Spray tan and peach blush, all I did was try
to stand firm when I believed in everything
to fake though I knew hardly anything
they left me behind reading old magazines
fixing my bra strap under my gym shirt
I had more safety than a maxi pad in winter
nobody would question my belief
it was just old photographs, they only spoke
the truth to me, pointed out my skin’s
red badges of courage, and it took so long
to snap into place, but I got one small thing right:
peach blush is my shade
Day 173 – Home
I know what I sound like
gushing over my city, my Gondor,
but you gotta see it, man.
I didn’t build anything,
I just drank it,
and five years passed
which should have been one.
My fathers didn’t die
in these hills, nobody
who built it ever dreamed
of me-
but I got so lost exploring
what strangers have made
that one day I was home.
Day 172 – Cleaning Day
On cleaning day I have time alone to
run through all the scenarios in my head
but it comes back to Whitman-
at once we contain multitudes and
nothing is ever really lost–
there is no more gained from cleaning day
than a thoroughly cleaned house.
Day 171 – White Noise
Sunday mornings I drift in and out
to the sound of you clicking away
your fingers make raindrops
writing in a language I don’t speak
finally something I can’t read
don’t explain it to me, though you would
I love the white noise of your mind
Day 170 – Bears
It’s nothing but my own fault
for poking a bear that rolls over and dies
every time, I weep for it and then
my friends all laugh at me
We are what we do when home
is far from view, and I poke bears
because I hate to be away
I hate to remember who I was
in hotel rooms
I was a bear trapped in the lobby
they would rent me for a night
to guard their doors
and I escaped but I’m still wild
down deep
Day 169 – Come See
I’m not really sure what’s to miss
come see
how all that time wasted was waiting for this
come see
how I grew, what I did, what I made
come see
the cards that I played
and how I doubled my numbers
and stepped up my game
come see
everything I became
Day 168 – The Greats
I cannot read the greats in coffee shops-
Emily, Sylvia, Maya-
they have to wheel me out,
ask me to stop screaming.
I fear no other women
but those who can write
and I should be paralyzed by daily life
if I ever did my job of receiving right.
I live by removing phobias
and stagnate safely on until
trying no longer kills the blinking urge
and when I must I do it quietly
and never in public.
Day 167 – Skin Tags and Car Washes
skin tags and car washes
walking shoes
first at the bar at 3pm
some would say all this money
is going to waste on us
one night is enough these days
we take the stories back to work
they last, we don’t
we’ve made it
Day 166 – Unpublishables
i never believed in holding back
until all this started pouring out
if you can’t say nothin’ nice
well then baby, what’s the point?
god gave me a killer instinct
i know my way to a throat in the dark
it’s a gift i refuse but it feels so good
when i get the chance to use
Day 165 – Kindness
They say kindness is the best beauty regimen
I guess it’s working out for me now
but I didn’t give up my fire to be wanted and clean
I scratched up my face to figure out how
it was never my fault I was haunted and mean
and the dogs smell my fresh bruises
and they come back to lick my old wounds
and the things I’ve learned, I keep to myself
but I can lie so dangerously now
