remember my first day of kindergarten there was a
the teacher wouldn’t let me sit with the boys.
i remember leaving that kindergarten and hearing that a little boy wanted me to keep teaching them how to play with the little girls-
all we did was talk.
all we did was play.
i remember waking up sick to my stomach because i had no clue what i’d get out of the day
this still happens.
when it does i recite poetry in my head and it not only fixes it—
but it gets me standing up,
it gets me running.
i remember i told my mother i like girls with a blanket over my head. i was almost 17.
i remember having hair past my waist for 14 years and how i was bowing forward with with the lightness of it being cut off.
i remember in daycare i found a cubby to hide in. it was so exciting to find a room that wasn’t made with ceilings for adults.
i remember reading about virginia woolf’s room of her own in high school.
i remember the first time i stood up to a friend way better than the first time i talked back to a stranger.
i remember the first time i read a poem to a group of people. i hadn’t practiced. it was about leaving. there was no where i would’ve rather been. i’ve stopped writing about leaving before it happens. i have less to write about.
it’s better this way.
an old bear and his honey live here.
there is always bread to bake- lamps to fix- and a bag of potato chips left open to get stale on the counter.
we all need to eat
we all need more light
and sometimes we grease the wheels with whatever we can find—
and end up breaking the machine.
there are always hummingbirds to watch
and deer coming through the property—
coffee to brew.
we all must learn to stop and take it in like a hummingbird only does with the sugar.
we all need to let ourselves stop at the salt lick and face what is bitter—
but you can always get a drink with a friend.
~~note: this isn’t done but i wanted to post something~~
so today i was in my schools student lounge and the senioritis has hit so hard that i was having a small existential crisis over whether to get doritos or chex mix. this girl cleared her throat behind me and i turned around and apologized and she said she’s having junioritis and stressing out about college— and then we launched into a convo about applying to school and all that. i mentioned that i’m going to columbia college chicago next year— and she already knew that at an arts school i’d be doing poetry— and she’s read some of my stuff and had been wanting to get my book which is now happening!! this is a rep that i love a lot!!