poetry

The inability to love: You search and find the one! But your past: Burning up inside of you, while cold and lonely. The cold and loneliness disable you. The inability to love feels

I want to have lunch with a red-lipped girl and make her smile, To call her the flesh of my flesh and hold her hand without guilt or fear. I want to make

I’m a bit sad, a bit heartbroken. I wish I were nine again and in love With no one, nothing except my dream To sail alone to Japan with my tabby cat.

Laughed at, scorned, and alone, Looking for a direction to go— Lost in the crowd, longing for a friend. You're told you are helpless, never shown A way to grow— Battered and tired

When I was eight years old, a doctor told me I had a disability, And deep inside my heart, it didn’t bother me; What bothered me was how the world portrayed it

I used to think of growth like a ladder. Rung by rung, I climbed. I couldn’t see The ground, nor could I see the peak. If it’s lonely at the top,

All my thoughts need correction, For before, in my meekness, My own so-thought perfection Always became my weakness. I found in my defiance Anxieties each hour In my misplaced reliance. Instead, I need

Pencils scratch and scribble Like dozens of mice scurrying Across a table— The teacher paces purposefully, Watching her pupils’ work, Waiting for the lightbulb— That spark of comprehension. Patient as a farmer watching

Lord! The battle goes on, And the end is far from near; Duty is harsh, and pleasures are dear! The days are so dark that the night’s a relief. Please, hear me,

I know I spoke very directly to him, Very much like a lioness Might snap a zebra’s skull in her jaws. I thought to myself, “I’m not waiting.” I’m not

Life will not be crushed. I feel it rippling beneath pavement, tree roots forging cracks in blacktop, carving a washboard under my wheels, rattling my very bones as I ride. On my left

Variation on a theme by Benjamin Myers The congregants file in long lines of two, Ants carrying their burdens forward, Setting them down to rest on holy ground. Let this mother, forehead folds

The stories of my mind are like Growing darkness, bursting light, Flitting shadows, rumored wars, Soaring clouds, and plunging stars.   Battle raging in my mind, What will I do with you? You take

My life is like walking, tip-toeing a tightrope up high in the darkness where the stage lights don’t shine.   My life is like running, scurrying around the ring from one act to

Don’t ask me to love you quietly— I never learned how. I can only love you loudly: In fireworks and ardent declarations, In shouting “I adore you” in public places. My love

Towering waves roar at Those who’ve come to tame them, Never surrendering to men attempting To stand. Boards break, bones crack— No one can hinder the tide. The water laughs at failures

My mother says we ought to eat A balanced diet, with whole wheat,   And don’t forget the chewy things: Asparagus and squash with strings,   Or salmon for Omega Threes, Or peaches, pears,

Spectators wish I would stay forever Steadfast, because I've always been Here doing what I'm told. Not just to be Prodded, but Lauded: Like a derby, Circling for the gold, I reach for

Dear Mr. Poe And his lover, Amontillado, What did it mean When it killed Fortunato?     Sad Mr. Poe And your friend Melancholy, Did Virginia know That you bathed in violent folly?     Miserable Mr.

Ancient as the knotted oak, He is the wisest of all his folk— White his coat and beard and tail; Keen eyes glowing without fail. His memory is deep; his knowledge, vast; His