Monday, July 29, 2013

Turn Out the Lights

Seventy-one days
of sun
and the only thing
I want is rain.

It's hard on the eyes -
all that sun.

It dries up your soul
and makes you feel
thirsty for a life
that  doesn't exist
in December.
But Christmas
doesn't exist in July -
so which would you
rather have?

I like the rain.
I like the overcast
and the grey.
I like the cool chill
of winter
kissing my neck
and whispering
frosty words
in my ear.

The sun seems to stay
too long
this time of year.

The light burns
across the sky
before even the Lark
can sing its tune
to the dawn
and the sky
stays lit
until even the owl
begs for night.

The day
prolongs itself
like an unwanted
and I just want
it to leave.

Go now
and take the sun
with you.

Defiance (Love Conquers All. Even 8th Grade Bullies)

Sweaty palm
to sweaty palm,
I tightly held
his hand
by my side,
from prying eyes.

No one needed
to know he
was mine
and I was his -
for just a moment
of teenage bliss.

But then the whispers
and words
like "whore", "slut",
and "traitor"
were spoken
in the same space
as my name.

He held my hand
unafraid and unashamed.
She'd let him go
for another
like he was just another bull
in her boyfriend rodeo.

I hid my face
in his shoulder
as the whispers
grew louder.
We sank below
the horizon of the seats
and hoped
everyone would leave
us alone.

They didn't know.
They didn't care.
They heard one side
and never bothered
to ask mine.

One word of a lie
became two words
of the truth,
me against you
and words said
can never take back.

The windows
on the bus
fogged over
as we all rode
into the dark.

And then came
the light.

Blind for a moment
until gasps
and focus
your whispers
had become
on the windows
for everyone
to read,
to laugh at me,
a friend
you so easily
made an enemy.


I let his hand go
and gave you
what you wanted,
but it was never

You always wanted
to somehow prove
you were more
than I ever could be.
But what you never saw
was that he didn't want more,
he just wanted me.

I reached for his hand
and held it tight.
Sweaty palm
to sweaty palm,
we were ready for you,
your words,
your followers -

Because words
on windows
wash away,
but his hand print
on mine
will last forever.

Wednesday, July 17, 2013

Death and Skittles

All the colors of the rainbow
couldn't save you
from the color of your skin
or a bullet
aimed at your heart
by a hand
shaking with fear
and anger
at "people like you".

The law
may be in tact
but your life
is not. It ended
where you dropped
to the earth's floor --
stopped short
at seventeen
with Skittles in hand
and a hoodie
that won't keep you warm

You were a stranger
in the dark
and now you're gone --
a childhood ended
one February night
because one man
couldn't just stay
in his car
and leave you alone.

We are a nation
wild with unrest
that negligence
is somehow still

But the law
says something
and we all have to
live with it
or change it.

But not you.
Never you.

Your life stopped
before you
ever really got to live.

You'll never vote
for a president
or have a say
in the law
that offered you
no justice.

You'll never go
to college
or buy your first car.
You'll never own a home
or get married.
You'll never witness
the birth of your children
or bury your parents.

Your life ended
before it really began
with one gunshot
to the chest
as a pack of skittles
fell from your hand.
We'll never know
what happened
but one thing
will always ring true:
not guilty
does not mean
not responsible.