Reasons to Hate the Sky
reason 1: at six or seven
we were given balloons and told
that god might enjoy them.
i cried in anger while i watched
my nephew and niece reach past the car
window, turning palms to cerulean, releasing
ribbons from the ignorant fingers. somehow,
even then i felt that they would never
reach their destination
we were given balloons and told
that god might enjoy them.
i cried in anger while i watched
my nephew and niece reach past the car
window, turning palms to cerulean, releasing
ribbons from the ignorant fingers. somehow,
even then i felt that they would never
reach their destination
O’Hare is a Circle of Hell
It is December in Chicago.
When I step off the train, there’s a palpable cold. The car pulls away, and all the air suddenly goes with it. I follow the other hollow-eyed travelers to the escalator; only small children and middle-aged women with something to prove take the stairs.
The Girl
“Hi beautiful angelfish! Have you had a mermazing day?” The words vomited out of her mouth as if she rehearsed them religiously before my brother and I arrived.
“Yeah it’s been pretty good,” I tossed in to the stale air of that apartment room on the second floor. I was taught to treat everyone with respect.
To the Girl in my English Class
You belonged to the moon
Hidden behind your eye’s blinds
There was no sunlight peeking through small spaces
I didn’t know you
But I knew this much
You have a tongue that traps your words
Silenced stories waiting to be discovered
And hands that hang like the pill bottles I once knew
Hidden behind your eye’s blinds
There was no sunlight peeking through small spaces
I didn’t know you
But I knew this much
You have a tongue that traps your words
Silenced stories waiting to be discovered
And hands that hang like the pill bottles I once knew