Home

Category: Reflection

  • Doors: Not a Poetic Post

    This is not an ending. It’s both a door to friendship and a promise that some other door will open with someone else. My latest boyfriend wants to be friends. Well. Okay, he’s not my boyfriend. I’d like a boyfriend. I’d like one too much. But I suppose the best reframe is that the pressure…

  • Happy Holidays (What the fuck kind of thing is that to say?)

    You dropped me with two little words. Happy Holidays. What the fuck kind of thing is that to say? I love my men instantaneously. And am always surprised when the two of us, “us,” combust spontaneously internally how could this happen to me how could he/you not love me why am I powerless to stop…

  • Pastries: let’s not get ahead of ourselves

    Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.   Feeling momentarily hopeful is a far cry from being hopeful. My mood has lifted, but there’s a shadow in the back of my mind, always brooding, peripherally threatening me at all times.   Meeting someone new is not just scary, it’s terrifying. There’s the whole meeting for the…

  • Rhyming Wiggly-whats

    Rhyming is a matter of preference. I rarely rhyme. It cost me the writing pin when I was in high school. There we were, poeticgrin and I, going head-to-head, writer against writer. Our teacher especially loved Bryanic poetry, which is lyrical and rhyming and has great flow. Bryantonian poems are artistic, very well crafted. I…

  • Progress

    Progress has been made when the color he loved doesn’t automatically  remind me of him Progress when pea green can just be a pretty color         again Progress when lime doesn’t force the echoes of         I have no affection to give you to ring in my         ears Progress when I lay me down…

  • Peripheral Vision

    I think my issue with men may be that I examine the periphery too much and don’t focus on the core of the person. You want to know why I like this one guy? 1) He’s tall, and 2) He uses Bookman Old Style as his email font of choice. I think he probably cuts…

  • Finding a Point of Reference

    I was thinking last night. Whenever you’re trying to assimilate an event or a relationship into your history, you have to basically write out the story of it/you so that it reads like a history book. I feel as though I’m at the point that I am really turning the page on him, but I…

  • Rewind

    This week, one of my former students was killed in what may have been a random act of violence. Except when is violence random? I go back and click one of the news websites over and over to see his face. To remember. I hate that two lives were extinguished, and four others may follow…

  • Untitled

    I don’t remember you, and I’m sorry instead, my head is filled with thoughts and memories of people not worth remembering not worth considering I see his eyes, dark, and alive and yours, dark, and dead  

  • Filters

    a dust cloud filtered in sunlight and darkness you wanted to be unsettled, disturbed and so you are   With words, I want to bring forth tangible evidence of the bile lurking inside, luring me to death, over and over again. I feel pain, and I like it. I feel pain, and it’s unbearable. Then,…