she doesn't feel the need
to count every calorie
she puts into her mouth,
let alone
every calorie she burns.
instead, she counts
the number of times
she sees 111, 222, & 333
on license plates,
on the clock, & while
she's scrolling on her phone—
all the proof she needs
to know that everything
is going to be alright.
—angel numbers.
I can no longer focus on everything I've lost.
no matter how many times i hit replay, i can't change anything.
i vow to focus on whatever else the universe has in store for me.
*****
I'm afraid
I must confess
I inherited
my mother's rage
& the
mother-rage
that came
before her
& all the
mother-rage
that raced down
every branch
of our tangled up
family tree.
nothing can
extinguish me.
*****
the ground--
it ignites
wherever
a woman's
foot
comes down
& if
you're not
careful,
the
very same
thing
could
happen
to you.
some destruction
is beautiful.
*****
this is
an overdue
love letter
to each
& every
woman
who walked
these fields
before me
&
made
the path
soft enough
for me to
walk through
to get to
the side
they could
never reach.
for that,
i owe you
so much.
*****
keep
an eye out
for
all those
quietly
reckless,
knotty-haired
girls.
you know
you can't
hold back
a wildfire,
don't you?
she is maiden—
there is a part of her that will
always be just slightly naive,
a part of her that sees this world as a magical place
filled with possibility.
she is mother—
there is a part of her that will
always desire to create something, a part of her that wants to leave this place more beautiful than it was before she came into it.
she is crone—
there is a part of her that will
always think wistfully of the past, a part of her that wonders what it would have been like if she had made different choices, but she doesn't cling too tightly--
she views her regrets as lessons
& lets them go.
—she's something of a triple goddess.
*****
women
learn
to sense
who
danger
looks like
just
by catching
another
women's eye
from across
a crowded
room.
- survival
*****
women
don't endure
simply because
we can;
no,
women endure
because we aren't
given any other
choice.
*****
they
will try
to steal
your light
& use it as
a weapon
against
you.
but there's
a piece
of good
news:
they
don't have
the patience to
control it
like you do.
*****
she's
so scared
to
takeupspace
that even
the weight
of her
bones
sometimes
feels like
too much.
-the hollow-girl
*****
I'm sorry
i'm sorry
i'm sorry
i'm sorry
i'm sorry
i'm sorry
i'm sorry
i'm sorry
i'm sorry
i'm sorry
she wakes
by the sunlight
& sleeps
by the moonlight.
she rests
during wintertime
& blooms
during springtime.
she keeps
her loved ones close,
& she lets them go
if that's what they
need.
—she doesn't fight the cycles anymore.
in all the history of the world no one has ever been able to teach others how to fill the hole a dead parents leaves.
*****
society
wrapped
a corset
around us,
fisted
the strings
& pulled
tight
as if
tuning
a new
violin,
& until we
cut them
away
& pull out
the
bones
we will
never discover
who we
truly are.
-unlearn this
normalized
self-hatred.
*****
you
think
your body
is made up
of mostly
water,
but
really
your body
is made up
of mostly
poetry.
wherever you go,
you leave behind
puddles of
words
in your
wake.
collect the
integral pieces
of yourself
&
call the
words back.
you deserve
to be whole again.
-the sign you've
been waiting for.
*****
raid your library.
read everything
you can get your
hands on
& then
some.
go on,
collect words
& polish them up
until they shine
like starlight
in your
palm.
make words
your finest weapons--
a gold-hilted sword
to cut your
enemies down.
-a survival plan of sorts.
the little girl was so desperate to feel loved, to feel like she existed at all, that she took anything she could get, even if it was nothing but a bunch of make-believe.
—don't accept scraps.
I walk the thin line between nostalgia & trauma, never fully knowing the difference.
—maybe there is none.
what do we do with all the things we need to say to someone we'll never see again?
—maybe that's why I write.
without you, it's lonely.
—it doesn't have to make sense.
*****
trees
have words
the wind
cannot carry,
so we must
write
on them
their stories
until there are
none left
for them
to tell.
-write the story.
*****
write the story.
push
your hands
into the dirtiest
parts of yourself.
take the
rot & decay
& turn it into
nourishment & life.
water it
& sing to it
& show it
sunlight.
grow a beautiful garden
from your aching
& teach yourself
how to thrive from it.
write your story.
- the sign you've
been waiting for.
*****
if you
don't want to
end up in
someone else's
poem,
then maybe
you should
start
treating
people
better
for
a
change.
- an unapologetic poet
*****
when you live
in new york
or new jersey
it is almost
a rite of passage
when someone
jumps in front
of your train.
the first thought
is always
"i'm going to be
late for work."
it is never
"what a tragedy
she felt that
there was no
other way out."
but it is
it is a fucking
tragedy
when
the world
does not stop
for you
even when
you give it
every last
drop of your
blood.
- i never learned your
name but you mattered
to me.