Sequester
A Meditation for spider body
I miss you, my darling
For the world is waking up
I no longer feel like I need to make apologies anymore
I thought my heart died alongside him
I thought other people were the inspiration for why I made up words,
But it’s radically becoming obvious- I am in tune with myself and the way my legs are spread like a spider every day upon waking up.
My thighs are one with my cushion
and everything is rooted
breathing once or twice
Thinking of the power of my body
where I so tightly held my fear
the fear of the cartilage in my kneecaps
would slowly disappear
but my security was restored after my mother outlined what I thought was missing and mysterious bone, and she told me it would be okay.
It’s going to be okay!
The fact I think I’m in love again, but yet I have the grace to understand I’m in love with the visible petals on the flower right now-
but his dirt and roots are what I’m attracting to.
I’m never more in love
or aware of gardening and growth metaphors
Until I can feel my own stomach growl,
Because I know what she needs
and I’m waking up to finding the energy to sustain
the power I hold in my own body and mind.
Physical attraction and the sleepy satisfaction
of realizing the weight of my own body on the bed,
and the thoughts-
and silent prayers of appreciation said in ten minute increments,
and the imaginary trace of his presence,
perhaps maybe on a good day of which I will decide,
he may get a glimpse of who I was and who I am-
My body is mine
She’s free again from the weight of sadness and criticism, but she still prepares for waves of grief
and holds gratitude for the vices of yesterday I put in it.
Moving forward exists in the faith I am now putting in it,
to guide me to yet another time and place
of where time and intimacy and touch,
and confessions on an ordinary Thursday night
where I thank him,
but only after I thank myself,
for validating the sappiness within the heart,
and gratitude for the satisfaction of living again.
Hello, I AM.
- The Ramblings of a Madwoman
May Her Future Be Black
…And So Much More.
Women’s History Month
Inner Monologue
Rejection Reflection
The Ramblings of a Madwoman: A Body.
It breaks down all of the time.
How am I suppose to love something that is always betraying me?
My hands stab–
myself in the back
that breaks with each thrust of the blade.
My legs give–
under the weight of my world
and my own problems.
My face, morphing–
a stranger stares back at me,
“who the fuck are you?” I scream
with tears running down,
drowning me
but the face doesn’t make one single sound.
I don’t make a sound.
I’m Scared of My Body
I’m scared of my body
I’m scared of the storm
of pops and cracks that come with nearly every step
but I have come to learn there is power in fear
. . .
I feel the power and fear of taking ownership
which looked like
ignoring the side-eye from a man who stood next to me as we shared a mirror and I
shaved my face.
. . .
I seized the power
of viewing my body as
less of a burden
when I choose to feel its heart in other places
beating besides my chest
like on a February night when I held his hand
and we ran down the street collapsing in laughter
like the kind I was trying to
hold in when he snapped my bra in the school hallway many years earlier.
. . .
I’m scared of my body
I’m scared of the storm
There is fear in the power of the silent aftermath of the tide’s rising
and the tide bringing in my own personal truth
the truth being limitations of what my body can do
putting the tight lid from a jar
on dreams of a delivered truth
I didn’t know I had.
Back and forth beats goes the beat of the heart that is everywhere but in my chest
my eyes soaking in words from a tiny screen
I feel safety in clothing myself in the simple promise that
it is okay to work through whatever it is I need to work through
and I’m wanting nothing more than to touch him
but now there’s a collective fear of losing trust in our bodies to a mysterious presence, and so much of this trust is missing from me,
from you,
from your neighbor down the street
now there is just fear of not knowing
how much our bodies can withstand.
. . .
I’m scared of my body
I’m scared of the storm
there is power in fear
and I fear I am
falling in love
with the notion of acceptance
and gratitude for the fact
it is mine, and I can give it away if I so choose,
It is mine and I think I love it.
It can do this and that and this and that, and it can hold so much.
It’s been wrought with grief
from losing that boy
who became a man who struggled with devastating disease but sometimes still remains alive in my mind’s eye in a snapshot
of a boy
who once giggled as he snapped my bra in the hallway when we were fifteen,
It’s held me down and kept me in the ground as I-
read the words of another man and think to myself,
“How could I possibly be more infatuated with him
or infuriated I can’t feel his touch,
the only thing my bones know for sure
is of his importance.
. . .
I’m scared of my body
I’m scared of the storm
There is little fear in protection
Like when my body said I’m sorry I may hurt you from time to time,
but I’m here.
With roots and dainty fingers whose ring size is just ULTRA tiny
I’m here for you to breathe every morning in the still promise of breathing and understanding you’re still here.
you’re still here you can walk-
Good god, do you have the ability to speak!
Watch what you say about me and my abilities.
I’m here to hold you-
I’m here to house you after every twister.
My Corner
Immaculate Conception
Hail Mary
Filled with disgrace,
That man was with you.
Never letting tears roll down your face,
You wished to weep
As his hands touched your thigh,
But you must be his fragile sheep
As his fingers go inside
Your holy vessel.
_._._._._._._
Holy Mary
You pray to God
That a fertilized egg won’t nestle
In the sheets of your womb.
You can’t bear the child of a sinner,
But as he thrusts
You must
Lay silent in your room.
Your duvets wraps like a cocoon.
You shrivel from his hot breath
Now
And at the hour of your death.
_._._._._._._
Hail Mary
Just in case,
You take a test.
You fear
That little pink plus sign
And as the time comes near
Your heart
Beats out of your chest.
Ten more seconds.
Wait and see.
His child is with thee.
_._._._._._._
Holy Mary
A mother, by god
Of a bastard baby, leeching.
Outside, you wear a smile
As the lamb of god has gifted you with child.
But inside your soul is screeching,
Your faith is in shambles.
How could the lord let this man take your innocence and pride?
You pray for the sinner,
But you hope that he breaks
Under the weight of his sins,
Like the cracks in your over-stretched skin.
You hope his conscience makes him sick
Just like his child makes you
Every morning at six.
You hope he suffers, just like you
Now
And at the hour of his death.
Peachy Keen Collective 