The Politics of Things
You cannot win over contempt.
You can only shade your eyes,
And slide to the left or the right carefully
To avoid, with grace, the angels’ wrath.
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Don’t Tell Yourself
Don’t tell yourself anything harsh.
You will be buried in tough love.Instead, adore yourself the most
Of any blade of grass in the field.
Grow towards the sun
And root yourself in dark, black earth.And if the dirt is sandy or filled with stones,
That is okay.
You will still be
The green that catches the eye
And makes the heart sing
With awe. -
Quartets of Surrender
I stopped. Trying.
And surrendered.
Like the flight of birds
Pulled to a distant hope.I stopped. Trying.
And surrendered.
The long death rattle of control
Finally expiring.I stopped. Trying.
And surrendered.
To the wild rain, low clouds,
Sudden wind, pulling moon.I stopped. Trying.
And surrendered.
Funny how the world spun on
Most unexpectedly.I stopped. Trying.
And surrendered.
Each breath enough.
Each breath the last. -
The weight of waiting:
For a lover’s text
A biopsy result
A pear to ripen
A daughter to forgive -
A Few Things I Want My Girls to Know:
Rage can be tender.
And said with the right finesse,
A firmly placed “fuck you very much”
Can serve you well.Soft is always an option
As long as your spine is straight and long,
Pointed towards the sky
Like an arrow being called home.And when you look in the mirror
Count all the ways you are beautiful
And the world will bow at your feet.No person—male or female, mother or sibling,
Boss or friend—is worthy of
Bridling your truth
So let it rip like a streaking
Star across the daylight sky.
