I Was Someone Else Before


I've been thinking about the soul a lot lately. My poetry professor tells us not to write about the soul because he doesn't know what a soul is -- "Nobody knows what a soul is." As much as I absolutely love him, I have to disagree, because my particular brand of spirituality -- Hinduism --... Continue Reading →

Skin


Yesterday, my poetry professor asked if my "write" tattoo was part of the Skin project by Shelley Jackson from 2004. When I explained that I would've been 11 years old in 2004, so my tattoo didn't stem from that particular project, he explained it to me. I'm obsessed and in awe and shocked and in... Continue Reading →

An Ode to a Pencil


Silver-grey linesbecome wisps, spiritslike seagull wings in flightcapturing impermanentimperfectrushes of ideas, whichto me are more stunning than final drafts.You are worth morethan bubbles on answer sheets,short essays in high school.You deserve to becomea novela love notea sonnetpoetic devices stretched out along blue horizons.You should be bowed to,your wooden soul propped on a pedestaland worshipped by... Continue Reading →

Home


No feeling matches this stirring in my bed, expecting to be at school then opening my eyes and...home. Where every moment feels slowed down a bubbled sanctuary from the world as nothing touches me but softness -- the hugs of my mother the quilt of my youth the cat sitting on my face.

Snow Globe


I want to rummage through stacks of books with you. Dirty, musty books so when we rustle their pages we choke with joy. I want to sit on the floor, legs crossed and pile adventures in my lap. You'll stand on a stack of encyclopedias and reach for that perfect copy of Don Quixote while... Continue Reading →

Champa


If words were fragrant my poems would smell like champa flowers. Heady, deep and sweet, they smell like -- The moment I knew I would grow up My daydreams of adventure The dark room I adopted in my adolescence The isolation I felt as I became someone no one else had known The reason for... Continue Reading →

Porches Are For Brownie


I'm all for smilingbut that woman is baring her teeth at me.Why, Giada? Why? They...sparkle...And Ina, I know that Francewith its shops and street corners, berets and baguettesis enchantingbut why must you tease me like that?Hey, you. Sandra LeeWhat's in a name? You might as well be calledSandra Dee, with your spiffy cooking ideas andadorable... Continue Reading →

Tura Lura


A chair that rocks but doesn't squeak and lulls me to wonderland. A skylight for the moon to watch my dreams that leave in daylight. As she sings to me tura lura and I go to sleep in her arms I know someday tura lura will mean more than looking at stars. In a twin... Continue Reading →

I Grew Up So Well


I may be up at 2 a.m. and it may be because I finished editing a short story I've been working on for a year and I may have just submitted it to my university's literary journal so I may be having a mini heart attack but also may be feeling so accomplished that I... Continue Reading →

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