Crave

You are my cigarette.
You gave me cancer.
Sweet aroma of regret,

clings to my skin for hours.

The only cure to radiate
my soul with fear and hate.

Yet I'll always know,
deep down in my chest,

I crave you with every breath.
You are my cigarette.

Preview

Daffodils are tiny cups of sunshine
blazing through the cold earth,

bursting forth just long enough
to take a sip.

Self Justification

I'm just a girl
armed with power that rejects awareness,
and flirts coyly with hindsight.

To some,
I'm an excuse for vanity,
a version of mocked perfection
dripping with extra security.

To them,
I'm just a toy.

I'm just a girl,
walking in old shoes,
using comfort
to hide from change.

To me,
new shoes,
new blisters.

Blind Date

Surfing an avalanche of marbles
while we eat feet for dinner.

Someone somewhere else
is drunk on generic hope.  

Tsunami

A mighty force shoved to light,
moving the earth beneath
my footprints in the ashes.

Cry an ocean of tears,

for your shallow, fractured thrusting
which compels beaches to break

and shifts sands of time.

I'm floating on a distant shore;
toes and lips tickled,
caressed, kissed by the ripples.

Just enough to ache for a storm.

I Need All of You

Fear masquerades under inclusion.

I am an outsider;

it's easy to recognize hate
and ignore the threat of apathy.

It prevents amendments.

It taints movements designed to liberate.
It warps boxes,

and has the audacity to twist ideals
beyond recognition with a singular perspective.

Vigorous.  Capable.
Progressive.  Equitable.
Imaginative.  Magnificent.
Feminist.

These are my synonyms!

My equality. 

My definition!

Join me.

Create your own shape.

Break their mold.

Manufactured Monsters

This system forged me,
patchwork, piecemeal, pasted together
project of scar tissue.

My shell is weathered, tough
and bursting at the seams with experience.

Your false nuance between equality and fairness, 
your hat trick blaming my faults on genetic fairytales.

Culpability fades on the horizon like smoke. 

Your gullible ancestors made you naive;
control at my behest expires.

Please feed me lessons on vulnerability;
I learn versatility
and unfiltered volume.

Selective hearing is an idol, worshipped by
the pious children whose fathers
started a war that spawns generations

of casualties, sparse benefits,

and invisible problems for their intangible fixes.
To hell with your disdain, status quo, empty words,

and your apathy clothed ignorance.

Move!