Author: poetryfest

(for my beloved)

I help my sister sweep away crumbs
out of her hair & dress.
Everything is quiet; a still,
soft echo of kisses and vows and cheers
still lingering. My sister trades her
bridesmaid’s dress for sweats, kicks
off her heels, sliding into sneakers and
trading a bouquet for her phone.
The sanctuary is empty, petals strewn
down the aisle & candles flickering
soft, still. Except for you,
filling the air with a familiar,
gentle melody–blushing with
courage as I noticed.
I still notice; still remember; still smile.

I’m going to hurt you by hurting me,
I want the world to understand my misery.

I’m going to pull the useless heart out of my chest
and drop it in a frying pan with oil and chives unless,
you reconsider protocols aborting care
and suture up my empty corpse with angel’s hair.

I am going to lop off little toesies one by one,
And toss them all at happy couples having fun,
Until you face reality and just admit it,
confess your love before I plumb run out of digits.

I will hang my kidneys from a silver wire
and pull out my adenoids with tungsten pliers.
If you persist in thinking that we are just friends
I’ll use a platinum hook on my vas deferens.

I’m going to hurt you by hurting me,
I want to shock the world into some sympathy

I’ll prise out a section of my lower bowel,
flatten out my bladder with a mason’s trowel.
If you won’t glove-up and then excise my pain
I’ll throw what’s left of me, underneath a train.

I’m going to hurt you by hurting me,
so you’ll see things my way and love me faithfully.

You won’t think I’m needy and emotionally unstable,
you’ll pull my twitching body off the vivisection table.
You’ll hold my stumps and swear that you’re forever mine,
and stitch my bits and pieces with the ties that bind.

God is holy
God is infinite
God is good
God is righteous
God is unchanging
God is faithful
God is just
God is gracious
God is merciful
God is loving
God is glorious
God IS.

Written by a young person at Child Study and Treatment Center

A Girl Made of Water
This poem is dedicated to N

The world has thrown a lot of challenges at me lately
It’s weird that once you gain a little
Everything gets taken away as well
Loss changes you as a person

I knew this girl
She was made of water
And she cried for her mom
And she cried for her uncle and her friends
But she never really cried for herself

Eventually the girl ran out of water
And a flame took its place

She was angry – giving so much to other people
But she never received
She was angry – people took too much
And the world took what little was left behind

Once she was left with nothing
She realized there was so much that wasn’t hers
That she could enjoy

I’m living to live
Loss changes you as a person
Enjoy the trees
Enjoy looking out a window
These simple things – their existence
Are yours to enjoy

Please respond the following questions with a number on a scale from one to five (one being least agree and five being most agree).

1. You would turn in your neighbor, should he be revealed to be an undocumented immigrant.
1 2 3 4 5

2. You would spit on him as he’s dragged from his house, his wife and child screaming after him as cops beat him over the head with batons.
1 2 3 4 5

3. You would visit the courthouse, sit in the gallery as a judge determines he should return to his home country where a violent gang or a corrupt government or a life of poverty or disease awaits.
1 2 3 4 5

4. You would take his job, his house, his wife and kid.
1 2 3 4 5

5. You would fill the space where he once stood with your warm body, gorging yourself on fortune and opportunity.
1 2 3 4 5

6. You would never hear about his death in the paper, in person, online. He doesn’t count to you. His life and death are meaningless.
1 2 3 4 5

7. It’s every man for himself out here. He would do the same to you.
1 2 3 4 5

8. He would.
1 2 3 4 5

9. He would.
1 2 3 4 5

10. He would.
1 2 3 4 5

11. You don’t hear howling in the night. You don’t hear orphans in the wind.
1 2 3 4 5

12. You don’t see blood on the kitchen counter, the bathroom sink, the stairs.
1 2 3 4 5

13. You don’t feel phantom limbs wrapped around your throat.
1 2 3 4 5

14. His wife is gone. Kid too.
1 2 3 4 5

15. They died a long time ago.
1 2 3 4 5

16. Your job lets you go for a cheaper option—this time, a citizen.
1 2 3 4 5

17. So this was all for nothing.
1 2 3 4 5

18. For nothing.
1 2 3 4 5

19. For nothing.
1 2 3 4 5

20. Do you feel safer now? More vindicated?
1 2 3 4 5

21. Was it worth it?
1 2 3 4 5

22. Do you feel like a big man now?
1 2 3 4 5

23. Are you more loved?
1 2 3 4 5

24. Smarter? More fulfilled?
1 2 3 4 5

25. This is all your fault.
1 2 3 4 5

26. You didn’t mean for this to happen.
1 2 3 4 5

27. Or did you?
1 2 3 4 5

The house stood still.
Light spilled
across the floor, soft as milk,
catching dust that drifted slow and lazy,
as if even time didn’t want to move.

Boxes yawned wide.
old spectacles too scratched to see through,
watches frozen mid-tick,
a silver dog souvenir,
proud and slightly ridiculous,
sitting there like it had always belonged.
And her address book, stained and stubborn,
clinging to names no one had dialled in years.

I knelt in the middle of it all,
surrounded by the beautiful mess
of a life carefully gathered,
then carelessly left behind.

There it was
her record sleeve,
corners curled, colours faded,
Dircinha Batista smiling up at me
from decades ago.

I lowered the needle.
Static grumbled first like the music itself
hadn’t quite had its coffee yet
then the song bloomed:
soft, cracked, familiar.

“Lá vai o meu trolinho”
I whispered, laughing a little at myself
when my throat caught anyway.

And just like that,
the room filled with her again:
rosewater and burnt coffee,
the slap of slippers down the fourth floor corridor,
her off-key humming,
her stirring soups she’d forget five minutes later.

Grief, it turns out,
is not one dramatic storm,
but bad weather with no forecast.
Some days it drizzles,
other days it pours.
And sometimes,
it makes you smile
at a silly silver dog souvenir
you never really liked.

I caught the glint of her golden bracelet on my wrist.
Thin, delicate.
Like her wrists had become,
birdlike and hollow,
yet even then,
her hands still curled around it in sleep…
as if love was muscle memory,
as if her body knew
what her mind forgot.

I closed the box slowly,
placing the record on top,
tucking the address book beside it,
next to that daft little funny dog
and the oil-stained recipe
she never finished writing.

These odd, ordinary things
the shape of her life,
packed in cardboard,
still warm from the sun.

The song played on,
trailing behind me
like a ribbon in the wind
cracked, stubborn,
refusing to stop.

I stood in the doorway,
the box pressed close against my chest,
and I knew she wasn’t there
not really,
not in the room,
not in the air.
But she was here,
in me,
stitched into the soft parts,
woven into the places
where love lives long after memory fades.

And even though this grief would stay…
This forever-grief…
its quiet, loyal kind of forever
so would the gratitude.
For every soup forgotten,
For every song remembered
for every tune sung off-key,
for every day
that I was loved.

So I smiled,
whispered goodbye,
and carried her forward.

Forever.

“You’re not enough, You’ll never find love”
“You’re a liar, You’re the one who set us on fire”
“You’re the problem, You should be the one to solve them”
“You did it, You’re the one who needs to quit”
The voices of my past always seem to linger, I never thought it would always be a trigger I was told a million times I was the issue, when nobody even heard my scream and saw the million tissues
The past will forever haunt me, but at least now I can see
I was misunderstood and alienated, and that continued until I broke the pattern and stopped faking
I caused some harm throughout my life, and that caused me to be way too good at goodbyes
Whether it was my fault or the others, either way I learned how to be in my own corner
The demon comes and it goes, around and around we go
One thing I do know is I know myself better now, now to tame the past with other sounds
Nobody can say I haven’t seen the light, because as far as I’m concerned nobody is ever 100% right
All I have to do is move on and try, because as far as I’m concerned these are the lies

For the Man who thinks He needs kinks worked.
For the Man who thinks this is an unforgivable sin.
For the Man who thinks he knows Her.
For the man who can’t make up his own mind.
For the man who patronizes with psychoanalyzation.
But who can know the mind of Lincoln but Lincoln himself?

For the man who thinks she is The Antichrist, just as she thinks he is.

For the Man who knows this is inescapable, as she’s faced already.

For the Man who needs comfort, she is here.

Let’s go back, darling.

Which, is something I’ve never quite understood.
Why kill your darlings, Anyway?
If it isn’t right, it isn’t right, but when it is, it fuckin is.

The Man I know knows this.
The Man I know wouldn’t need any explanations.
She will not be able to hold it all in for long, it seems.

But let’s go back.
I am no saint.
I am no angel.
I am no savior.
I am no compass.
I am Human, Darling, just like You.

She’s known to be owned by no man for many years.
This is a war already fought.
How much do you need from me now, Darling?
How much should I iron for you?

Let’s… Let’s just go back.
The day she sent her true feelings.
No, let’s go back further.
When she was hoping to form a tight friendship,
A writer’s bond.

She watched The Man’s videos with The Officer.
The Officer who supported their friendship.
For years. He’d say, you should reach out to him.
You two could talk for hours about this shit, he’d say.
Ha.

Let’s fast-forward now. Let’s go to…
Evelyn, because that’s the girl’s name.
Unless this is just made up too?
Then maybe the child’s name is… IDon’tMatter
Because everyone calls her a liar enough already,
And she already knows she’s a fraud.

But, Evelyn.
Sweet Evelyn.
Was hurt.
And She didn’t know of this damage until this night.
The inevitable.

A member of The Officer’s family hurt Evelyn.
Unforgivably.
And She has already left a man for Threats of hurting her baby.
But that’s not the point, is it?
The man wants to know what’s in Her mind now, right?

But Sweet Evelyn was hurt badly.
She still doesn’t know the extent of the harm to Sweet Evelyn
And She was writing on that writing-binge when the harm occurred.

And The Officer did nothing.

And She hates him for it.
He was supposed to keep them safe.
Safe from people like that.
And She hates herself for hating him for choosing blood.

But wait, we’re skipping too fast.
Forgive Her.
She’s told herself to never explain herself to Any man ever again.
But those days are gone.

For days after She learned of this harm,
She was a zombie.
Couldn’t forgive herself for putting her baby in that position.
And she wanted blood.
Understandably so.

Until it just made her feel so sad.
So sad she could disappear into the pond.
How would she help her baby heal?
How will she help her baby know she is better than what that Fuck did to her?

And something, she can’t remember what it was,
Maybe one of The Man’s videos.
But she was reminded to send him money.
So they could talk about books.
Her books.

And all she wanted was a hug.
And when The Officer gave her a hug,
She felt nothing.
And knew they were dead.

All she wanted was safety.
And she get’s it up the ass.
But more importantly,
Nobody believes Sweet Evelyn.
The babe didn’t speak when given the chance.
The babe won’t sleep in her room because that Fuck lives four doors down.
And her mother needs to keep her safe,
And this all fuckin happened with impeccable timing.
Clearly.

Don’t isolate me further with your uncertainties.
I may be a piece of shit,
But the babe is Her legacy.
The babe means more to this world than either of us.
The babe is The Future.
And this place has hurt Our Future.
And what do The Babe and The Mother deserve…

What, Anyway,
do The Babe and The Mother deserve?

They flutter like flags
High above tailgates and
Blowing through November skies
Like signal smoke

I put on my mask and intention
Dressed like no one worth a second glance
With camera in hand
Just another shade of silent white
In a sea that smiles too wide

They are so nice
Too nice
The sugary grins are brittle and fragile
That shatters if you speak wrong

And I walk anyway
Up the middle of Pennsylvania Ave
The empty arteries of the most democratic
City in the world
Are lined with souvenirs of hate
And scented with deep-fried grievance and denim.

Pickup trucks as altars
With zip-tied flags in profane trinity
Bound unwillingly, the American flag
A hostage held for ransom
By the One-Percent

Children march alongside parents
In miniature red hats and slogans of hate
Tiny blank faces beneath bright declarations
They can’t read but will remember
Forever

The chants rose
Like false church Psalms
The congregation synchronized
To a man’s disguise
A cheer on cue
With a fist pump

I came for the photos
And left with a warning
That fear wears smiles
And hate waves flags
That history can be hijacked
In broad daylight at Freedom Plaza

I.
there’s something different
about loving a Black woman
when you are a Black woman

something outlaw

something so alive
it hums in your teeth
and dares the world to flinch

It’s walking into rooms
where no one knows what to call you

and not giving a fuck

It’s catching eyes in restaurants
and throwing stares
that say
we’re still here

because this ain’t rainbow capitalism
it ain’t ally-approved affection
this is love that got jumped and kept swinging
love that hid in parked cars
and sometimes pretended to be straight

If it meant being safe

II.
we don’t kiss
we mark territory

she ain’t no secret
she’s the thunder I wake up to
hands that don’t ask

because they know

our love ain’t quiet
it’s tactical
we love like two ghosts
haunting the American dream

she doesn’t just see me
she reads me
like
a stolen diary
full
of secrets and sirens

she knows how I like my lies
honest

how I like my pain
shared

how I like my body
worshipped
and without rules

III.
we don’t date
we conspire

she smells like gunpowder and lavender
laughs with her chest
fucks like she got something to prove
and then cooks grits with salt
pepper
and bare feet
like a victory meal

we love in shorthand
touch like coded language

no labels
no pressure

this love be a riot

IV.
this ain’t about attraction
this is allegiance
war strategy
with tongue and teeth

we don’t fall in love
we take it

we made a home in each other’s mouths
when the world turned on us

we are the architects of intimacy
assassins of shame

we kiss in daylight
hold hands in red states
fuck like a middle finger
to your fragility

your gaze never earned the right
to see us

nah
we don’t need your politics
we are the politics
your think pieces can’t hold us
laws can’t define us
you will not police this

not this joy
not this rage
not this love that unearths

we are not a spectacle
we are the consequence

and we ain’t asking
outlaw love