charocked

charocked

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My pen dropped My words stopped Stuck in a square They say they're Caught in circles Round and round But me, I was Stuck in a square Hitting corners Tossed from One side To the next Turning and Turning and Turning and Turning In squares My pen, my words Stuck in the middle

hoop

there never was a hoop he couldn't reach up to the sky dangling his size 16 feet in the air where everyone could aaaaah ooooooh! up he went until the time he didn't quite come down

cabin

i never did quite feel as passionate as i felt in the cabin that summer the weather was just hot and sticky enough for my palms to stay deliciously clammy for my thighs to stick together as i walked across the room he was sitting on an old wicker chair that had become to wear from the times i sat shivering from the times i still wanted to escape

its been so long that i cant remember if i remember you maybe we met long ago, and i wrote a witty poem about a woman's hairstyle or a buzzing chase and laughed

One day we saw a mini horse in our neighbors' backyard. You see, the girl next door rode ponies, and they would come and go just as she did. Sometimes there would be a farm next door, and we would watch from the side window and jump at each unexpected neigh. Other times, we'd see the cars pull out of the driveway. They came back in a week, or a month. The girl who rode ponies was not always here; she was not always anywhere. She was only always where the horses were; where the horses were was home.

i wish i knew i was stunning, because i really am i turn heads on the street, and in the classroom, too if only i could have seen myself in last night's dress hugging my hips, exposing my chest just enough to tease if only i could have heard myself recite my prose aloud the words were fluffier than those i had dreamed i might have fallen in love with myself enticed by the quirks to which i am blind.

the scream was not expected i was more surprised than she was when i found my mouth opened and my fist clenched, palm spread outward extending, knuckle twitching what was i doing! watching my own body it wriggled in writhed, it couldn't be me who was that monster who slapped her mother

first a low murmur crescendo! crescendo! one bang, two flat sounds now she's on the floor shit, he says that was only automatic

i'm wearing bell bottom jeans just three sizes too tight and my bra is like my mama trying to push up all thats right now i'm feeling like there's a hole in my stomach cause it's been four days two years since i've eaten any sugar baby's telling me i aint skinny or fine and divided into two i can't pick my mind or my body but well bight it. i'm comfortable.

i want to be radical. i want people to wonder what i ate for breakfast and why. i want to cause controversy. when i rise and when i decline, i want to be seen and not understood.

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