Author: poetryfest

“Why can’t we last forever?”
The words echoed in my head
Launched from those full lips I could not ignore
And there I stood
Left speechless by a girl named Ever

She pushed me from lazy days to better ways
Helped me get up to speed and start to run
Not from fear but to purpose
To leap past walls and old wounds

Through her, I saw myself anew
That I could rise and perhaps even fly
I asked “What kind of girl are you?
The things you see in me…I’m not sure I see them too”.
Ever smiled as always
“The sky was meant for us to reach.
Either you rise like dough or fall like snow,
But you can pick where you want to go”.

Things are now looking green
Fresher, growing, changing,
inviting life into my world once filled with shadows.

It was a date
Some call it fate
But things are better
And it’s thanks to Ever

Untamed hearts embark on love’s vast voyage,
where many shores meet openly.
Trust their anchor, respect their guide,
boldly they sail.
For in love’s boundless embrace,
there’s room for more.

Rejoicing hearts of shared delights,
love’s generous voice sings,
finding peace as partners flourish,
compersion’s harmony.
For in their happiness,
there’s room for more.

Affections unfurl, like pulling sails,
some wild and some pure.
Connection’s unique, enticing charm,
souls in tender saga beseech.
For in love’s vast sea,
there’s room for more.

Joy’s marauder a tempest, its formidable presence
stirring inner Siren fights.
In solidarity shines reason’s beacon
navigating this storm against the tides.
For jealousy can’t change that
there’s room for more.

Poly-folk navigate love’s boundless sea,
with stars of serendipity guiding the way,
charting their courses many,
reveling in the wealth of connections.
For in polyamory,
there’s always room for more.

i’m not happy to see you
that’s just my phone.
but you’re happy to see it!
me, banging transgender
in da pink & blue shorts
you, loving the way
brain 2 sits in my pocket
like a fat schlong,
actually panting.
and that’s us.
when we look hard enough,
like really really hard,
we find a dick pretty much everywhere.

i want to paint your nails.
to hold your hand so tightly in mine,
i whisper softly to be still and you obey me without question.
the air is thick with the chemical scent of nail polish and the ache i feel for you.
i can feel your pulse beneath my fingertips, the closer i lean in, the more rapid it becomes.
i have spent so l o n g studying those hands of yours, i could count how many lines run across your palms- tracing them, individually with my tongue.

concentrating hard, i run the pink polish over, you melt beneath my touch and your breath hitches in your chest.
how can i focus on this task? her palms are so soft as she grows harder in my lap.
i mustn’t let my eyes linger too long on your lips, i will myself to keep calm, my steady hands gripping yours maybe just a little too tightly.
i know what you want. but patience is a virtue, sweet girl.
and now,
you cannot touch me.
not because i do not long for you,
but because your nails are drying.

although i wake the next day with magenta streaks on my inner thighs from your impatient wandering hands.
and just like a freshly painted masterpiece,

you are wet beneath my touch long after the polish has dried.

-a.g

I’m sitting in drought grass. The breeze
brushes my back, the light on my chest,
tops of cloud-shrouded hills spread until my eyes fail.
From here, I could straddle these rounded
green and brown mounds of dirt and trees
to step back home across a god’s
walkway. I hear chirping in the shin-high
grass, and clicking beside blades from flies touching
crossed legs at a tangent. A scream.

A second scream.

There are two voices. Three,
maybe more. My boots pull right.
Rush into larger noise. My journal
grounded with ants. I can’t find
the trail into woods only woods.
I land in brush, hands full,
knife flipped and pen pointed.
I think of snakes. A father
carries his son toward me. Sweating
siblings slow to a trot and the bees
stopped following.
I click my blade closed, pocket it, the pen
caps and I empty my hands
before them. From my saddle bag
I offer aloe for the tears, and the wind
flipped my journal back to the beginning.

look in her toddler eyes full of glow,
They always want something to know.
Who those are and what this is,
She always makes up a new quiz.

And I’m never tired to respond,
That’s our niece and auntie bond.

Sometimes I wonder if it’ll go,
My little girl is going to grow.

I might leave for my studies,
Will she forget we were buddies?
How I told her bed time tales,
How built a sheet house with chairs?

Although, she can be annoying,
Staring at me and evilly growling,
For not being let to cut up my clothes,
Or scribble all over my school notes.

Nonetheless, each time I am babysitting,
There’ s nothing better that this feeling:
A sensation of her sparkling toddler shine,
My problems disappear, leaving no signs.

And I made a promise to future me,
That I’ll be that auntie – like a queen bee,
Once she gets older, maybe my age,
I will be on my wealthier life page.

I ‘ll Take her skating or to a book shop,
To zoo, concert, or a mountain’s top.
Doesn’t matter where we will be,
It’s about her having fun with me.

I will call her every day when I leave,
Especially, on the New Year’s Eve.
I will not be able to say goodbye,
I don’t want her to see me cry.

My dearest niece, I simply want to say,
When you were born, since that very day,
I knew that you will be my mini copy,
You like dancing, singing, telling stories.

Thank you for appearing in my life path,
And enriching it with your smile and laugh.

Beauty in the choosing
Choosing to love one
Through anything
Love is heavy, sharp..
Love can be hard
& can brutally scar
So much more than a feeling
Love is choosing
Everyday
All over again
Through waves & winds
Hop in
Sail away
Let choosing love begin today

By Monica Samantha Sanchez
~ FxNVxN ~ VixenFeelz ~

I’m going to kill a man. The thought spirals through my head. I’m going to kill a man. No hesitation. Because he deserves it. He’s responsible. He’s the reason. The reason for the black hole in my heart, the reason for the grief and sorrow, the reason why I’m standing in a field, under leaking clouds, salty tears mixed with rain, holding a knife in my left hand. My hand aches. But my grip doesn’t loosen. I can feel the pain and agony as the handle bull doses into my knuckles. I hear a crunch. My fingers don’t budge. I want to remember the pain. I want to remember what he did. So I won’t break. So I won’t crumble from guilt. Because he doesn’t deserve my sympathy. He doesn’t deserve to breathe the same air as I do when she can’t. He doesn’t deserve to live. I hear sirens. I don’t back down. I won’t, never. Not until the deed is done. Not until I’m fulfilled. Not until the screams echoing through my head are replaced with his. I won’t break. Because I’m going to kill a man

Her French name,
love of French magazines, clothes and cigarettes.
Her oversized Jean Paul Gaultier sweater, black leggings and flats,
a scarf dipped in French perfume around her neck.
Her languid eyes –
the color of the sea at Nags Head before a morning storm.
Her shy French boyfriend – David
with those seductive eyes and curly brown hair.
She savored his name –
it rolled off her tongue like sex…Daahh–veeeed…
watching her very American
Claudet Colbert lips say it you just knew –
This kid drank red wine with this croissant at breakfast and
sipped cappuccinos at midnight;
while the rest of us Raleighites
drank buttermilk with our grits
and took stolen shots of Irish whiskey with a chaser of Cheerwine.
Under the Carolina pines he lights her Yves Saint Laurent
pushing her on the old school swing.
The night air mixes –
tress moss, cigarette smoke, and Southern magnolia,
making its own Carolina perfume.
The stars look down –
jealous of first love.
Tonight he is the French Gatsby
she is the American Daisy
The green light of young hope reflects in her eyes…
And all is right at sixteen.

let’s meet somewhere outside of time and space
in the oxygen of silver hair streaming from moss
in the rape between the linens of dream and pretend
in the bottom if an ice cube’s beating chest
between the cackling of the witch fire in the city square
between brunch and lunch
between the conversations we have at dinner and dessert
between brunch and lunner and a snack somewhere between the cracks between breaks
in the supply closet at a local gym under a tower of shaven rags between breaks
on the ink of sticky notes on the backroom microwave under a tower of shaven rags
in the peels of grapes sinking off silver hair streaming from moss streaming oxygen
on the path to redemption deep inside our shoes
between the soles of our shoes deeply set on the path to redemption
in the winter air, warm and clear, blasting through our windows
a hurricane
a forgotten hurricane
a hurricane forgot to rain today
in between the rape on the linens of dream and pretend
let’s meet here
on a boat cast off by fire and sadness
Nothing eats well the space and time between us