The things I see, the things I love
Poem: Anarchy is fun; you should try it
I am like Thumbelina
But I don’t quite fit anywhere
Two devout Russian Orthodox women are going to a NATO-ruled country to buy the world’s finest, pristine porcelain to throw it at indoor walls
The best poison was made
In my father’s grave
And I love him for forever hating the country I live in
Love poem: Ivory white, dark pants
Soft shoulder of the exit ramp
Sweet cream silk, ivory white velvet dream
Sitting and smoking with you on the fire escape
We look at the horizon
Our eyes like they’ve been set on fire
Keeping quiet to not create commotion on the 18th floor
Move lightly like a ghost
That haunts me the most
Pure daylight, fresh berries, blueberry soy milkshake for two
Freeze me in the frozen section
I will come back alive
To haunt you like in the horror thrillers they do
My voice gets high-pitched
When I talk to you on the telephone
In the evenings
My voice gets high-pitched
Cos I’m excited when you call me on the telephone
In the evenings
Love poem: Ivory white, dark pants (continued)
Sweet cream silk, ivory white velvet dream
Pour raspberry sauce on vegan soy ice cream
I have you, in a soft yellow light
I wouldn’t find hospitable for my academia
Though, your brown eyes, light up like fresh veins
And I take hold of your upright shoulders
On purpose
By habit
A fragrant
Flower
My doorstep
Your dark pants
Love poem: Ivory white, dark pants (continued)
Sweet cream silk sweater for your ivory white velvet dream
We move like feathers, but our names have been etched into stone
First, middle, and last
First, middle, and last
Holding my breath
Writing on your cast
First, middle, and last
The most perfect fire escape
I’d smoke next to you every day
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Poem: Skin-tight clothes (brainwashed)
I saw, I saw that you were beckoning for the sea
(Told me you couldn’t swim, told me you couldn’t swim)
I stood there, pink ribbons in my hair, on an off-white, paint-faded ship
Thinking oh man, oh man
He thinks I’m going to dive in and save him
When I unravel, I am
Terrified
Of turning into you
I spit and scratch the walls so loud
I’m scared the world
Is made of you
I stick my tongue out
At the wrong crowd
Oh my god, I’m so alone
I come bleeding
To the ER
They say, I should just go home
Poem: Skin-tight clothes – brainwashed (continued)
I don’t want this to stop
Me from meeting someone
That would love bringing me flowers
By my bedside when I deeply sleep
I’ll never wake up
To daffodils
If you’re staying up late
Working on your manuscript
I hate your brown eyes
Because that’s my type
I don’t want this to stop
Me from meeting someone
I stick my tongue out
At the wrong crowd
Oh my god, I felt so completely alone
I stared at
My stupid phone
Like a teen
Like a naive little
Teen
Poem: Skin-tight clothes – brainwashed (continued)
I secretly, I secretly think you liked it all along
Pulling me left just to wreck the boat
Spilling my champagne and me nervously blaming it
On the musculature of my skeletal framework
What a girl, what awful weather
To spend with someone who’s complaining, had me thinking, “this is actually my favourite kind”
Lightning bolts
When the sky collapses like it’s angry
And bitter
Writing poetry
Months after
I secretly, I secretly think you adore all of this
You’d throw me to the eels if I didn’t know how to swim
But it was you deep down under the pouring, crashing waves
Tormenting your most refined, well-calculated grace
And I am one of the best swimmers this Earth has ever seen
But there came a moment where I could no longer see
Then, I could breathe, and you couldn’t hate me for it
So in love with the delusional chaos of the ocean
Oh, you hate it, oh, you must hate it
That I have a God that knows my full name
Poem: Skin-tight clothes – brainwashed (continued)
You think religion is a brainwashing force
Well, I think you over-dry your skin-tight clothes
I ran so hard I almost collapsed, and I started to laugh
So free, so free, should have seen me finally feel so free
Not attached to memories
Oh, you must hate it
That I can be my own blanket
That I can be a saviour
That I don’t need a faux promise or a parched favour
I saw you, perched over, frightened of the waves
You said let’s just leave, save this for another day
I pushed you in because I trusted the Earth
To swallow you whole and make you
Comfortable
That was a battle I truly lost
But God loves me, oh, you must have forgot
You must have forgot,
What a terrible thought
That I can be taken care of by something that’ll cleanse my brain
So brainwashed
Love poem: Fell back in love with myself
I am, a dandelion that’s losing its ligules
A dandelion on the street
Stepped on, on repeat – bracing the wind, but falling apart
Missing my roots
Crying because I won’t be in a vehicle with my father ever again
But the koala-grey sidewalk embraces me like its only friend
Gasping, breaking, compact but fragile – for eternity
Not asking anyone to save me
Because rap songs taught me that’s commonly dismissed
Neglected and disposed of
(Why am I so delicate?)
I breathe it and I love it, but God please help me, I’m exasperated
I wear my orthodox cross like it’s the most expensive diamond given to a queen
Nobody ever suspects a thing
Love poem: Fell back in love with myself (continued)
A guy once bought me, the most beautiful fiddle leaf fig tree
That I picked out, of course
Girl knows her houseplants
My bedroom lacked the sunshine to keep my baby alive
I wept on the floor staring at its fallen brown pieces
Feeling like I was one of them
Breaking for eternity
Shrivelling up and no longer green, but serene
I swallow the ground whole with my desire to love more than I ever have before
Time, and time, again.
You know, a girl, who truly loves flowers
Never “gets used” to receiving them
Each time is special, savoured, like those commercials with women and chocolate
I stop walking every few feet to capture a flower
One day, a boy said to me, “do you have to stop every time”
That was the end of him and I
Of course, I do
That’s what happens when you’re in love with white, pink, red, yellow, and blue
The colours dash through your mind when you’re not scrolling on your phone
Remembering the hydrangeas from Venice Beach
The sunset blooms at the rose garden at the museum where you spent your birthday in your own solid company
Breaking in composite structures
Swallowing the rose petals on the ground
Love poem: Fell back in love with myself (continued)
The dandelions on the street
Say something on repeat
They love me, they live through me
They engulf quite the vast part of me
And every piece of their frail self that flies away with the breeze
Becomes deeply embedded within me
And I love it, like cotton
I roll it, like marbles
If I’m ever, forgotten
I hope botany never is
Love poem: Fell back in love with myself (continued)
I know a girl
That will never “get used” to flowers
So endlessly abundant but single-handedly make this life worth it
They love me, they love me
They live right through me
I walk on the concrete
Looking for myself
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Not a love poem: Olive tree (take your pick)
I think we’re
Not getting too wrapped up
I’ll get up soon
To turn the microwave off
I think we’re
Naturally not too wrapped up
I’ll get up later
To turn the microwave off
I scratched my leg violently on rose thorns
As if I would ever mind
It’s been a long time since
Brown eyes, green eyes
I hate when they turn hazel
Like an olive tree
Park my car on Chestnut avenue
It’s a longer walk but
I like the name
Burn it to see embers
Collect street signs
All the rose thorns in the world are allowed to scratch me
In fact, I’ll invite them with bliss
Using long, Bambi eyelashes
Not a love poem: Olive tree (take your pick) [continued]
I think you would be
Friends with the quarterback
I never cared about football
We could make fun of
The way they drop the ball
(Again!)
Wearing their jerseys’ cos we like the material
So supportive
What a team effort
I clench my hands together because otherwise I think I’m going to lose my mind
I never really understood the concept of romance
Is it you buying me a vegan strawberry milkshake?
Dirt on my face at the park and you think I look pretty?
I have thousands of songs I’ve been dying to share
With somebody
They mean
Too much to me
To share, though
So I’ll
Keep them to myself
Out of bad habit
I’m the bad habit
Not a love poem: Olive tree (take your pick)[continued]
Show up late and get there just on time
I wouldn’t get through security clearance with that
Type of ambivalence I could
Make a rosebud dream
Of grabbing me from the interior and
Turning me inside out
So the world could know
I wouldn’t get through security clearance like this
Not a love poem: Olive tree (take your pick) [continued]
What’s that?
Is that romance
You getting me a vegan strawberry milkshake?
That I put in the fridge
To enjoy my second half the very next day
Laughing to myself
Sharp edges soften
My shampoo smells lovely
I can’t get through security clearance like this
An olive tree
Okay, I’ll be an olive tree
If you pick me
Okay,
I’ll be an olive tree
If you choose me
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