this past february I had my first poetry reading experience at Busboys and Poets at 14th and V in DC. these are the two pieces I read if you’re interested!
I want to feel some type of release from the heavy feeling.
Want to know some kind of accomplishment before I soon fall into this
temporary coma named sleep.
I’ve got bits and pieces of myself scattered across virtual pages,
I want to find myself complete in one place, in a simple location I want to be able to come
and recognize my identity at its prime.
Letting letters fill the space in my mind where nothing hides,
because behind each corner is emptiness now,
when you open each door there stands a dark silhouette,
nameless and empty listening to the songs they’ve played and I’ve heard.
Fragile; I wouldn’t demand a glass case for this wanderer in the corner of my mind,
because this silhouette is often thrown down and stepped upon, often bound up and wept on.
Because the tears that roll down your faces, and the tears that roll down mine, are no less rolling
down the outlined identity in my head.
I never intended to make sense, but now I’m confusing myself,
there are steps that one must take to feel a sense of triumph,
and today I have skipped every other stair.
I’ve become like the girl on the playground, the one with the tangled hair.
Her Old Paints
A hardened layer of paint coated the small tubes,
cracked and delicate like aged skin,
I thought of your face laid in the casket.
Leftover thinner glazed the container,
leaving a sticky residue like the sorrow,
which has coated my mouth time and time again.
Their caps didn’t give into my pleading,
Ignored my high hopes and beseeching.
Difficulties and complexities aside, we are all the same.
Behind these masks we hide, pretend to be selfless but found out by shame.