hole in my tights

there’s a hole in my tights
and I must have noticed it before
becuase i can see the clear nail polish that has dried
up all over the little woven black strands

i pull them up so the hole doesn’t show
my skirt swings, barely just below
is anyone looking at it?

can they see my bare skin flashing as I stand up
or am i the only one cares?

my tights are full of holes, if you stretched them far enough you could see all of them, but for now there is only this rip

as the day goes on, the hole widens ripping up farther and farther
i try to stop it

i hear about the ban in the news
the aclu is there too

the hole runs up my thigh
in choir, my friend isn’t there
she is muslim

the hole has gone down to my knee
i don’t know what to do
i can’t stop it’s growth without going home and sewing it
i don’t even know how to sew on a machine
just with a needle and thread

just with a needle and thread
when he has executive orders

there’s the 1965 law
but there are national security exceptions

except how could a how country be an exception
as if all persons from
syria, iraq, iran, sudan, libya, somalia, and yemen
are jihadi terrorists

there is a hole in my tights
there is a hole in our country
i must have seen it before
or did i really?

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hidden

i can’t keep hiding anymore
i’m so angry
all the time
it seems that everywhere i look there’s

another outrage because the President has done somthing
another terror because queer rights just got swept under the door
another murder of an innocent black man
another confirmation hearing on the Senate floor
another ripping of the tall trees from the ground
another cry of the child in White Center living with her mother in a trailer car with no heat whose hands are too cold to even put on gloves

someone said on instagram “it’s so wrong to say you hope it will a good year, that only you can make it a good year for yourself”

sorry what?
tell that to the homeless sitting on the side of I-90
i pass them every week as i go to choir and i don’t give them anything
tell that to the child brides in Niger where 76% will be married before their eighteenth birthday
tell that to my sister who likes to where boy’s clothes and doesn’t ask the waiter to call her miss instead of sir in the restaturant
i dare you
tell that to my face, to make it a good year
tell that to all the 13.5 million Syrian refugees who in the land of immigrants are not welcome in thirty-one states

how could you say such a thing?
you don’t choose your circumstances
you choose your attitude
but what other appropriate attitude is there?

i have hope, but more than that i have her “two beautiful daughters; whose names are Anger and Courage. Anger at the way things are, and Courage to see that they do not have to remain as they are”

so no i won’t keep hiding anymore 

Quote from St. Francis Ascici

emotional laundry

I wrote this last year for english class, but revised it … a lot

I am always the one to call you
With my problems laid out on the floor
Like dirty, disheveled clothes.
I know I should clean them, but I don’t want to
So I make you do it.
You give your advice happily like any good friend would
And retreat back to your life.
Guilty, I hang up the phone;
I do my washing alone.

I wish you were the one to call me
For help with that girl you like, or
Your childhood slipping through your fingers.
I don’t want you to deal with all the cleaning yourself;
I could scrub “the washing piling up like nasty thoughts”.
I ask, “Please let me help,” but
Walking to class, you’ve almost hung up the phone;
You do your washing alone.

I want to say, “Let’s do our washing together
Pin up our emotions to dry in the sun,”
We know that some of the stains haven’t fully come out
But hang up that old coat, depression,
You don’t need its weight;
It’s summer now.
Our problems are getting better,
And we do our washing together.

icy memories

More half finished song lyrics.

shiny blue, cozy and cold
wrap me up in something warm
reading books by the fire
wishing the rain was more mild

stormy skies, rattle your bones
wind whistles these old halls

ghosts float through our conversations
you have such high expectations but
Frostbite knocks at the door
pull me tighter in your arms

I fell in love with a false ideal
you weren’t even real

i can’t write: exercise #2

In which, I complete writing exercises for ‘fun’…

Write a poem using dark or gothic imagery, such as a woman being followed by dark clouds of rain.

Full prompt can be found here

This ended up being much darker than I had originally intended.

the light is hiding under soft blankets, woolly and fluid in the sky
the house is sneaking around, twisting and turning
its eyes wide but glazed over as if the glass has been breathed upon
the door peeling, paint coming in flakes swings open
snow drifts slowly, languid
and the knob is turned
and the flowers on the couch pattern have fallen off to the floor
and petals are strewn about

upstairs there is no scream

he poured wine- reeked money and cruel sentiment
she had a extra glass at his behest

her dress is torn like the faded tapestry that hangs on the wall
his eyes- greedy lions

her corpse lays lifeless on the bed
his hands- claws

her mind floats above the scene
his note says “thanks”

when she wakes the blankets have dropped from heaven to hide her
from the man in the uniform
but he cannot see the raindrops that hang over her head
the salt of tears dried on her face
she doesn’t receive any grace

she runs through the moors
the water pours down
a deluge of horror

away from the sneaking house
away from her body
away from the dogs that chase her
away from the nightmare

she runs
faster and faster
until
until
until …
but she cannot escape

the gloom still sits
the faded tapestry has one more fox being chased by the hounds than before
the house creaks a little with malice
he dusts off the marble mantlepiece
and places the wine back in the cellar

he notices that the soft snow which has muffled the house for hundreds of years
has been replaced with a driving, screaming rain

red sky

I wish the ship would crash
Of its own accord
Then maybe someone would acknowledge that we’ve pushed it too hard
It can’t travel that long

Everyone’s waiting
We’re trapped, we went fast, so we just keep going
Achievements were our ports
Maybe the red sky came
Too fast, too far
Too fast, too far

Did she work hard enough?
Was it good enough?
Did the colors come at night or morning?
Was it delight or warning?

I’m lost
In red sky
In ocean
Too fast, too far
To go, to go

Because I wish I would crash with someone on board
I wish the ship would crash
Of its own accord

airplane thoughts #1

Sometimes I wonder if other people think about the world as much as I do
I think people must, but I don’t really know

I wish their was a way to understand someone else’s mind

The clouds outside seem so calming but
when I look out the airplane window all I can think of is how privileged I am

I can’t believe my phone will not charge

Is it a punishment for something I’ve done from the universe?

Honestly I feel like from far away, all of America  looks the same

I wish I could be dead, or just float on a cloud, and have no responsibilities
This cloud is all enveloping, its so so white and bright and pure just ice crystals, but magical all the same
like the ocean, the sky is goes on forever

I wonder if my life has had any meaning
I want my life to be important, to mark the world
even though that’s a silly desire, because I will probably do more harm than good

Does everyone want to help each other?
or maybe they do, but only when its their best interests?

I wonder if I will die alone
does it matter?

I am sleepy

I want to be more kind

My thoughts pass by me, as if they too know that they are not worth being dwelled on, like the puffy blue gray white of the clouds