Be Here Now

The act of writing was a preservation of a sensation
Living in the moment was rare
I wanted to stretch it out
like a housecat in the morning sun
splayed out and drowsy

For a mind that lingers in
quicksand of past mistakes and
the inherent toxicity of future "what-ifs";
being possessed by a single moment is
a relief

a deep breath between high paced heart beats

Writing was a coping mechanism for a young girl who wanted love
who wanted to be noticed without being seen
I was a human kaledioscope refracting too many experiences;
my day planner was too full and my emotions were too big
and I was too scared
of sitting in silence
to be gripped by the consistent refrain of "Am I Good Enough?":

Writing was a meditation
when i had too much energy to be able to stand yoga
I don't know how many downward dogs I did
while feeling the need to bolt and run from the studio

I was told that I was too much
too aggressive
too bold
and I believed it
because I felt Too Much
I grieved too deeply
loved too quickly
judged too harshly

I have worried too deeply about my lack of writing
without pausing to recognize
that the missing prose, the missing rhythm
was a symptom
of healing

There are more moments where I Am.
and that is all there is
There are fewer question of who I Was or Will Be or questions of Being Enough
There is a quietness, here
And there is so much love, here, within and without
There are more moments where I Am
that I no longer feel the need to preserve
because that interferes with my ideal to-do list of just
Being.

For Derya

This poem was written to belly dancing music
and inspired by an enchanting smile.

To a woman who is the definition of "graceful under pressure"-

You are a field of flowers
multicolored and intricate
dewdrops rolling down your spine
and the beautiful people who flock into your life
are merely gracious visitors
sipping on the nectar of your delight and your charm

This is for the woman who taught me it is possible to be the light in someone's day whenever you see them:
You were and are such a light in mine.

You are moonlight;
dazzling.

softening the flaws of those who look upon you
and encouraging them to chase their dreams just a little bit harder-
possibilities seem more fluid here.

for any room you enter, you are The Woman
of stories
with variations;
"Mommy, did you see that gorgeous Woman? She's who I'd like to be when I grow up."
"I was struck by the demeanor of this Woman in a coffee shop today. Something about her just won't get out of my head."
"I met the most interesting Woman today...."

You are waterfalls,
entrancing
and
powerful

You are sandstorms,
reshaping and reforming
erosion and creation-
just short of a paradox

You are the poem that is created
when the author promised she would not make these personal
but found that This Woman was in fact,
irresistible
as a muse.

for Baron

If you inquire
about my best friend
I'd tell you that
he's so fine

Furry and warm
not that affectionate
but appropriately graceful
for a feline

If you'd like to pet him
or put his picture on instagram
that's great but
you'll have to get in line

I wasn't planning on owning a cat
but when I saw his picture
I took it as a message
as some sort of sign

Our relationship was destiny;
fates forever linked
our meeting can only be described as
intervention divine

He sleeps all day
and lazes around all night
there may be many cute cats;
but this one is mine.

The inevitable goodbye

You 

were my first friend

and I

was yours

Which is saying a lot;

I don't get along well with strangers.

I tend to repulse people, it must be 

something with my charged personality

I always end up driving them away.

But you

You stayed.

You were the reason I began to understand things like

friendship and

loyalty and

faith and

connection.

You, who were all alone in this large and often unfriendly world

were so determined to be close to me that 

it was scary at first.

That determination

alongside your perseverance and desire for greatness

brought out the best in me-

I see that now.

Unfortunate doesn't begin to describe how I feel about

the need to leave you

but I'm glad that you see it is something I cannot deny

I will try to sum up all the love and gratitude that I have for you in a single goodbye

but I'm afraid it will come out the same

as it always does-

"Pika... Pika-Pi."

Fat Cats

There is a reason why we refer to mob bosses

as "fat cats"

A sign of affection and respect

How we are willing to love and care for them

regardless of their lack of contribution to society

or our household

They are foot warmers and purr-givers

here to yell in your face at 6 am

and step on your stomach in the middle of the night

here to pee on your carpet 

and shed on ALL your clothes

here to crawl into your lap when you've had a bad day

and to give you tiny meows when it's time for treats

Their furry fat bodies are only so big because 

they are so full of love

anxiety

This poem was written with gnawed fingernails
and shredded cuticles

This was written in isoloation
because why would anyone want to be around me
when I don't even want to be myself?

The first time I used the word anxiety
to describe myself
it tasted foreign in my mouth
like drinking water from the tap for the first time when you're on vacation

This is anxiety
It is having a capybara on my chest and a self doubt monkey attached to my back

This is thoughts flash flooding

This is learning that I have earthquake lungs and battleground hands,
not everyone comes back alive from war
(I am not sure what parts of myself have been lost)

This is the feeling of only being able to speak from the oxygen held in the top of my lungs
only partial breaths
partial sentences
never full, never  complete
lightheadedness comes easily with anxiety

This is tears and hyperventilation
because it feels there is no other option

Not all these feelings are valid;
these fears grip like vampire hands
they do not belong here
cannot see them in the mirror
I look whole to you (?)
Doesn't mean the monster isn't present

This is circling the same negative idea so many times you end up with a downward trajectory
this is basic physics
This is understanding my mother when she says I am spiraling

Spiral do not end until they reach the bottom.

Space Poetry

When we first collided,
I shuddered.

How could one as young and undetermined as this
be privy
to the overwhelming experience
that is
you.

and your grace

the thoughts of gods never concerned me until
you
erased all doubts of them

the first time you kissed me
i finally understood what they meant by
"divine intervention"

Others that call themselves "eternal lovers"
cannot hold a candle to the bonfire you have lit
this molten passion that fills my core


I have always loved you.

Usually from afar-
it has been too many years
since you last let yourself be consumed by me

So let me surround you
in our orbital dance
and we will light up the stars
show them their dissonance

I have loved you
through my toxic beginnings
you knew me through
iron into oxygen

and in return
you loved me
me, seething sulfurous rage
loved me through pangea to divided terra

You became my crystallized
idolized
perfection

I called you beloved
long before they named you Halley's
as if you could ever belong to anyone but me

Some think your retrograde through my solar system
is due to gravitational desires directed at our center star
But
I know
it is just you falling for me
over and over
again and again
every 75 years

I have tilted my axis
so I may better survey the galaxy for signs of you

When my inhabitants began to build and pray
I wished them to make pyramids, cathedrals,
and walls you could notice the next time
we danced
so you can see how I changed for you

They feared you when they first saw you
Cursed you as a harbinger of doom, of plague, of disaster
I do not blame them
true love as consuming as ours
can be frightening

You leave pieces of yourself with me every time we touch
I can only hope as you continue your journey back
that the memory of me
is enough.

On Being A Feminist

I have had to many people ask me

“are you… a feminist?”

as though it is a bad word,
as though sexism isn't alive and well

this is the new f bomb that is unacceptable to mention in mixed company

as though talking the fight for my equality is somehow offensive to you

Yes, I am a feminist.

Because the first time I got cat called, I was twelve

And my mother had to explain it to me

The first time I got catcalled and feared for my safety, I was 16

As a pickup truck followed me down the street

I was only trying to go for a run,

Did not understand that my gender expression painted a target on my back

Don’t know how many times I have been objectified by strangers or groped by random men in a club

I don’t know how many times I have heard “I didn’t think you were smart because you’re so pretty”

I am a feminist because I have a master’s in biology and I look like a goddess and that is not a paradox

I am a feminist because when I attended a scientific conference, I was asked if I was a reporter.
I want to be successful in the STEM fields

But that is harder than it seems when women are paid 0.77 for ever dollar that a man earns

And that’s only because I’m white

If I were Black it would be 0.64 and if I were Hispanic or latina it would just above fifty cents
look at these statistics and tell me sexism isn't still alive and well

Because when I bring this up, I am told to make a sandwich or “#notallmen”

No shit not all men are horrible people who will threaten my safety

But when I am walking to my car at night

I am not going to take the time to figure out the motivations of the large person walking behind me.

I do not hate men, or I would call myself a misandrist

I understand the importance of word selection,

I am a feminist.

I know it is not all men

But it is enough men to make a societal impact

It is enough men to make me cautious

Enough to make me feel like my body didn’t belong to me through their looks, their words, their touching without permission

I am a feminist

Because women are killed for saying no

So I have a vocabulary full of ways to nicely say “maybe not”

I am a feminist because I have seen too many of my friends become victims of rape and sexual assault.

Because when they try to speak out, they are asked what they were wearing or how much did they have to drink or did they know the man?

They never bother to teach the definition of consent

I am a feminist because I am done with feeling like I am unheard, like I have something to prove, like I have to be ladylike but not too girly
and I have to be strong but not bossy
and I have to be pretty but not a stuck up bitch
and I have to be eloquent but not outspoken
and I have to be cute but not vapid
and I have to be driven but not overpowering

I am tired of unrealistic standards and the inequalities that come with it

So next time you have the audacity to ask me if I am a feminist

I want to know

Why aren’t you one?

Feminist- a person that believes in equal rights for both of the sexes.

To the man who said that I can make sexism nonexistent if I just "laugh it off" every time someone makes a sexist joke. Humor can conquer everything if you consider everything a joke.

So I just need to laugh it off. See the world's sexism as humorous.

When I was 12, I needed to laugh it off that two men shouted come-ons at me from their car, and I didn't understand why my mother got so upset.

When I was 15, and I was sexually assaulted  for the first time. When I looked at my closet and couldn't wear the clothes that I wore when it happened because I felt so ashamed

When I was 16 and I had a close friend tell me that I was a terrible person because my main priority was to have a high powered career and not to get a husband and a family?

When I was 18 and sexually assaulted for the second time, I should have seen it all as one big joke on me. When my mother told me that she hoped I would learn better for next time, that she didn't know what victim blaming was- I wasn't laughing, so that's why I was having such a hard time.

When I was 19 and thought that my boyfriend of three months was going to rape me because I was still coping with the scars of being sexually assaulted twice.

Every single time that I've gotten upset that a man has touched my body without permission, only to have him get angry that I wasn't enjoying it.

Every time that I've been called a slut, or a whore, or a bitch

Every time I've been cat-called while walking in public

Every time that I've felt my body pulse with adrenaline because I'm walking to my car at night and I'm scared for my own safety.

I just needed to laugh it off.

To the man who told me that if I want to make sexism go away, I should follow the advice of Morgan Freeman and "stop talking about it"

I need to stop talking about the fact that the media uses women as objects?

that they are posed semi nude in front of cars and burgers in order to seem pleasing to the male gaze?

I need to stop talking about the Steubenville High School rape case? When the boys recieved their sentencing, that it was  "Incredibly difficult to watch what happened as these two young men that had such promising futures...literally watched as they believed their lives fell apart...when that sentence came down"

I am not going to be silent.

I am not going to sit down.

I am going to talk about it.

I am going to continue self-proclaiming myself as a feminist.

This is not a joke, and this is not going away.

The communal ignorance that has led to such rampant sexism can only be combatted with educated discussions from feminists- both men and women- who realize that the status is NOT quo

We are not equally paid. We are not equally represented.

Until the victim blaming and the slut shaming stops

Until we start seeing justice for women

I will not laugh it off.

I will not turn a blind eye.

I WILL NOT BE SILENCED.

Clean

Upon feeling overwhelmed by the world
by a growing to-do list, by finals, by too many thoughts in my head

I clean.
laundry will do, but dishes are my favorite.

I love the rhythmic repeating and repeating of motions
circular scrubbing,
circles
circles
circles
until the pile of once dirty plates and bowls and glasses and stress
is dripping dry
and my mind is a little calmer

That's what I was doing when you stopped by my apartment.
I was cleaning.

You tried to get my attention
insistently placing yourself in my path

I had a goal I was determined to achieve
I needed to clean
I needed that calming rhythm
your presence was an annoying distraction, a disruption in the melody of order that I was conducting

You told me to calm down
to slow down
told me that I was scaring you
how quickly I was going
how focused I was
I needed more dishes
I wanted more things to clean
circular scrubbing
circles
circles
circles
until they were free of blemishes and imperfections

Finally, I bored you enough that you were ready to leave
you asked
no
you demanded a good night kiss
and you put your hands on me
reminded me why I was in a frenzy in the first place

A week and a half before this.
the night we met
when you touched without permission
took things that didn't belong to you

afterwards
I felt dirty
blemished
unclean.

I wish i knew how long I spent in the shower
scrubbing at my skin
scrubbing circles
circles
circles
circles
never feeling clean
never being able to reach deep enough to remove the marks you left on me
no soap was strong enough to erase the scarlet letter I was sure was branded across my chest
maybe it was just all that scrubbing
rubbing my skin raw so that I couldn't remember how it felt to have your hands corrupt the secrets of my flesh

I denied you a good night kiss
and told you to leave.

I went to bed, exhausted
I had cleaned myself out
my hands were dry and cracking
my back, sore and tight

I forgot you.
slowly but surely
let you fade away from my body's memory
a stain on my past that has finally been washed away.

still, even now
when the world is overwhelming
i clean.
laundry is good, but I prefer dishes.
prefer the repeating, circular rhythm.

but I no longer feel the need
to clean
my own skin.

I am not dirty or blemished or broken
not any more.

1957 cadillac

Your touch is a reverberation
from my past lives' best moments
rumbling through my tendons

that's why my knees shake every time you kiss me

your finger tips are willow tree leaves
softly dipping into my mental rivers
rippling and redoubling
pressing against their banks and levees

you bring chaos floods to my organized aquatic system

and I love it.

you can tell
put your head to my chest
i think you can hear me purring like a 1957 cadillac
a true and trusted classic
sleek and shiny and ready to go

Toenail Poetry

I don't want to write you toenail poetry
like
when your best friend goes on an experimental baking phase
and you're the guinea pig
and the piece of pie is delicious
except that somehow
a toenail
ended up in the middle of it
but you pick it out and pretend like nothing is wrong
and smush the rest around on your plate
because you don't want to discourage her

but every time I try to write something for you
I find gross bits that are proof of terrible hygiene in all the pieces
and I can't help thinking that you're smiling at all the delicious parts
maybe I'm just using the wrong recipe or the wrong metaphor
but you deserve more than toenail poetry

you deserve a verbal van gogh
words with beauty enough to rival any starry night we might ever see
that I can only write for you when we've turned the lights out
and I've curved my body to match yours
like we're double open parentheses at the beginning of our story
when my fingers are knotted with yours like tangled kite string
and I hear the familiar lullaby of your sleeping heartbeat

I write you pages and pages and chapters and entire BOOKS in my mind when no one is listening
One night, I was first author on the box set of sonnets about your eyes
that no one will ever see
because I can't ever make it to paper quickly enough
maybe it's because when I try to get out of bed
you pull me back towards you
even when you're asleep

and I know better than to try to get away from you
you're too strong.
you're a warrior
with the gentlest touch I have ever known

you...
you're not the Romeo to my Juliet
because I actually read that shit all the way through,
unlike Taylor Swift
and I'm not a big fan of tragedies or double suicides

so
you are the Han Solo to my Princess Leia
minus the Luke incest weirdness
You are the Ron Weasley to my Hermione Granger
without Harry's angst
You are the Doctor to my Rose Tyler
but not in a parallel universe
You're the Corbin Dallas to my Leeloo
and the Commander Shepard to my Liara
without me being an alien
You're the Howard Wolowitz to my Bernadette Rostenkowski
but less creepy and high pitched

you're the honey bee to my honeysuckle kisses
you're the man who makes me feel more beautiful when I don't wear make up
the one I fell in love with the exact moment we met
under tall trees and twinkling lights

I thank whatever gods of fate that decided to be kind enough
to let you be mine
you are the single most amazing, wonderful, and handsome man I have ever known
who deserves more than toenail poetry
so I'm trying to make it sound right
trying to make it match the feeling I get whenever you smile at me
when hummingbirds flutter in my shoulder blades and give me goosebumps
when I see that the rest of my life is always going to begin with waking up next to you
I'm trying as hard as I can

to put all you mean to me
into the words
"I love you"

In search of beauty

Poets
we are merchants of beauty
we love to find beauty
to describe it
discover it in new places
or with new looks
and we proclaim
AH! Yes!
look at how beautiful she is.
the infinite muse for us all

because most of us believe
that we are not capable of housing beauty in our own bodies
we see ourselves as broken
and as such,
never deserving to possess her

that is why
I have not been able to write recently.

You see,
words used to flow from my fingers like drops of water from the tips of icicles
about the eccentric, estatic, erratic men in my life
and how we would escape from daily life
to our unconventional romantic misadventures
we took mini vacations into each others minds
thinking ourselves archeologists, finding truths that were long buried and preserved by time
but forgetting
that sometimes
the most important things
are soft enough
to never leave a permanent imprint on the world.

we were triumphant and glorious
allowed to become perfection in someone else's arms
and returning to mediocrity the moment they leave
letting the zombies arise from freshly dug graves
with tombstones reading "irrational self doubt"

Loving someone who is brokenly beautiful
is one of the most transforming experiences I have had in my lifetime
that I have known three times over
we were escape artists
breaking free of our own rules and stereotypes we tried to hard to ascribe to
letting our minds wander freely through the possibilities of never returning to who we thought we were

now I know that this fantasy world
is a place you travel to
with someone who helps you realize
you're not as broken you've been telling yourself you are.

you will bear your soul, just to know how it feels to do so in front of something besides your mirror
and you will ask them not to look
but they will peer through their fingers at you
and you won't mind.

they will play connect the dots with your scars and you will see your body
not as flawed or imperfect
but as a canvas ready to be transformed into a vessel
for all the potential explosions of phenomenal self expression
that you now know you were always capable of
and just for a moment-
you understand how lovely it would feel
to exhale the word "beautiful" into frozen air
because it is so deeply embedded in your being
and just like that
the passing of moments whisks it away
and you return.
they leave.
you move on.

and that wanting of beauty
and believing you are never capable of truly knowing it as your own
is one of the best muses I have ever known and loved

so... that is why I haven't been able to write recently.
you see, ever since Daniel said he loved me
I see my reflection and see beauty written in each of my movements
it is in every moment that we share together
so I do not seek it out
when I am filled with it and surrounded by it
constantly.
continually.
forever.

empty

Beautiful woman,
 we met almost five years ago
during a hazy freshman night
full of loud laughter and unexpected compliments
we started the most epic of adventures

 my undergrad years were bearable because of you,
best friend.
where others saw prison bars, I saw a playground
the world was not our oyster, it was our sandbox
and we were free to build and discover as we wished

I was your candle during the long nights full of loss and grief
I watched you struggle and persevere
to declare that the dark places in your mind
did not have a part in your life

we were determined and strong
we learned what it means to call ourselves women
we were always going to be there for the other
and we were the next big thing to hit the academic world

so tell me,
please
what could have possessed you
that night
when you decided it was your time to leave this earth
that you simply didn't belong here any more

I can't comprehend the past events
They simply will not dissolve into thoughts that I can make sense of
still-
 I wish I knew how you wrote your demise into your own future fault lines
why you deepened the cracks of scars that already ran the length of your years
because I know the monsters in the closets of your memories
the secrets scribbled on scraps of paper and hastily shoved behind your day to day thoughts
 I'm the one whose arms will be around you when the pain from your past threatens to consume you
 I know you better than anyone
 I am your rock.
 you don't know this, but you're mine.

 yet
 how am I supposed to lean on you
when your foundations have all crumbled away with a few handfuls of pills?

 You didn't look the part
when I saw you sitting in the crisp hospital bed
telling me why you thought I would be okay if you were gone


Honestly,
 I think that your excuses and your reasons are total bullshit
know that if you had succeeded, I would never be able to find peace.


your attempt on your own life has left me... empty.
but that's not the right word.
is there a word for the pain of accidentally cutting your fingers on the pieces of your shattered anger?
there should be.
it would make my explanation easier to fit between my lips

I want you to know
that if you left,
I would lose my mind
on purpose.
drop it down a storm drain
so that it would wash away the hollow feeling
that wishful wanting that never fully goes away

 Baby girl, I am not okay.
I wish you could be here to hear these words
and understand how hard my heart pounds whenever you call me in tears

 There is a fear slowly gnawing at my sanity
that flames during the moments between waking and sleeping
and the drips of consoling thoughts that you're still here don't do much for the burns I've sustained

 so how do I end this?
with hope.

 maybe hope that next time....
...next time you'll take just a moment to realize
exactly what the chaotic aftermath of blades inscribed with self-blame and remorse cutting through my ability to be functional
would really look like.

Blind

There are days
after seeing all the beautiful variation in strangers irises

there are days
where I wish that everyone
was blind.

so they would decide to trust someone
based on the gentleness of their touch
rather than their choice in clothing

designer brands would quickly fade
we would wrap ourselves in the most comfortable fabrics
nothing skin tight to show off curves-
no one would be looking, anyway.
me?
I would dress in loose cotton
and everything underneath
would be made of pure silk

I wish that everyone was blind
so they could read with their fingertips
so that the next time they touch the face of their lover
they could understand the messages etched into their weathered skin
by the passing of days

I wish that everyone was blind
so they would be less self conscious of their appearance
solve this mass media binge feeding young girls
with how they should look by the time they're 16
we wouldn't care
we would put all our efforts into making our voices rival those of songbirds
imagine-
instead of trying to act sexy
we could show off our beautiful selves
by singing.

I wish everyone was blind
so that people
might actually
start
listening.

turn their ears to voices that have always been unheard
children who are crying for justice
passionate youth who believe that we can cause change
and of course
all the wonderful poets who wear their hearts in their throats and carry their own soapboxes like thrones

I wish that everyone was blind
because in this visual oriented society
it might result in us
actually learning something about ourselves.

Dear poetry- full version

Dear Poetry,

I am sorry that I have neglected you recently.
I have not forgotten you
I can only hope
that you have not forgotten me

you have been weaving through my mind
like circular kalaidoscopes
ever changing windmills
that peacefully circle my sleepy mind
why must you visit me when there is no pen and paper to be found?

I have missed you.
if you have disappeared from my dreams
because you no longer found me worthy
this
is an apology
and a plea for your return

I need you.
do not leave me
wordless and without both rhyme and reason
do not betray me with mental treason
and kiss me with lips dripping with abandonment issues

If you will not speak, then I will say it first
I love you.

I cannot remember the last time I wrote from the heart
and for that, I am sorry
I have neglected you
but I have not abandoned you
I can only hope that you
have not done the same

Dear poetry,

I have always been yours. Do not think I have strayed.
You have been with me every moment
tucked into scrap paper and draft messages on my phone
or the inner crevices of my arms when paper was hard to come by
I will never abandon you.

Dear poetry,

I am sorry I have neglected you recently.
It was not intentional
see, there's this boy
rather, this man

He has stolen all my words
and my rhythym
so when you ask me to whisper sweet nothings to you
I find only nothings resting upon my lips
waiting to flutter to your eardrums and leave you less than satisfied

Dear poetry,

You know I am a perfectionist
and all I have wanted to write about
is the giant wave crashing earth shaking musical melodies that this man plays on my skin with his fingertips
I have not been unfaithful to you, I promise
but you should see his eyes
they encompass the entire ocean
with all of its beautiful tidal shifts
he is my tsunami bound by the body of a fighter
who somehow knows how to be gentle
he traces patterns from the pulse throbbing indentation on my neck
to my caged rib chest
down to the backs of my knees
and back up to the butterfly between my thighs
and makes my hearbeat go wild

he is hypnosis fixated on no particular goal
he is serenity threaded with breaths of chaos
he is an overdose of jazz music
you know,
something good to dance to
full of rich saxophones and bass drums that make you sway long after you've lost the energy to move

dear poetry,
he moves me.
I'm not saying that you don't
I'm saying that he has shown me how much can be said
when words are left for a later time

I am still faithful to you
but for now,
I have few things to say
that cannot be written into the silent parts of his skin

your faithful lover,
V rabbit

P.S.
you really should see his eyes
then you would understand how I am so captivated.

Dear Poetry, part 2

Dear poetry,

I am sorry I have neglected you recently.
It was not intentional
see, there's this boy
rather, this man

He has stolen all my words
and my rhythym
so when you ask me to whisper sweet nothings to you
I find only nothings resting upon my lips
waiting to flutter to your eardrums and leave you less than satisfied

Dear poetry,

You know I am a perfectionist
and all I have wanted to write about
is the giant wave crashing earth shaking musical melodies that this man plays on my skin with his fingertips
I have not been unfaithful to you, I promise
but you should see his eyes
they encompass the entire ocean
with all of its beautiful tidal shifts
he is my tsunami bound by the body of a fighter
who somehow knows how to be gentle
he traces patterns from the pulse throbbing indentation on my neck
to my caged rib chest
down to the backs of my knees
and back up to the butterfly between my thighs
and makes my hearbeat go wild

he is hypnosis fixated on no particular goal
he is serenity threaded with breaths of chaos
he is an overdose of jazz music
you know,
something good to dance to
full of rich saxophones and bass drums that make you sway long after you've lost the energy to move

dear poetry,
he moves me.
I'm not saying that you don't
I'm saying that he has shown me how much can be said
when words are left for a later time

I am still faithful to you
but for now,
I have few things to say
that cannot be written into the silent parts of his skin

your faithful lover,
V rabbit

P.S.
you really should see his eyes
then you would understand how I am so captivated.

Dear Poetry

Dear Poetry,

I am sorry that I have neglected you recently.
I have not forgotten you
I can only hope
that you have not forgotten me

you have been weaving through my mind
like circular kalaidoscopes
ever changing windmills
that peacefully circle my sleepy mind
why must you visit me when there is no pen and paper to be found?

I have missed you.
I wonder if you are warming the bed of another
if you have disappeared from my dreams
because you no longer found me worthy
so this
is an apology
a plea for your return

I need you. please.
do not leave me
wordless and without both rhyme and reason
do not betray me with mental treason
and kiss me with lips dripping with abandonment issues

If you will not speak, then I will say it first
I love you. I have always loved you
you saved the sanity of my young mind
when I turned from grief and found only more labyrinths of darkness
constantly pressed against wrong turns that I could not correct
you were the guiding light that showed me
how to be whole again

so it is ironic that i call my poems pieces
maybe because they are pieces of me
and because they bring me piece

I cannot remember the last time I wrote from the heart
and for that, I am sorry
I have neglected you
but I have not abandoned you
I can only hope that you
have not done the same

Dear poetry,

I have always been yours. Do not think I have strayed.
You have been with me every moment
tucked into scrap paper and draft messages on my phone
or the inner crevices of my arms when paper was hard to come by
I will never abandon you.

your faithful lover,
V Rabbit

For the Dreamers

This is for the dreamers.
If you are content with mediocrity
this is not for you.
If you have never felt your pulse racing like there are tsunamis consuming your veins
this is not for you
If you have never chased the impossible just to see how long it takes you to lose your breath
this is not for you
IF you have never learned how to not only march, but to dance to the beat of your own
subwoofer dubstep drop heartbeat
with bass wobbles that shake like you've swallowed an earthquake without chewing it first
this is not for you

This is for the dreamers
with enough passionate fires burning in our chests
that we don't need heaters during the longest unlit nights
when the stars take over the sky and smolder themselves into the back of our retinas
and we don't know which one to wish on
so we smile into the pinpricked blackness
because simple stars aren't big enough to hold our dreams anyways

We don't engage in superstition
but it would be nice if we did
so when the world steals our dreams away and whispers them into the wind
we could knock on wood and cross our fingers that they'll return
but we don't.
We turn accommodating ears to a beautiful woman named Faith- she always knows exactly how to tell us
that our dreams will return if we are patient

and after all- patience is a virtue,
but we don't like to wait

We don't wait for opportunity to come knocking
We find its home address and sit outside the front door until it comes home
to ask with curious eyes "what surprises have you found for me today?"

This is for the dreamers.
We have pockets full of hand me down hope
and handfuls of helium
because most days, our dreams are drifiting in the stratosphere
we've got to learn how to fly one way or another
go ahead and call me the early bird
but i've got worms to catch
i'm using them as bait for something even bigger
because for us dreamers

good enough is never good enough.
we are the grown up versions of toddlers who choose ultraviolet as their favorite color
because the visible spectrum just isn't satisfactory

This is for the dreamers.
We are masterpieces in the making
the paint may never dry while our rhythms remain restless
the change we cause is continuous
and redefined on a moment to moment basis
I've been caught red handed recreating the blueprints of my fingertips
so they spelled out "I'm a dreamer"
but I know i can't be the only one

we are dreamers.
we are trying to leave behind more than a trail of carbon footprints
for the words we impart upon this earth to be more than etchings on tombstones
for the motions we create to be more than temporary shadows
We are trying to be more than silhouettes in the back of history books

We are pushing
We are pushing for the voiceless, the helpless, and the brokenly beautiful
We are pushing for a flexible future that we shall bend with our willpower
We are pushing for a lasting legacy that isn't bittersweet when we try to taste test the memories of our glory days
We are pushing for a trustworthy tomorrow that keeps the pinky promises it makes to the next wide eyed generation

Dreamers-
Keep pushing.

White Girl Swagg

Whenever I fill out a government official form
I'm always puzzled when I get to the race section
I wasn't aware that I was in any kind of race
and if so, who am I competing against?

Oh, you mean my ethnicity.
but every time I have to check the box that says "white"
I'm tempted to fill in the lines underneath "other"
as a little girl
I never used the white crayon to draw myself
it was more of a pale pink brown tan
swirled with the dark mocha freckles strewn across my skin like haphazard constellations
and deep murky ocean blues where my veins peeked through my translucent forearms

I learned to respond by the name society gave me
"white girl"
and it became
hey white girl, go be a cheerleader
hey white girl, why don't you shop at Abercrombie and Fitch
hey white girl, aren't you in a sorority? oh... well why not?
hey white girl, you're not supposed to dance like that
hey white girl, you're not supposed to spit like that
hey white girl, you're not supposed to have that much soul

I looked up white girl swagger only to get a error code 404
the item you have requested
does not exist

...yet.